Page 70 of Hockey Wife

“That’s Cheddar.”

“A cat?”

Kind of a weird reaction. “That’s right.”

“But you’re allergic!” This was addressed to her son.

“It’s not a big deal, Mom.”

Georgia snapped her gaze to Banks. “You are? Why didn’t you say?”

“Because it’s not important. I took an antihistamine. No trouble.”

She flew to him, unable to resist cradling his jaw, if only to ensure he would meet her eyes with his big, fat, lying gaze.

“You said it was allergies. I can’t believe you—oh God, you had him in your lap the other day!”

“He likes me.”

Who wouldn’t? Yet, here she was, a terrible wife forcing her husband to engage with a creature that could harm his health.

“Come on, Cheddar.” She scooped him up.

“Georgia, it’s okay,” Banks called out, but she ignored him. Lies, the whole lot of it.

She took Cheddar into the laundry room where she’d set up his litter box. “Sorry, little guy. This is only temporary until I figure out what’s best.” Should she really be surprised that Banks had kept up this fiction? After all, everything happening here was completely bogus. The marriage, the ring, the whole lot of it.

She heard a snick behind her, the door closing. She turned to find Banks, looking agitated. (Though, the only difference from non-agitated Banks was a thinning of his sensual lips.)

He exhaled roughly. “I didn’t tell you because I suspected you’d react like this.”

“Like what?”

“Think of this as one more obstacle.”

An obstacle to what? She hated the idea of him in any sort of discomfort, which was weird because he was constantly getting smashed up on the ice. But that was by choice.

“I just don’t want to see you suffering. That’s not fair on you. Your home is supposed to be your haven from the craziness of this world and the game and the playoffs. It’s already bad enough I’m here upsetting your routine. Now you’re sneezing constantly.”

He stepped in quickly and cupped the back of her head. There was a lot of that today—her with him, him with her, and she was completely on board with it. The warmth of his hand cradling the back of her neck was divine.

“Never said upsetting my routine was a bad thing.”

“It’s in the phrase itself. ‘Upsetting’.”

“Sometimes people need that change to kickstart them into the next phase.”

She placed a hand on his chest. For balance, for comfort, to feel all that vitality beneath her fingertips.

“Explain.”

“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve figured this out yet, but I am considerably older than you.”

“Yeah. The cradle snatcher references from family, friends, and foe have not been lost on me.”

He let out a little puff of air. “So, my career is coming to an end, which means it’s time to think of what comes next. For the last twenty-five years, I’ve lived and breathed a specific routine. Diet, training, sleep. A regimen that keeps me at the top. There hasn’t been time for a life, to be honest. I thought there was but …” His voice faded out.

Something about a woman, she suspected.

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