Page 72 of Taking It To Overtime

At the end of the hall, the elevator dings and the door slides open. Arthur rushes out, hair standing on end, fingerings worrying the baseball hat he has clutched against his chest. I feel Vera relax against me. She takes the first deep breath I’ve witnessed since dropping her off this morning.

“Daddy.” She pulls out of my arms and latches onto her father, a kid seeking comfort from the parent they hope will put everything to right. Vera and her dad are the same height, but she snuggles into his chest, as if they aren’t on even footing. “Thank god you’re here. Mom fell and hit her head, but before that she—”

“It’s okay honey,” her dad squeezes her tight. “I’m here. I’ve got this.” And for once I’m willing to back off and let her dad take point here.

Because it’s one thing to find out her mother has Alzheimer’s. It’s another to learn she was the last to know. And she’s wrong. The hospital can’t do anything without her dad when he has power of attorney.

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. Heknowsher. 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 thisisn’t just a typical teenage relationship. There’spotentialhere, 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.”

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