Page 80 of Pucking The Goalie


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Right now, I don’t have a single word.

Worse, I don’t want my control back.

It’s terrifying.

The biggest relief I’ve ever felt

Neither of us moves for a long time. I let myself stay exactly where I am, which is its own kind of confession.

“What are we doing?” he asks.

I glance down. Our hands are still tangled together. I don’t remember doing that but I don’t fix it.

“I don’t know. But I’m done pretending I don’t want to.”

His thumb moves once against my hip.

“Yeah,” he says.

Then my phone rings. Too loud. Too real. I close my eyes for a second. Jax doesn’t move. Doesn’t let go. I reach for it anyway. His hand stays where it is. Warm. Steady.

I check the screen. My editor.

Fuck, of course.

I hesitate, then answer.

“Hey.”

The network wants more. A personal angle. The journalist embedded with the team.

Me.

The relationship that developed.

Us.

“It writes itself,” she says.

I stare at the ceiling.

“Got it… I’ll think about it.”

I hang up.

Jax is watching my face.Jax is watching my face, then something shifts — like he just remembered something.

“You good?” I ask.

“I have to go feed Brick,” he says.

“Come with me.”

So I go with him.

I don’t say anything about the call. I can’t. Not yet. But I know he saw something. He always sees something.

“What,” he says.