Page 78 of Taking It To Overtime

She sets the swing moving again and curls into the wooden back. “How was the scrimmage?”

“Green team won,” I say. “Spags kept the group on task and focused, and he made sure to get the play on film so I can review the tapes.”

“Not such a screw up after all.” She bumps her shoulder into mine.

I never thought he was a screwup. It’s virtually impossible to get all the way to the NHL, and survive your first season, without some amount of focus and drive. But I will cop to thinking him young, brash, hot-headed. I can also admit that I was wrong.

“When do you report for training camp?”

Camp starts at the end of September, but I like to get back into my routine by the beginning of the month.

“I go back next week,” I tell her and she frowns.

“I doubt I can get all my ducks in a row that fast.”

We won’t see each other again. That’s what she’s telling me. This is the end of our relationship, our last goodbye. My stomach heaves.

“Can I come visit you in Quarry Creek?” She asks and my head snaps up in surprise.

“Visit?” And shit, that didn’t sound encouraging. Not at all.

“Are you going to tell me not to?”

Her face is open, honest, but her eyes are guarded. Probably because the last time we were here, talking about the next steps, I shut this avenue down as fast as humanly possible.

“No,” I say, then panic that I didn’t answer right. “I mean yes. I mean…please. Come visit me. I know you hate to fly.”

Her laugh quiets my jangling nerves.

“And I know you don’t make it home at all during the season. I have dated a hockey player before. I know a little about your schedule.”

All I can see are the photos from five years ago, Corey Metdler’s arms around her waist, dark sunglasses on even in the dim light of some trendy club. I grind my jaw, trying to wipe the image clean. The saving grace is how short-lived their relationship was. I don’t think they even made it the entire summer.

“You dated him in the offseason. It’s not the same.”

She frowns, brows screwed up in concentration, and then her head tips back, hair spilling around her shoulders as she laughs. Not a chuckle or a giggle either, a belly cackle that sends an innocent bunny darting for cover out on my parents’ lawn.

“I didn’t know your eyes were green.” She teases and I frown. Of course I’m jealous. Haven’t I made myself clear? For sixteen years, I haven’t been able tolookat another woman. I couldn’t for the eight years before that either. Vera is it for me. Even if I’m not it for her. “I meant you, dummy, not what’s his name?”

“Corey Metdler. A defenseman for L.A.”

She leans her head on my shoulder. “You might know more about him than I ever did.”

“We didn’t date after I was drafted,” I say, my brain stuttering to catch up, and she grins up at me. My heart rate triples.

“I still followed you. Still know how intense your season gets.”

“I can’t ask you to wait around for me.” The words are bitter, even as I say them. “I have another year on my contract. I’ve been thinking about retiring, coming home anyway, but that’s still at least another season away.”

She shrugs. “You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

My heart skips a beat and I choke on my saliva.

“You’re sure?”

“Robbie, I’m not going to insult either of us by asking if you’re trying to tell me you aren’t interested. I know you are. Ialso know that you waited the last sixteen years for me. I can handle one.”

“You’re sure?” I ask again, even though I don’t want to give her an out. I want to box her up and take her with me. Stick her in my duffle—with a gas mask so the stench doesn’t kill her—and bring her back to Quarry Creek.

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