Page 31 of Body Check

The firm line of his mouth relaxes. “I teach them that hockey will always come first. For as long as they’re in this game, they’ve got to live and breathe it—over going out, over picking up women, over everything.”

12

Jackson

Iregret the words immediately, especially when Holly’s pretty blue eyes drop to her lap in clear disappointment.

And no wonder, jackass, you pretty much told her that hockey came beforeherand your marriage.

Fuck.

“Holls—”

She shakes her head, her usual blond ponytail swinging, and sets her teacup back on the bar. If we were the old us, I’d cup her face, slide my knuckle under her chin and force her to look at me.

Toseeme.

The man who loved her more than life itself.

The man who’s drowning under an awkward concoction of pride and anxiety, so much so that I can hardly see straight anymore.

“Let’s get this on camera?” she murmurs, jumping off the stool to start pulling at her gear. “Tell me all about what the rookies have to learn, but just”—she unzips her backpack and pulls out a fancy-ass camera that I can’t even begin to name—“hold on a minute while I set everything up.”

After placing my soda next to her tea, I move to where she’s hooked the camera onto the tripod. When she bends over to grab something else, my hand catches on her arm and I pull her back up.

“Holly.”

Blue eyes lift to meet my gaze. “Almost done. One sec.”

Her skin feels hot as fire beneath my palm, smooth as the finely worn rocks I used to skip back home in the small pond that sat on the edge of our family property.Let her go.I ignore reason, just for a moment, and sweep my thumb back and forth over her arm.

Holly Belliveaux Carter has always been my weakness.

I have no interest in speaking to her for the camera, for the public, but it’s the reason why she’s here in this hotel in the first place.Remember that—she chose to help you but not because she was all excited to do so. Or because she’s hoping to get back together with you. This is business, nothing more.

Releasing her, I step back and drag my thumb across my bottom lip. “What can I do to help?”

I’m not even sure she’s aware of glancing down at where I touched her, but then she’s smiling—as genuine as the fake smile she gave to the bartender—and pointing at her gear and instructing me on how to get it all set up.

Five minutes later, my ass is on the barstool again and she’s hovering by the camera, all professional, with her hair bundled on the top of her head and her shirt half-tucked into her pants. She looks a little tired, a little worn out, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that we can do this another day when she doesn’t look half-dead on her feet.

“You ready?” she asks.

No. “Yeah.”

“Perfect!” Flashing me another of those bright-but-not-real smiles, she steps away from the camera to watch me with her hips squared off and her hands by her sides. “Okay, we’re going to jump right in. I’ll edit out all the extras, so let’s ignore the camera—”

“Hard to do that with all that light shining on me.” I slip my fingers through my hair, all too aware that the strands feel flat now that I’ve discarded my hat.

“Just think of it like . . .” Holly’s fingers tap on her thigh. “Ah, I got it. Just think of it like God’s coming down to judge you for all your sins.”

I bark out a laugh. “That’ssupposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m rarely in the hot seat, but I figure that if I were, it’d be a bit like confession.” Her voice drops to a playful cadence. “Tell me all of the things, Captain Carter.”

If it were only her I was telling, I’d be a hell of a lot more tempted to open my pie-hole and do some confessing. As it is, I palm a fist over my thigh and then dip my head in acquiescence. “I’ve only been to confession once in my life.”

“Have you? I don’t think I’ve heard this story before.”

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