Page 54 of Taking It To Overtime

“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’tforme. It was for you and your dreams.” She closes hereyes 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.

There are pumpkins everywhere. Pumpkins and the smell of cider and small children screaming in the corn maze. It’s finally chilly enough that she can pull out all the earth tones that best suit her skin, but not so cold that she needs a coat. No one needs to know she spent the entire week deciding which sweater would go best with her new suede ankle boots. The time was worth it for his reaction alone. He took one look at her, a smile on his stupid-cute face, and said, “woah” with the reverence he usually reserved for sports highlights.

This is her favorite season, when the leaves go crunchy red and brown and the air smells crisp and sweet. Like fresh apples and earth. He’s the one who told her that smell is actually the fallen leaves rotting, releasing something into the air, but she doesn’t care. She loves it. Even if that makes her just like all the other girls at school.

She tucks her bag over her shoulder, trying not to wince as it bounces off her hip. Her second-choice sweater might be stuffed in there, along with the book she’s almost finished reading, and three different body sprays. There’s also a rose pink lipstick that she borrowed from her mom. She wasn’t supposed to wear the dark eyeliner she’d smudged into her lower lashes.

This is stupid. She is being stupid. Robbie’s her friend. Herbestfriend. If he liked her, then she’d know by now. Right? He’d have told her? Made a move?

He was her first kiss, but he hasn’t tried for a repeat. She hasn’t heard about him kissing anyone else, either, but she also tries not to listen to the gossip. Just in case. The lack of chatter doesn’t mean he’s single, and even if it did, he hasn’t tried to hold her hand. He hasn’t tried to ask her out…

For a while she thought it was because she was still in middle school, but here they are, almost two months into her freshman year, and he still hasn’t given her any sign that her crush is anything more than one-sided. Which means her crush probablyisn’tanything more than one-sided.

His shoulder brushes hers, and she lets herself glance at his profile out of the corner of her eye. His hair is still too long, and he didn’t wear his signature hat today, so it’s falling across his forehead and shifting with the slight breeze. Her fingers tingle with the urge to reach up and push it back.

“Are the twins going to meet us here?” She didn’t remember him saying they would, but it’s rare that they spend any weekend apart. Especially when they don’t have a game.

“Nope.” This time, the back of his hand brushes hers. “Just the two of us.”

She hums the chorus of the eighties hit and feels a hiccup in her belly when he smiles. His grin always makes her stomach flip. They cut down an empty aisle, walking between two brightly colored booths, festive flags flapping between them. On their right, kids toss balls into a small trough, shouting whoops of joy as they win different prizes.

“Want to play?” He asks her, leaning in close until she can feel the words more than hear them.

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