I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(8)

But she knew he wouldn’t see it that way. News that his right shoulder had taken the worst of the injury would have been an annoyance for most people. Perhaps even a sense of relief that it hadn’t been a neck or leg injury.

But for a right-handed quarterback? A shoulder injury was crushing. Career ending.

And just days after the accident, Madison had filed for divorce.

Which hadn’t been a big surprise, at least to Mollie. The marriage had been in a downward spiral even before the tabloids started speculating about the affairs and the fighting and the separate bedrooms. The divorce had been a long time coming, but her sister’s timing had been cruel. Mollie couldn’t help wondering if Madison had done it on purpose—had waited until Jackson was at his absolute lowest before walking out on him.

Mollie would never forget the stunned, stricken look when she’d gently set those divorce papers on Jackson’s lap as he lay there in the hospital bed, all bandaged and bruised.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m really sorry,” she said now.

He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “Don’t, Molls. It wasn’t your fault.”

She held his gaze. “I hated that I had to be the one to do it.”

“I don’t. I’d rather it have been you than anyone else.”

“Yeah?” she said, taking a sip of her champagne as she glanced up at the ceiling. “That why you been dodging me for the past few months?”

He didn’t respond and she glanced over, but his face was unreadable.

“I shouldn’t have shut you out,” he said finally. “I just didn’t know how to talk to…anyone.”

It wasn’t exactly an explanation, but Mollie sensed she wasn’t going to get one. Not today anyway. Whatever Jackson’s reasons for not communicating with her during the divorce proceedings, he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Forgiven,” she said with an easy smile that she hoped would lighten the mood. “And I can’t believe you’re in New York. I never thought I’d see the day. How’s the new job going?”

Jackson grunted. “It’s a job.”

“How the heck did that even come about? Oxford magazine, right? That’s big-time.” She wasn’t just blowing smoke—Oxford was the leading men’s magazine in the country. A guy could do a lot worse for a backup career.

He rolled his eyes but answered her question in his gruff Texas drawl. “It’s not really that much of a stretch. I was a journalism major in college. Wanted to go into sports reporting if the football thing didn’t work out. And, well, the football thing didn’t work out.” Jackson’s tone was joking, but his eyes were flat.

“So you’re their sports guy?”

He shook his head. “Nah. They filled that role just a few months before the accident.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Yeah, but you’re Jackson Burke.”

He snorted. “That doesn’t mean anything anymore. And actually, the sports duo is pretty decent.”

“So what do you do?”

“Fitness editor.”

“Well, that sounds like a terrible fit,” Mollie said wryly, giving his impeccable physique an obvious once-over. Jackson Burke was built like…well, a quarterback. He was six-three easily, with broad shoulders and drool-worthy biceps, all paired with an easy agility.

At least he used to be agile, Mollie thought with a stab of regret.

The worst of the car accident’s injuries had been to his shoulder, but something had messed up his hip as well. The first time she’d seen him on camera after the accident he’d been limping, just slightly, and while she knew most people had seen only the resolute set of his jaw signaling that he would get better, she’d only been able to see the misery in his eyes.

“Do you like it here?” she asked.

“Hell no.”

His bluntness made her laugh. “Careful. You’re talking about the city of my heart.”

“Yeah, well, the city of your heart has too many damn pigeons. They’re everywhere.”

“You can’t dislike a city because of the birds.”

“Says the animal nerd.”

“Well, at least you’re staying free of the rats and roaches,” she said. “What with your five-bedroom penthouse on Park Avenue.”

He gave her a surprised look, and Mollie burst out laughing. “Oh my God. I was joking, but I hit it dead on, didn’t I?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s four bedrooms.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m having drinks with a man who lives in a penthouse on the Upper East Side.”

“Where do you live?”

She winced. “Ugh. Speaking of animals…”

He held up a hand. “Gross. Explain.”

Mollie blew out a breath. “Well…my place on the Lower East Side was fine when I was twenty-three and could barely afford a box of pasta. But I’ve been through a string of roommates ranging from awesome to annoying, and I think this latest one might break me.”

“Messy?” he asked, knowing Mollie’s neat-freak ways.

“That. And he—”

“He?”

“Yup. His name is Austin. Seemed nice enough at first, but failed to mention that he’s on a cabbage diet.”