Page 93 of Body Check

“Damn.” Shaking his head, Jackson’s jaw tenses with emotion. “What did he do?”

“Murder.” I let that settle in before I continue. “A drug deal gone wrong, I guess. Or, at least, that’s what my grandmother wrote. He’s going to do life at Louisiana’s Angola State Penitentiary.”

“Will you visit him?”

“No.”

His thumb skates across the top of my hand. “You’re okay for feeling this way, Holls. They abandoned you and your brother. They chose drugs over their kids, their families. I can read the guilt all over your face.” He tugs on my hand until I drag my gaze up to his face. Vehemently, he growls, “Donotfeel guilty for putting up boundaries and doing what’s best for you.”

I want to believe him, I do. But . . .

“I should feel guilty.”

“Tell me why. Right now, tell me why you should feel anything of the sort over a man who never bothered to contact his daughter after heleft her.”

“Because when I read my grandmother’s letter all I could think about wasyourmom and your dad, and the fact that at least you knew that he loved you to his dying breath.”

The words slip from my mouth, and I wish I could reel them back in and staple my lips shut.

Jackson’s cheeks hollow with a harsh breath. Unsurprisingly, he pulls his hand from under mine, but it’s only to scrub at his face in overt frustration. “I don’t see the correlation,” he grits out, voice unsteady. “Thereisno correlation. My dad died overseas while serving his country. He was a patriot.”

“And helovedyou.”

I never met Jackson Carter, Sr., but I’d heard enough of Momma Martha’s stories to know that Jackson’s father was a one-in-a-million kind of man. He spent endless hours teaching Jackson how to skate, even when the hot Texas heat would have dissuaded an average man. He went to each of Jackson’s games, always showing up with his military buddies to cheer on his young son.

Momma Martha’s eyes always shimmered with tears when she relayed the stories. “My husband—he loved hard just like he lived hard. I couldn’t have asked for a better father or husband.”

My tongue feels swollen when I speak again, determined to make Jackson see where I’m coming from. “I read those letters and I thought of your family.Yoursencouraged you to love hard, Jackson, no matter what it was you were loving—me, hockey, your friends. Even after your dad passed, your mother never warned you off from giving something your all.”

I look at my hands, at the wineglass I’ve forgotten I’m still holding. “You were allowed to grow bright—that’s what I’m saying.”

“And you were what?” Jackson says the words low and stark.

I drain the rest of my wine. “I was told that I loved too hard, Jackson. That I loved too hard and that would ultimately hurt me. My grandmother grew up in a different generation, one in which nothing was ever handed to her. Your parents led by love, my grandparents by fear. And so I read that letter of hers and I realized why she’d always told me to be careful with my heart. She knew she’d disappoint me, that others would disappoint me, and she wanted me safe.”

“She was wrong.”

I blink. “What?”

Jackson leans forward, and for the first time ever, I feel like I’m about to be a recipient of one of his captain pep talks. “Yesterday, you asked me about finding that high. Fun fact, sweetheart, you can’t be careful and love hard all at once.” Gently, he touches one finger to my chest, giving it a little poke. “It’s got to be all in or all out. When I step onto the ice, I don’t worry about thewhat-ifs. They’ve got no room in my mind. I’m there to win; I’m there to make the other team piss their pants.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with—”

“The same goes for Carter Photography,” he goes on, cutting me off without a hint of shame. “You’ve stuck to the Northeast. Why?”

“Um, because it makes sense logistically?”

“Wrong.” Another poke to my chest. “It’s because even considering a game plan that includes countrywide domination sends you into a panic attack. I’m reading you like I do my opponents on the ice, and what I’m reading is that you haven’t been lovin’ hard at all. You’ve been too scared to even try.”

My jaw drops. “I’m sorry, but did you just say that I’ve beenscared?”

Confidence lines every curve of his face, including the smug smile tipping his lips. “Your parents may have been assholes, Holls, and your grandmother may have cautioned you against giving yourself up to vulnerability, but you can’t live life waiting for the other anvil to drop and crush you. You want the high, crave it more than anything . . . but you won’t even take the initial hit.”

Emotions tangle in my throat as I fight to keep my hands from gesturing wildly in the air. “So, what do you recommend, huh? Calling every hockey team west of the Mississippi River to hire me?”

“I recommend lovin’ me as hard as you can.”

I swear that I don’t even blink as I stare Jackson down. “That’syour suggestion?”

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