Then 15 & 16

For one terrifying moment before the puck dropped, he thought she wasn't coming. He can count on one hand the number of practices she's missed. The number of games is far fewer. He's learned how to pick her out of the crowd with no effort at all. She always thinks it's hysterical because he's awful at those Waldo books. He doesn't know how to explain to her it's not what she's wearing, or what she looks like, it's a feeling. A pull from deep in his chest when she's nearby.

He could pick her out of an NHL arena, an NFL stadium. He's pretty sure he could pick her out if he was blindfolded. And wearing noise cancelling headphones.

He finally spots her after his first shift, hurling himself over the bench and in a hell of a fucking mood, until he looked up and there she was. Wearing one of his old hoodies, a small white hat jammed on her head, glowing among the students and families and all the additional onlookers.

He smiles.

In the grand scheme of things, this game is just meant to be for fun. An exhibition match to raise money for breast cancer research and, more specifically, one of his teammates' aunt's treatment. He cares about that, but other than wearing the pink jersey with the breast cancer ribbon front and center, his focus is what it always is. Get to the puck. Get the puck to the net. Score.

Vic hands him a water bottle, and he shoots some through the cage of his helmet, in his open mouth.

"You saw her," his best friend says, and it's not a question.

Robbie nods.

"Thank fuck," Erik says from his other side. "You were getting mean out there."

Robbie rolls his eyes. It was a forty-five second shift. Hardly time to be an asshole, but the twins are right about one thing. He's definitely feeling better now.

"How many goals is he gonna score for her today?" Vic asks his brother.

"More than if she wasn't here." They both laugh and he ignores them, watching the second line head toward the bench for a change.

"Fuck off, dipshits," he rolls his eyes as if he doesn't adore them.

Out in the stands she's propped her chin in her hand, dark red hair fanning out over her shoulders, and he smiles. Inside, he's coiled and ready. At coach's signal, he leaps over the boards, stick in hand, and heads into the fray.

It's a close game, but his team pulls out a three-two win. He scored two of those goals, assisting on the third. More than the points, he thinks he deserves a medal for not starting a brawl when the opposition picked up on his cheering squad and started making crude comments on each face off.

The best revenge is out-skating them, he'd reminded himself, even if he wanted to drop his gloves and make them bleed. He owes his defenders big time. They didn't allow the red-headed center a single scoring opportunity. They also blocked him from putting up a single assist, too.

She's waiting for him behind the bench after the final handshakes and his words of thanks for the refs. Most of his team is already filing off, nodding at her as they go. They've welcomed her in with open arms, something for which he's always been grateful. He plants his skates and angles his head as the twins pass by. She looks around for an audience before skirting around the barrier to step onto the ice.

She knows how to skate—he taught her himself—but she still takes wobbling baby deer steps as she makes her way toward him. It's adorable how she thinks he'd let her fall. He reaches out when she's close enough to touch and hauls her up against his chest. She's taller than most of the other girls he knows, but he loves how he doesn't need to lean down to kiss her. When he's on skates, she fits right in the crook of his neck.

Her arms wrap around his neck, and he breathes in the scent of her hair. Roses, lemonade, sunshine, Vera.

"You played the best out there," she says, her words tickling his throat and he tries to suppress his shiver.

"You're biased."

"Maybe. But I'm still right."

She's cute , he thinks. And smart and wonderful and too good for him, but he's keeping her, anyway.

He hugs her a little tighter, grateful beyond words that her parents picked up and moved to his small town in the middle of nowhere. That she showed up, hands on hips, braids swinging, and eyes flashing, on that playground. One look and he knew. She was his .

"Hey Oakes." Coach waves him over from the sidelines. "I've got someone here to see you."

He skates over slowly, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist for support. He won't let her slip.

She lets go at the boards, giving him a small smile over her shoulder. It's the wink that twists his insides in a delicious curl.

"Don't go far," he says.

"Can't." She gathers her hair into a messy pile. "You're my ride."

He's only driven with her a few times—well, with him behind the wheel—and it's a heady experience. Knowing she trusts him with her safety is something he takes seriously, even if the twins call him Gramps behind the wheel.

"Oakes." Coach turns to the man next to him. "This is Nate Leaman. One of the US National Team—"

"Assistant coaches. Hello sir. Thanks for coming to watch us play." He holds his hand out for the older man to shake, flushing when he notices his gloves still on. "Sorry. It's an honor."

"Nate and I were teammates at Cortland." His coach shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. "This is the kid I was telling you about."

"Pleasure's all mine." They shake hands. "I think you have a real future ahead of you. You considering the draft?"

"It's definitely a dream of mine. Though I wouldn't mind playing D1 if that's the better option."

"I think you'd be a real asset on any team. Keep yourself in tiptop shape and we'll hopefully see you at training camp."

"Thank you, sir." They shake hands again and Robbie wonders if Nate can feel his pulse thundering away. "Thank you."

"I'll get your contact info from Bill and give it to the guys I know in recruiting. Any of those teams would be lucky to have you."

Whatever the man says next to Coach is drowned out by the roaring in Robbie's ears. This is it. The moment he hoped for. All of his hard work, his dreams, falling into place. He has Vera. He has a potential connection to the world of pro hockey. His team took home the win, and he put up some good points.

"Proud of you, Oakes." Coach claps him on the shoulder. "You did good today. Go celebrate with your girl."

He will thank you. He just has to change and shower first.

"Enjoy your time with her while you can. She's been good for you, but juniors is a different game."

Robbie frowns. "Coach?"

"First love is just that. First love. A few months on the ice with the big leagues and you won't even remember her name. Plenty of girls available when you're the first-round draft pick." Coach shrugs. "Break it to her easy, though. You're a gentleman and she's a nice kid. Arthur's a good guy, too."

He's not so sure he wants to celebrate at all. Not now.