Page 69 of Body Check

Harrison: Please tell me he was talking about Holly.

Hunt: He’s not answering.

Hunt: He’s guilty. Totally was talking about Sin.

Cain: 100% ^^^

Harrison: I’m screenshotting this shit right now. Blackmail, y’know?

Holly: Jackson does like a smooth ass . . . No wonder he left me. Clearly, he was thinking about Andre—only then Andre married somebody else. #plottwist

Beaumont: He lost his chance. I’m a one-woman kinda man. He’ll never have the opportunity to get between my sweet cheeks now.

Hunt: Guys, Carter’s on TV. Channel 4. TMZ.

Beaumont: Is he talking about my delicious rump?

Hunt: 1) Don’t ever say that again. 2) TMZ is reporting that Carter went to Mass General for penis reconstructive surgery.

Cain: . . .

Harrison: Holy shit. For real? I’m turning it on now.

Hunt: No, not for real. But can you imagine his face when he reads this thread?

Me: I hate all of you.

Me: Except you, Holly. The next time I see you, be prepared to have your world rocked.

Cain: Will this rocking take place post penis surgery? Asking on Holly’s behalf.

In the middle of Mass General with nurses and doctors and patients roaming around me, I burst out laughing. It can’t be helped.

For me, my place on the team roster isn’t just because of the level of stick play. It’s because ofthis—my guys, my friends. My family.Holly.

Dr. Mebowitz may want me to quit the game, but the game isme. And I don’t know how likely it is that I’ll be able to strip this part of my identity from my soul.

Without hockey, who am I?

I hate that I don’t know.

23

Holly

“Can we get that again, Holls?” Adam asks as he readjusts the mic on Duke Harrison’s lapel. “All I’m picking up are hockey players shouting about—”

The plane dips, bouncing along a bump of turbulence, and Adam braces his weight by setting a hand on the Mountain’s shoulder. “Woops! Sorry there.” A grimace pulls at his features before he tugs away sharply. He squints at me, head turned to where I’m standing a row behind with my camera at chest-level, ready to capture the interview. “I just had a moment,” he says.

I lift a brow and wait.

“Yup.” Nodding vigorously, he reaches out to squeeze Harrison’s arm again. “Muscular. Maybe even a little veiny. Now I know why my wife secretly has you as the screensaver on her cell phone.”

Harrison’s eyes go wide as he splutters with laughter. “I’m sorry . . .what?”

“It’s true.” Adam goes about fixing Harrison’s mic, then steps back to pick up his gear. “There she was giving birth to our firstborn child and her phone starts ringing. I pick it up, obviously, because whoever’s calling clearly wants to know the status of the delivery. I get off the phone and thenbam! There you are in all of your shirtless glory. And ass—it was a side shot.”

My gaze cuts from my sound mixer to the Blades’ goalie. At times like these, I generally pride myself on always having something worthwhile to say. But, holy cow, I’ve gotnothing.

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