Then 16 & 17

It's a beautiful night, which makes what he's about to do a million times worse. It's somewhere between the hazy bright of early evening and the pitch black of night. Fireflies are just starting to glow, pulsing to some rhythm only they can feel, and the beautiful quiet only makes him ache.

The back screen slides open with a snick and there she is, silhouetted in the light from the kitchen. He can hear the sounds of the TV, his mom's watching some crime drama in the living room, and he braces himself against the force of her smile.

"Hey," she says, stepping into the shadows of the porch. He never turned the deck light on, probably because the slider was spilling out enough and he thinks this whole thing might be a hell of a lot easier if he doesn't have to see each infinitesimal thought that breaks across her beautiful face. "Your mom told me you were back here. Everything okay?"

No, it's not, but he smiles at her as best he knows how, turning to look out over the yard so she doesn't see his lips tremble.

"It's so weird to think you won't be at school next year." She comes to stand next to him on the porch. "When do you leave?"

He has two days left.

Forty-eight hours and he still isn't packed. Still hasn't even pulled out his suitcase. How is he supposed to pour his entire life into one checked back and his duffle? How is he supposed to leave his parents? His teammates?

Her?

"Pre-season match-ups start next month." He tells her, fisting his hands around the wood railing. If he reaches for her, touches her, he's not sure he can go through with this.

"That's nice." She smiles and steps up next to him. "You'll have a chance to settle in and meet your new team before things get started."

He doesn't even have to look at her to know where her freckles are. To see the flecks in her green eyes. He knows her. Has for eight years now. There's something about her that feels like destiny. Like she's been tattooed on the sensitive muscle of his heart, her name expanding and contracting with each beat. Every drop of blood coursing through his body for her alone.

It's too big, these feelings. He knows it, even at seventeen he knows that it's too much. He shouldn't feel like his very existence, his happiness, is tied to hers, but it is. This is his one chance to make sure that she's free of him. Free of the clawing desperation he tethers around her like a lasso, drawing her into his orbit time and time again.

"Can I watch any of your games?" She blushes, "I mean, will they be broadcast anywhere? I'm not sure how much I'll be able to come visit you once the school year starts."

Acid burns in his throat and he swallows it down, desperate for a few more minutes before he says what needs to be said.

"I'm not sure," he shrugs. "But you'll be so busy I doubt you'll even notice."

She smacks his shoulder with a weak laugh and he tries to convince himself it doesn't end with a watery choked sound.

"You're so full of shit your eyes are brown, Oakes."

He shakes his head. "I'm serious. Between the fall play, the nutcracker in Genosa, and how many AP classes are you taking? Three? As a junior? You won't even notice I'm gone."

The silence between them feels heavy, like the air before a thunderstorm, soupy and humid. He rubs the back of his neck and orders his eyes not to shift to her.

She moves away from the railing and he hears the creak of the porch swing as she settles against the assortment of pillows his mom uses to soften the wooden back. He doesn't have to look to know that she's used the toe of her right foot to set the swing in motion before pulling her legs up to sit cross-cross, head tipped back as she closes her eyes.

He can't help closing the distance between them. Rocking the chair and jostling her into his side as he collapses onto the wood. He lets his eyes dart to her and catches the tiny smile on her mouth. He wants to kiss her. He shouldn't.

"Don't do that," she says, and it's not the first time he's wondered if she can read his mind. "Don't act like I'm not going to miss you. You could be gone for ten minutes and I'd miss you." She sighs, the warm summer breeze stealing the sound. "You could be gone for a millennium and I'd miss you every minute we're apart. Will you at least be home for Christmas?"

He doesn't know. The USHL has some tournaments in the winter—he's not sure of the dates—and his parents have been talking about coming out to see him instead of making him travel. He's already had the fifteen thousand sit-down conversations about his future. How joining the juniors isn't a get-out-of-college-free card. It's a job. He's expected to keep up with his studies on his own, and he's taking his team and game time seriously.

If he doesn't get picked up in the pro draft, or take a contract somewhere else by the time he passes his twentieth birthday, he'll enroll at SUNY and get his degree.

Vera was a piece of those conversations. Not because his parents dislike her—he secretly thinks they might love her more than they love him—but because it's clear to anyone that this isn't just a typical teenage relationship. There's potential here, between them, for the future.

She must read the answer on his face because she says, "Right. I'll make sure to send your gift."

Inside his parents' house, the TV turns off and his mom's footsteps thud on the steps.

"Your season ends in April?"

Regulation play does, so he nods again.

"You'll be back in time for prom."

He can't tell if she's asking him like a question, or telling him like an invitation.

"We could go together after all."

An invitation.

One he can't accept.

"Vera." He has to swallow three times before it feels like his throat will cooperate.

"You're not coming back, are you?" This time it's not a question, and his stomach pitches.

He shakes his head. His apology tastes bitter on his tongue.

Her smile pitches and his stomach does, too.

"Maybe I can visit in the summer?"

The summer when he's going to be balls to the walls in training camps? No. There's a reason he has to do this now.

"Vera."

She jumps off the swing, leaving him to jerk back and forth on the chains. For a moment he's worried she fell.

"Don't," she says, holding her hand up as if to ward him off.

He takes a minute to unwind himself from the swing. When he reaches for her, she steps back.

It feels like a million smoke alarms are blaring in his brain. What was he doing again?

"Don't you dare break up with me. Not over this." She trembling with rage, eyes flashing even as a tear drips over the curve of her cheek.

"Vera."

She backs up again, and it feels like someone buried a skate blade in his chest.

"Why now?" She asks, wiping her eyes. "Why wait until the last minute? Why not dump me the minute you knew you were leaving?"

Why?

Maybe because he doesn't want to break up with her at all. Hespent months trying to find a way around it, but it was one thing to think about long-distance when he was going to be in Ohio. After Erik's diagnosis, and Vic's decision to quit, it made sense to contact the league, see if they could work something to keep at least one Varg brother on the roster. Wisconsin might as well be the moon for how far it felt to a teenager.

"Because I love you, and I—"

"No."

Her word echoes in his ears. He thinks it would hurt less to be slapped.

"You do not get to say that to me. Not right now." A sob wrenches from the center of her chest and she presses her hand to her sternum like it will dull the sting. "You do not get to choose hockey over me when I'm not asking you to choose. I have always supported you. Always. I always will, too. I don't mind being second place in your life for a while."

He knows. That's why this is so much worse.

Because for all the times she's encouraged him to play, let him talk about his NHL dreams, if he lets her follow him, then what will happen to hers? She wants to leave this town. She wants to see her name in lights, her pictures in magazines. She wants to travel the world. If they let this carry on any longer, she'll end up in Wisconsin with him. That sounds conceited, but it's not. He knows she'll follow him because if the roles were reversed, he'd do the same.

The only way to make sure she gets her dream is to cut this off at the knees. Now. Besides, they're just kids. Right? It's not like they were going to get married.

She's going to make it. He knows she will. She's too beautiful, too charismatic, too creative to not blow the world away. And maybe someday they'll cross paths again and he'll tell her why he sent her away. And maybe, if there's any sort of justice in the world, she'll tell him she still loves him beyond reason.

"Vera," he holds his hands out in supplication, his mind looping and twisting and making him dizzy. "Come here, please."

He wants to wrap her in his arms one more time.

"You know what?" Her shoulders push back and she lifts her chin. The tear tracks on her cheeks glow in the hazy light coming through the back door. "You're right. This is for the best."

She could have slit his throat with his skates, and it would have hurt less.

"You're leaving. I…will be leaving. Probably for New York City, or Los Angeles, or something like that."

He moves his chin in a jerky nod. Anything to show he supports her. He believes in her.

"Thank you for being my best friend, Robbie Oakes. I will always love you and I wish you all the best." She says the words as if she's reading them from a teleprompter, as if this isn't the end. Her hand appears in front of his eyes and he catalogues each line and the delicate curve of her wrist. She clears her throat, and he slides his palm against hers. One definitive pump up and down and her fingers go slack against his.

"For what it's worth," he says, desperate to get her eyes back on his. She's too busy staring over his shoulder to notice. "I really do love you, Vera. If I thought there was another way…"

She shakes her head to cut him off.

"I know you love me, Robbie Oakes." She leans in, pressing her lips to his cheek. "You're the best boy I know, and I can't wait to watch you win the Stanley Cup someday."

And then she's gone, not going through the house, but down into his yard and cutting through the hedges. Taking his heart with her.

Hours, or maybe minutes later, cool hands cup his wet cheeks.

"I know it hurts," his mom says. "I know how much you love her, but you're doing the right thing. You both need a chance to grow and chase your dreams."

He'll never stop loving her. He will feel this ache forever. He's sure of it.

"I know, baby."

He must have spoken his thoughts aloud because he's pressed to his mom's body, arms bracketed around him in a hug that feels like a noose. He doesn't deserve the comfort. He broke the best thing that ever happened to him.

And now he'll have to live without her. He'll have to work twice as hard to make his dreams come true. He can not have done this to both of them for no reason.

"You know she loves you too," his mom says, and he wants to block out her voice as much as he craves the validation. "I wouldn't be surprised if someday you two found each other again, but right now, you both deserve the chance to chase your dreams."

This might be the first time in his life he doesn't believe his mother.