14. Robbie

There is a distinct lack of restaurants in Kimmelwick, and the surrounding areas, so I had to get creative and enlist Jack's help. And my mother's. And then I had to glare the teens into submission when they caught wind of my date's name.

"Vera Novak?" One boy with copper curls asked, his mouth hanging wide open. "The Vera Novak?"

"Who?" Another kid skated up. Then another and another until I was surrounded by pads and sticks and curious faces.

"She's a fucking snack." The red head said and then winced at my glare. "Sorry coach. She's like a supermodel or something."

"No cap?"

The teen shook his head and there was a collective ooh from the gathered crowd.

"Seriously. Look her up. She's fine as hell." The kid turned to me. "Think you can get her to come watch our scrimmage tomorrow?"

"Not with the way you lot are objectifying her." Spags sprays a fine mist of snow and ice over the group as he slides into a stop. "Get back to the blue line. We have drills. Unless you want the red team to crush you this afternoon."

I watched as the kids scrambled to follow my teammate's suggestion, bumping shoulder pads as they all try to head for center ice, before turning to check that it is in fact, Jack Spaeglin standing next to me.

"See?" He grinned. "I occasionally listen when Tristan lectures me. Be sure to share that during your scheduled check-ins."

"I will," I said. "She'll be so proud she might even give you a sucker."

Spags' brows drew together, and he scratched his chin with his gloved hand. "A what? Oh." He stuck his tongue out and licked an imaginary candy. "A lollipop. You're funny. I get it now, how you snagged a dime piece like Vera, because it definitely isn't your looks."

When I went to slew foot him with my stick, he added, "Don't forget you need me to set everything up for tonight."

He wasn't wrong, but I don't have the brain cells left to worry about Spags' follow through. Not once Vera opens the door and looks up at me as if I'm a foot-long meatball sub from Giacomo's after a grueling two-a-day. Every single thing about her designed to drive me out of my beleaguered brain. But as I pull the car into the small parking area and kill the engine, I can finally worry about what will meet us. His " Don't worry, I got it, " when I dropped him off, didn't inspire a ton of confidence.

It's balmy out, everything hazy in the sun's last ditch early evening glow. I jog around the car to open Vera's door for her and I swear I feel her touch like an electric shock as she slides her hand into mine.

"I guess you weren't kidding about the no reservations thing," she says, and I wonder for the millionth time if I'm making a horrible decision, but she smiles as she gets to her feet and brushes her hands down the front of her dress.

I shake my head, "For once in our lives, I thought we deserved no time restraints."

There's always been something on the horizon for both of us. An audition, team try outs, juniors, her modeling contract. We've always had one foot out the door, ready to start the rest of our lives. This week is a game of Russian roulette. Each moment together a chance to condemn us both, another empty round and a click and a sigh of relief. We keep pulling the trigger, and if this is the way I go out, then so be it. I just want Vera to survive, too.

Her eyes skip between mine. The breeze picks up a strand of hair fallen out of her clip. It catches on her lower lip and my throat goes dry. The world grinds to a halt.

"I think," there's an audible click as she swallows, "you're right."

Her hand is in mine as I lead her down the small dirt trail toward the lake. I memorize the feel of each of her fingers, the soft weight of her palm, the rose and lemon scent of her hair. Beside me, Vera lets out a soft gasp of surprise and I wrench my eyes from her profile to see what's caught her eye.

Spags exceeded expectations. He found the willow tree I mentioned, with my mother's help I'm sure, and under the weathered trunk he spread a soft blue blanket. A short-legged table is in the middle, surrounded by the pillows off my parents' porch swing, and in the open top of the wicker picnic basket I can see a dark green bottle and two long-stemmed glasses.

"Robbie." Vera's hand touches her mouth, her eyes shiny bright. If I could box this moment up and tuck it away forever, I think it could see me through to the end of my days.

She kicks off her shoes and I hand her onto the blanket, watching as she settles down and tucks her legs to the side.

"Did you do this?" she asks, and I nod.

"I had some help." I take the seat next to her. Two swipes on my phone and soft music burbles out of the speaker tucked into the hollow of the tree roots.

"I recognize these pillows," Vera says, thumbing the fringe along the one she's using. A soft smile crosses her mouth. "Your mom?"

I nod again. "And Spags."

"He's a good kid. He worships you," she says.

He doesn't, really. Vic is his hero and I'm more than fine with that, but he's got a good heart buried under a goofy outer shell. He's growing on me. Like a particularly stubborn fungus.

I reach into the basket and pull out the champagne bottle, holding it off the side of the blanket as I pop the cork and the bubbles foam over the back of my hand. The liquid is golden in the sunlight. Cold over my skin. I pour it into two glasses and hand one to Vera.

"It might not be what you're used to. But it's decent."

She doesn't take the glass, her eyes boring into mine as if she can see the very depths of my soul. Then, with a slow blink, she leans forward and presses her mouth to the skin of my wrist, sucking gently.

"It's delicious," she says, leaning back as she licks her lips. She takes the glass from my hand and brings it to her mouth for a sip, a devious glint in her smile.

Every thought I had? Gone.

My cock aches, pushing against the front of my linen pants and I say a quick prayer to anyone listening that I don't do something embarrassing like pop the zipper or come. And fuck me, but we could just go back to the hotel room. I could press her down into the mattress of either of our beds, lick my way down the column of her throat, connect the freckles that dot the soft skin of her breasts. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

Vera's gaze dips to my erection, and this time I don't bother hiding it. No more crunching in half to disguise the tent I've pitched in her name. If she doesn't know what she does to me by now… well, she isn't paying much attention.

And besides, it's not like I'm going to do anything about it. Not without her go ahead. A boner is not a guarantee of anything. We can have dinner, talk, and I can drive her back to the hotel before beating off in the shower. Like a fucking gentleman.

I sip my champagne; the bubbles popping on my tongue in bright bursts.

"I think," Vera says, putting her own drink on the small table. "We should probably have a real discussion about what's going on here."

I nod and put my glass next to hers.

"I'm going back to Los Angeles at the end of the week."

It's information I already know, and it knocks the wind out of me all the same.

"And you're going back to Quarry Creek."

I nod.

"I know I'm the one who said we could blur the lines and have some fun," she says, "but I'm also an idiot who sometimes goes after what she wants without thinking about the consequences. I don't want either of us to get hurt."

She's ending this. Whatever this is between us, it's over. My stomach lurches.

"I think," Vera continues, "we can't keep it casual and we can't pretend. Not with all the history between us."

She's right. We aren't casual. Never were. Never could be.

I don't want to be.

"Could we do this for real? Be together? A couple? Even if it's only for another seventy-two hours?"

I can't stop myself from looking at her, any more than I can stop myself from breathing. It's semi-automatic. I can only hold out so long before my body takes over and my eyes are back on hers.

Could we do this?

"I know I'm sending a million and a half mixed signals." Her chuckle is dark. "But I'm not doing a great job remembering to keep my distance."

Fuck distance.

"Yes." The word is ripped from my soul.

"Yes, I'm sending mixed signals?" Vera's brows tip together.

"No. Yes, we can do that. Be that. I want that."

Want you.

She reaches for me, sliding her hand into my hair.

"Robert. I need you to listen to me."

I nod.

"Last time our lives diverged, you made the choice for both of us." Her fingers scratch along my scalp. "This time we're going to make it together. Okay?"

A tiny yellow bird hops up onto our blanket, eyeing our basket with wide black eyes. It tilts its head to the side, looking from us to the basket and back again. It ruffles its wings, shimmying its little round body as it decides if our dinner is worth the risk. It takes two tiny hops toward it, shaking its feathers again, then another hop away.

"Robbie?"

And shit, I didn't answer her.

"I want you, Vera. I want you in any capacity you're willing to give me. A week, a month, a day, I'll take it. Even a moment with you is better than a lifetime with anyone else."

"Don't say that." Her voice dips and cracks, a fine tremor weaving through each syllable.

"Why? It's the truth."

She shakes her head, fingers toying with the edge of the pillow. "Don't you understand how much pressure that puts on me? To make the right decision? To not break you? Us?"

Somewhere out on the lake there's a splash and a tinkle of laughter. A family enjoying an evening on the water.

"Vera." I reach up to my hair, taking her hand in mine. "This time I need you to listen to me."

It's her turn to nod, her chin dipping down as she holds my gaze.

"I might have been the one who broke us up in the past, but things didn't end. Not for me."

Her eyes dart to the left and down, her fingers spasming against mine.

"Wha—"

"Leaving for the juniors, leaving you. It didn't change how I felt about you. How I still feel." I take in a lungful of air. My heart is pounding, adrenaline crashing through my system. The stakes feel higher than last season's playoffs, even the game that went to double overtime when Rags—our goalie—was crashed in the crease and left the ice with a groin injury. "I love you Vera. I have since the first time I saw you on that playground, standing up to those asshole kids. It took one look to know you are mine . You are precious."

Her eyes flash and she pulls her hand away. "And you take care of things that are precious? You broke my heart, Robbie. That's not taking care of anything."

"Yeah," I nod, "I did and I'm so goddamn sorry, but I was a kid who thought he was doing the right thing. If I could go back in time, I'd probably do it again, too." She pulls back even further, and I let her move, but I push my words out faster, needing her to understand. "Look at what you became, Vera? You made every one of your dreams come true. You got out of Kimmelwick. You're a household name. You've traveled all over the world and done things most people can only dream about."

"And you made it to the NHL." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Don't tell me that's not why you did it. It wasn't for me. It was for you and your dreams." She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad. Not anymore. I get it, I do, but…"

"You're right. It was for both of us," I say. "I knew if we'd stayed together, you'd have followed me out west, and I'd have welcomed you with open arms."

"We could have had it all," she says. Her arms cross over her chest, but she's not moving away from me anymore. "We'll never know."

"You're right," I say again, "We won't. But this is where we are now. And all I know is that I've missed you every day. I hear the sound of your laugh walking down the sidewalk. I look for the color of your hair in the stands during games. There has been no one else, Vera. Not for me. Not ever."

Strong white teeth bite into her lower lip, her lashes flutter as she looks out across the water.

"When I say I'll take whatever you're willing to give me, it's because losing you again won't change the way I feel when we're apart. I'm still going to love you, Vera. I will love you until they put me in the ground. I will love you even after that."

"Robbie,"

"You don't need to say it back. You don't need to feel it, but you have possession, Vera. Whatever will keep your heart safe. That's the choice I want to make."

The little bird is back, hopping up onto the edge of the basket with a tiny chirp of sound. Vera watches it and I watch her, both of us barely breathing.

"Give it something." Vera says. "Is there anything in the basket we can share?"

I have to smile. All the intense emotion, the angst, from our conversation—gone. Vera wants to feed a wild bird. I nod and she reaches for the basket, startling the little yellow bird into retreating to a safe distance. It still watches us, chirping its displeasure.

I expect her to grab the raspberries, or some of the fresh bread I asked my mother to pack. Instead,she pulls her hand out, a small flat stone nestled in her palm.

"I don't think these are for eating," she says.

They aren't. I'd specifically sent Spags to find the stones just in case she wanted to skip them on the surface of the water.

"Let's do this, Robbie. You and me." She closes her fingers around the rock. "When the week is up, we can take things day by day. Together."

"Do you want to skip that to check with the universe first?"

I know Vera. She believes in signs, symbols, fate. She's the one who told me I was a textbook Taurus, even if I'm still not entirely sure what that means. When I asked, she told me that was a typical Bull answer, as if that made perfect sense.

"Don't need to," she says, but she pushes to her feet, the bird hopping further back, and she leaves her shoes behind as she takes careful steps off the blanket and down to the water.

The red in her hair glows in the evening sun, and she grips the rock between her thumb and forefinger. Her elbow comes back, her shoulder shifting with the sinuous movement, and she lets to stone sail out across the reservoir. I don't have to watch the stone to know it's skimming the surface just the way she planned.