Page 53 of Body Check

Is it wrong to love too hard? Is it some sort of defect in my wiring?

Is there something wrong with me for wanting Jackson back? Society would tell me yes. Statistics of divorced couples reuniting would tell mehellyes. My emotions, unlike the perfectly manicured garden before me, are a hot mess.

“Maybe I should be interviewing you?” murmurs Tory as we settle in at a rotund iron-cast table on the patio. “Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

Nope, just trying to cling to the solitary sensation of being in a marriage and feeling so alone before I do something insane, like throw myself at my ex-husband and beg him to make the hurt go away.

It’s times like these that make me feel grateful that my job is behind the camera and not in front of it.

I prop my tripod on the table, lowering it to its smallest height, and attach my camera to it. “Just running through some of the questions I’ve got for you, that’s all.”

Tory brings one leg over the other, hooking his hands over his shin as he fixes his attention on the equipment. “Can we retake anything if it sounds bad? I’m not . . . I’m not Weston. By that I mean, I’m no good in front of people.”

“What’s your role with the family business?” I ask, genuinely curious. “I mean, I’m assuming you work with your dad?”

Weston’s twin nods. “I’m on the backend. We don’t only sell properties. We build them, design them. I suppose you could say that I’m the mastermind behind the scenes.” He scratches the back of his head. Shrugs loosely. “I handle the software the architects use to create the plans.”

“So you’re a designer?”

His laugh rings out, shy and reserved. “No,definitelynot. I create the software, troubleshoot any and all website bugs, that sort of thing. At company meetings, I don’t think I ever say a word.”

“Hey,” I say, patting my tripod as I take a seat, “not all superheroes wear capes, am I right? The world needs us behind-the-scenes folks, too.”

Tory grins. It’s not flirtatious, which I’m thankful for, but the kind of smile you only give another person when they get you. “I’d need a black cape,” he finally murmurs. “There’s got to be some sort of contrast with all the angel-blondness I’ve got going on.” He points at my head. “Same for you.”

The interview moves smoothly after that, the ice already having been broken by our superhero-cape conversation. Tory is funny in a British-humor sort of way, and it’s obvious within minutes that he’s the very antithesis of his twin.

“Did you play hockey?” I ask.

“I did for a day.” Tory laughs, probably at whatever memory is skirting through his head. “I played for a whopping two hours before I begged my mom to put me in something else.”

“Did she?”

“Well, she tried—I guess that’s what matters.” He tips his blond head back, gaze lifting to the darkening sky above us. “Weston had this . . . hell, it was like a fire, you know? You saw him at dinner. The guy knows what he wants and goes for it with no reservations.”

“Was it intimidating?” Even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help but let my brain flit to Jackson. He’s ignited by that same fire as Weston, both men so driven, so focused, that standing beside them often feels like you’re still in the outer periphery, looking in, wondering how the hell you can create some of that fire for yourself. I wipe my palms over my jeans, ridding my skin of the clamminess. “I mean, did you ever feel like—”

“Like I was an extra in the Weston Cain Show?” Tory meets my gaze. “Who wouldn’t? We’re twins, which I’m sure made it more difficult during my teenage years. I tried football and baseball and, hell, I even took up archery at some point.”

My eyes go wide. “How’d that go?”

“Besides the fact that I nearly skewered another kid when I misfired on my first day? Not so bad. Granted, they didn’t ask me to come back, but still, could have been worse.”

Laughter bubbles in my chest at the visual he’s created. I lean back in my chair, arms over my chest as I study Tory Cain. “So, despite the fact that you stumbled from sport to sport while Weston kept on with hockey, you finally found some of that fire of your own with computer programming?”

He glances at the camera. “I felt lost. I went to UConn with West and he was a powerhouse. Me, on the other hand? Bouncing from major to major until I accidentally signed up for a computer class. It was love from there on.”

I’m so wrapped up in the conversation that I forget we’re filming until Tory lifts a fair brow and I jump back into action.Stop comparing yourself to Tory Cain, I yell at myself,there is no comparison.Out loud, I’m all laid-back while I wrap up the interview.

“Anything else you want to add about growing up with Weston?”

Tory sucks in his bottom lip, deliberation written all over his face. Then, finally, “I learned a lot from West. I’m older, even if it’s only by three minutes, but I spent our younger years looking up to him. He’s . . . magnetic, I think is a word a magazine used once. And when someone is magnetic like he is, it’s easy to lose yourself in that forcefield. But the way he is—the way he doesn’t see obstacles as more than a speedbump in the road—that’s something you can’t help but admire. He’s loyal, driven, quick on his feet. All that makes for an excellent hockey player.” He shrugs, fingers moving to the table to drum lightly. “Off the ice, it just makes himhim.You can take it, you can walk away, but at the end of the day, West is who he is. He won’t change for anyone and I wouldn’t want him to.”

Do I want Jackson to change who he is?

Loyal, driven, quick on his feet.

Tory is talking aboutWeston,girl, not your ex.

---