Page 44 of Taking It To Overtime
I don’t regret making the choice I did. I don’t regret making the hard decision so webothcould make something of ourselves. She said she understood why I said no. Clearly it wasn’t true. I have to make her understand. It’s not that I didn’t want her with me. It’s just—
My phone rings.
I’m tempted to ignore it, to pretend I don’t hear the chime or feel the buzz against my thigh, but it stops and restarts with such viciousness it’s practically daring me to let it go to voicemail a second time.
“You should get it,” Vera says, sagging against the seat behind her. “It’s fine. This conversation was over anyway. It’s nothing we didn’t both already know. I guess I’m still tender.”
My phone rings again and Spags’ name scrolls across my phone. It was probably him on the call right before this one, too. It’s also five minutes past when I needed to leave to be back at the rink on time.
“Vera.” If I answer this call, we both know she’s going to slip out of this booth and hightail it away from me. I won’t be able to chase her down, gather her into my arms, and make her hear me. “I’m sorry.”
For the way this conversation is ending. For the way our relationship did sixteen years ago.
“You have to go, don’t you?” It’s a question and an answer all rolled into one. Yes. I have to go, but I’m coming back. Tonight. This conversation isn’t over.
“Vera.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish your lunch, but hockey always comes first.” She slips out of the booth, standing at the end of the table, and I try not to let my gaze linger on the smooth length of her thighs under the world’s shortest sundress. The last thing this conversation needs is my inappropriate and inopportune thoughts. I have the sneaking suspicion that if I reach for her, she’ll disappear like smoke in the breeze.
“Vera.”
“It’s okay, Robbie. I promise. It’s all stuff we already knew. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” She tucks her hair behind her ears and my eyes can’t help following the line of her throat. “I’m okay, and I’ll see you tonight for dinner. Kay?”
“You still want to?”
She studies me, like I’m a message written in ancient hieroglyphics. Then she smiles.
“Yes,” she says. “I still want to.”
I fucked this all up. I know I did, but at least she’ll let me try to set it right tonight.
Mol drops a cardboard to-go box on the table along with my check. I glance down the line items as I reach for my items and shake my head.
“Mol, why am I being charged for your new windows?”
“Because you shattered my front glass playing street hockey during the summer of ’02. Cost me a fortune getting those replaced.” My eyes narrow at Mol, who is doing her best sweet-old-lady impression.
Susannah Marsh’s fifth birthday party had taken over the block that weekend, and to avoid the dozens parked cars and the miniature horse that took an instant dislike to the bright greentips Vic had dyed into his hair—it tried to rip the strands out with its blunt yellow teeth—the Varg’s, Vera, and I had been forced to move our game to Checkers’ parking lot.
There had indeed been a rogue shot that took out the glass front door and most of the little vestibule. It had been impressive in its speed, if not its accuracy, especially since it hadn’t been me or either of the twins who’d been the proud owner of that slap.
I hold my black card out to Mol and drop my wallet down on the table.
“That shot was Vera, and everyone knows it.” Or they donow. It was a well-guarded secret for years.
“Yes, but she tried to cover the cost today, and we both know you’re the kind of guy who pays for his girl.”
I am.
“You remember the maple syrup incident?” I can’t resist asking, and when Mol’s mouth drops open in shock, I throw my head back and laugh. “Yep. Who’d have thought little Vera Novak capable ofthat?”
This time Mol laughs, too. “Who’d you think paid for my new floor?” She cackles, hair quivering under the fluorescent lights, and I can’t help my own smile.
“So between the roof a few years back, the new floor, your new kitchen, the air system, and the windows….”The new siding, paint, neon…
“If not you, then her. You two practically own this place with all the work you’ve both financed. My darling investor team.”
I practically float out the door and back to the rink. Because I’m not sure if Vera’s realized it yet, but I have. She’s slowly, but surely, setting down new roots. Like maybe she plans to stay awhile.
