Chapter 34

[Vee]

For a week, Ross and I continue in a pattern of showing up at one or the other's place and spending the night after heated moments. His dining room table. My living room couch. But afterward, we end up in bed together.

I don't know that I've ever been happier. Ross is an attentive lover but also a great listener, and he lets me hash out some plotline details with him, offering perspective. From a man's point of view, he says.

He surprised me one morning by arriving at a local coffee shop I frequent that has a calming tea I like, cutting into my writing time. The surprise visit was worth every minute we spent together.

Another time, Ross brought the tea to me at my place. He kissed me hard and too quick, and then left me to work my writing magic.

And one morning, he even had the calming tea delivered to his place, when I stayed to write in his kitchen, where inspiration always hits.

My book might soon reach its happy ending.

Being Ross Davis's girlfriend has benefits, and none of them are what people might expect. Simply put, Ross is good to me and good for me.

He tells me I'm beautiful. And he lets me show him how beautiful I think he is.

Our relationship isn't a secret, but it also isn't quite public either. Ross can't exactly go out to dinner at six o'clock, and he prefers the quiet of his place after a game. My schedule is more flexible than his and I mold my time around his.

Ross makes every second worth it.

We haven't returned to the Philadelphia invitation, and the home-games streak is shortly coming to a close, but not before a certain themed night game arrives. Most stadiums have themed nights, honoring cultures and professions, so Anchor Field is no different.

This topic is particularly difficult for me. A night honoring first responders in law enforcement, fire departments, and EMTs. A portion of the night's proceeds go to an organization for spouses of the fallen, which once benefited me.

I don't particularly like to draw attention to myself or to the circumstances of Cameron's death. I'm always torn between the obligation to miss him, because I didn't want him to die, and the facts, which is that his absence does not haunt me. My girls have missed out on having their father, and I'm sad for them. Girls need dads, and I had an amazing relationship with mine. I miss him all the time.

So, with the approach of the game, my thoughts drift to Cam the night before the honoring game. I'm in Ross's bed, and we've just had an incredible moment together, but Cam trickles into my dreams.

Him facing me, telling me once again he's sorry for what he did. How he hurt me. How he wrecked our marriage. How he wanted another chance. My stomach cramps with anxiety and heartbreak. The horrific moments he confessed what he'd done returned to me, like a powerful punch to the sternum. All my emotions are felt again in the dream. Suspicion and shock. Disbelief and disappointment. Anger. Grief for a love I felt slipping away long before Cam was taken from me. In the dream, he hugs me, and the embrace feels so real. Frighteningly real.

My heart races. I fear that I'm dead. I'm in heaven with Cam. And I'm about to ask him if I've died, when he releases me, steps away and turns his back on me.

An explosive crack shocks me awake but I'm caught for a moment in that thin line between dream state and wakefulness. Dreaming-me envisions Cam being shot. Something I didn't witness, and as I don't watch killer-shows or murder mysteries, I don't have many visions of Cam's demise. Waking-me realizes the crack was not gunfire, but the exhaust of a car or perhaps some kids letting off boomers late at night.

Cameron's name is on my lips. The residual effects of all my emotions pulsing within me as I lie on my back, hand on my chest, my heart hammering under my palm. My throat is dry. My eyes scan the room as if confirming I'm in Ross's house, his bed. I'm alive .

An arm tightens around me. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah." My breathing is ragged.

"You were making noises," Ross groggily states.

"I didn't mean to wake you." I don't look at him, eyes focusing on the ceiling, grounding myself in the present once more. I'm not dead. I'm in bed. In Ross's home.

"You called out your husband's name."

Forcing my head to roll, I turn in his direction. "I'm sorry." My voice is weak, soggy and raw. I should say more.

"Want to talk about it?"

I don't, and I tell him that. "Go back to sleep, babe." Then I roll opposite Ross and curl into myself, keeping my eyes open and aimed at the window, because I'm afraid to close them.

Seconds pass before Ross shifts, his arm looping over my waist. His strong arm pulling me back into his chest. His light snores tell me he's already asleep, but he's holding onto me.

And I'd like to imagine in his dreams, he's refusing to let me go.

+ + +

The Anchors game is rough. A moment of silence passes for the fallen men and women of our local community who race toward danger in our large, divided city. While Laurel shares the game tickets with me, in my dad's former seats, we are surrounded by policeman and their families, many of whom are too young to remember Cameron or what happened to him. I'm grateful the jumbotron does not play a running list of those who have passed. The reminder isn't necessary.

Inevitably, I excuse myself for the bathroom and run smack into someone from my past life—as the wife of a former police officer.

"Verona?"

"Hey. Paddy," I falter over the name of one of the last people I want to see tonight.

Padraig O'Brien was a police officer with Cam, and he easily embraces me although it's been a few years since I've seen him. He isn't a particularly attractive man, with a paunch belly and swollen jowls from too much alcohol. Additionally, he's known to often make inappropriate cracks to or about women. Following suit, his assessing gaze roams up and down my body when he pulls back from an uncomfortably long hug.

"Haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah. I've been busy." He doesn't need to know what I do.

"Still writing those dirty books?"

Or perhaps he already knows . I'm surprised he'd remember. Cam must have mentioned my ‘hobby' back when they were friends.

"Uhm, they aren't dirty." There's a fine line between writing what's a little naughty versus something considered truly filthy, as in unclean. Paddy doesn't need me to explain the distinction. "But yeah, I'm still writing." I expect the conversation to end there as most people don't know how to continue a discussion when they learn I'm an author.

"Must be hard without Cam. Or are you open to new adventures?" He wiggles his brows, and a cold chill runs down my spine.

"I'm good," I say, ready to step away from this unwanted reunion. "I'm headed to the ladies' room so enjoy the—"

"If you ever need some tips. Or the tip. I'm open to new experiences, as well."

There's no doubt he's just propositioned me and I'm about to throw up in my mouth. Caught between ridiculously thanking him for the offer and telling him to fuck off, because never in a million years would I consider Paddy, I fumble somewhere in between.

"Yeah, uhm. I have a boyfriend, but . . . Yeah, no thanks."

"You're dating?" He scowls, suddenly offended that I'm in a committed relationship versus open to a sexual free for all. "Cam would be so disappointed."

I bite my lip, before I blurt out the reminder that Cameron is dead, and even if he were alive, his disappointment wouldn't be an opinion I'd value. Especially as the man before me was in on the affair my husband was having and condoned it.

"Tell Melissa I said hi." After mentioning his wife, I step around him, disgusted by his embrace, and shaken by his words. He has no place in my head, but I'm still upset by the time I use the restroom and purchase a second margarita for Laurel and me.

"I just saw Padraig O'Brien." I take a hearty drink of my margarita after telling my daughter.

"What did he want?"

I'm not about to tell my daughter the married man offered me sexual favors for book research. Instead, I shake my head. "He's still a pig.

Laurel snorts. "He always gave me the creeps."

I turn my head toward her, worried he said something to her at a tender, young age. "Did he ever say anything inappropriate to you?" I'll kill him .

She shakes her head before sipping her margarita. "Just a bad vibe. I don't know how Dad could be friends with him."

I snort, knowing a few reasons they might have been friends, but not wanting to discuss them with my daughter. Cameron is gone and I made a conscious choice a long time ago not to linger on what happened between us. I can't change his decisions. I can't bring him back from the dead. He was simply a season of my life.

The thought hits me hard. Cam was a season I'd measured in love. With our youth. Our girls. My devotion to him. I can't help that he did not reciprocate the dedication or devotion I put into that time of our lives.

I'm in a new season, and my gaze seeks the dugout, although I can't see Ross from my seat.

"So, Ross asked me to go to Philadelphia next week when the Anchors play there."

Laurel's head whips up. "Why Philly?"

"He's originally from there and his sister lives there. She helped raise his boys."

Laurel nods. "That Landon was a little uptight, but Harley was fun."

Ross already explained how Landon's attitude had more to do with protecting my honor than disliking me. The thought is sweet.

But Padraig's words come back to me .

"You aren't disappointed that Ross is in my life, are you?" I don't know how comfortable I feel yet calling him my boyfriend, but Ross is everything to me and I wish there was a word to encompass that feeling.

"Disappointed?" Laurel snorts, the sound very similar to my snortle. "I'm thrilled for you, Mom. I mean, how many women get the chance to date Ross Davis."

"Um . . ." I'm hoping she doesn't want a real answer because I can name more than a handful who have dated Ross in the last decade.

"But seriously, he's hot and so are you. Plus, the way he looked at you at his house. It was really endearing."

"Endearing?" I chuckle. A rather antiquated word for my young twenty-three-year-old. "How did he look at me?"

"He sort of tracked you around the room, like he couldn't take his eyes off you."

My cheeks heat. Did he really? I hadn't noticed.

"As long as he's good to you, and faithful, that's all that matters."

Faithful . So far Ross has been very committed to our arrangement-turned-something-more. Between practices, games, and our nightly routine, I don't know how he'd fit another woman into his life, and I hate the doubts that creep into my head. Because he isn't doing that to me. He isn't sneaking someone else between the cracks in our lives. There aren't any cracks.

I make a decision on the spot.

"He's a good man. And I'm going to go to Philadelphia for him."