Page 100 of Body Check

“And hockey?”

“I’ll need to quit.”

My head jerks toward Jackson. “You don’t know if it’ll come to that. Tests first, right, Dr. Mebowitz? The season is—”

“A month in.” Jackson tugs his hand from mine, elbows dropping to his thighs and his head falling into his upturned hands. He looks . . . broken. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to hug him more. “You heard what he said. I could—I could forget everything. What kinda life is that to live, Holls? Me and you, say we have kids in two, three years. You want me forgetting things that they’ve done? Parts ofourlife that I no longer remember to tell them?”

I don’t know which part to reply to first, the fact that he’s worried about memory loss or that he mentioned kidswith me.A single glance at Dr. Mebowitz reveals that he’s left the office, probably to give us some privacy.

Ex-husband.

Ex-wife.

And yet I’ve never loved him more.

I sink my hand into the soft, thick strands of his hair. Dig the pads of my fingers into his skull, gently massaging his head. “When we have kids,” I tell him, my voice wavering with emotion, “they’re going to know that their father was the biggest badass the NHL has ever seen. They’ll know about the time your best friend busted your face so bad that he broke your cheekbone and that oh-so-pretty one you have now is straight metal.” Pushing my chair back, I lower to my knees on the thin area rug and force Jackson to look at me. Tears cling to his dark lashes, and I lean up and kiss his closed lids. “They’ll boast to all their friends about the time their dad won the Stanley Cup, brokenpaella—”

“Patella,” he says on a choked laugh, “notpaella.”

“Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.” I give him the smallest smile. “And when we tell them that Daddy finished his last season playing for the Blades, he did it with the Cup coming home one last time.”

“Holly—”

“Not all superheroes wear capes, Jackson.” I squeeze his hands and bring them to my chest. “Dig deep and find another way to make your dream a reality. Now let’s wrap this up with Dr. Mebowitz so we can go home, and I can take care of you.”

35

Holly

“Home” turns out to be Jackson’s condo.

I’d like to pretend that we sit down and immediately dive into a conversation about everything we discussed with Dr. Mebowitz. Instead, the only conversation that’s happening is the one between our bodies.

The door closes behind Jackson, and then I’m being yanked into his embrace. I go willingly, rising onto my toes to shorten the distance from my mouth to his. Our lips collide in a kiss that’s raw and desperate.

It’s exactly how I feel: desperate.

For him.

For us.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps between kisses, his hands clutching my hips and keeping me close. “I’m so sorry for letting us fall apart. This year . . . these lastthreeyears.” His kiss turns aggressive, nipping at my lips before sweeping his tongue into my mouth.

He kisses me like he plays hockey: with every last corner of his soul.

And I kiss him with every inch of my heart.

I hook an arm around the nape of his neck, tugging his big frame down until we’re as close to eye level as we’ll ever be. Dark eyes stare into mine, the hue already so close to black that I can’t even tell if his pupils have dilated with lust. “What we have . . . what we have doesn’t stay between the lines. It’s messy and beautiful and one-of-a-kind. It’sus.”

Jackson groans into my mouth, like the words are everything he needed to hear, and the sound is so guttural that it goes straight to my core and burns me up with lust. Wanting him naked, I flatten my hand and move it from his neck to his traps. I claw the cotton T-shirt into a fist, then drag the material over his head.

He releases me long enough for me to strip him half-naked.

“Turn around.”

Biting down on my lip, I do as he says and present him with my back. My head drops as I wait for him to make his move.

He does, slowly.

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