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“My mom was right, Quinn.” Erik twines our fingers together. “I wasn’t happy about coming tonight. But I’m glad she made me.”
“It’s nice to support your family,” I say, hoping that I’m missing his point. Desperately wishing that I didn’t misread him. “Even though it also sucks to admit that the people pushing us are sometimes right.”
“Silly woman.” He shakes his head. “My brother has nothing to do with it. I’m glad I came because I met you.”
Good boy, I think. I just needed to be sure. Just needed another couple of seconds for the camera to catch up. I was banking on them being just stubborn enough to try again. Erik squeezes my hand just as I catch the two of us framed on the Jumbotron. He hasn’t noticed yet, and this time I don’t hesitate.
“I’m glad I met you too, even if this damn camera won’t leave us alone.”
Then I lean in and press my mouth to his, smiling into our first kiss.
Her lips are cool against mine, thanks to the chill from the ice, and I lean into the pressure of her kiss. I want to catalogue each individual feeling. The warmth of the breath escaping her nose and breaking over my cheek. The crackle of her curls as I slide a hand around the back of her neck to hold her to me. The silk of her skin under my fingers. She’s made up of a million textures and I could spend years exploring each one.
The sounds in the arena bleed away and all I can hear is the blood rushing through my ears and down my body to pool, heavy, between my legs. Her scent is everywhere, sunshine and roses overpowering the metallic ice of the rink and the sour tang of beer. I angle her head with the handI wind into her glorious curls and sweep my tongue along the seam of her lips. I just know she’s going to taste even better than I imagined. She opens just enough to release a little sigh, enough to give me the barest taste, and then she pulls back.
Quinn is whispering something as I chase her mouth with mine, pressing our lips together a second time. I swallow her words as I kiss her again. Her hand is on my chest, and I want her to slip it either up into my hair or down to my fly. I’m not picky. She leans into me for another searing heartbeat, two, and then she pushes me back again. I’m ashamed to admit that I almost lunge for her again as I watch her lips shape words I know I’m supposed to understand.
“Family. Friendly.” The four syllables clang around in my brain like single cymbals searching for their mates.
The noise from the crowd filters back into my awareness. There’s hooting, catcalls, and foot stomping. I glance up at the Jumbotron to find that we’re still there, putting on a show for The Stand. I can’t find it in myself to care. I try to locate the camera across the ice as I slide my arm behind Quinn’s back, cupping her shoulder and pulling her to my side. I feel every bit the caveman I appear to be.
As the players file back onto the ice, my brother looks up into the stands, ignoring the fans screaming his name. Vic grins at me and Quinn and I know he didn’t see us on the camera, but he can also count on one hand the number of times I’ve engaged in public displays of anything. I can’t resist pressing a kiss to the knit hat covering Quinn’s temple. Vic winks.
“Still feeling okay about giving me your number?” I ask.
Quinn’s mouth is kiss-swollen and red, her lips wet from my tongue as they split into a wide smile. “Yes,” she says, and I smile back.
Keep her,my brain whispers. It takes real effort to come up with any reasons I shouldn’t. I know they’re there. Nothing has changed, but every con has pushed to the farthest reaches of my brain as if hiding among my gray matter.
“I’m only here a couple more days, Quinn.” I hate breaking the cozy little bubble cushioning us, but I have to be sure she understands. I can’t offer more than this game, this night, maybe a few extra days. It’s not that I don’t want to. And maybe, if she’s willing to see me, we can get together whenever I make it to town. Except I don’t come to town. This time was an exception and long-distance relationships are hard on couples even with a solid foundation. I met Quinn less than three hours ago. We can’t be anything more to each other than a great memory, and I’m fine with that. I think.
I have a few more days before I fly home. Back to my high rise in Chicago, back to my practice, back to ignoring as much of the NHL as it’s possible to do in a hockey city during hockey season. I don’t come here often. I should. Or I should at least make more of an effort to visit. Try to spend more time with my mom, with my twin. Technically, I’m here for them this time. I’m in Quarry Creek as a favor to both of them, but it’s a favor that involves minimum face-to-face interaction. Remote relationships. They’re our new normal. Have been for years now.
I’m here to talk to a local hospital that is making a name for itself as a pediatric cancer center. Their oncology department is already well known, but they’ve seen a significant uptick in pediatric cases and want to provide the best possible care. They also have a serious hole when it comes to the mental health of their patients. Most pro athletes have a philanthropy cause, something they support and champion, something they raise money for. Money and awareness. It helps build ties to the community, helps paint the team and organization in a good light, and helps a worthy cause. These kids are my brother’s cause.
I agreed to help because it’s my area of expertise, and it meant seeing my family. Something that I rarely manage since Vic left Chicago. I’ve been consulting with the hospital board. Helping them create a new department for an in-house focus on the mental health support young patients need. It’s more complicated than shunting them off to other practitioners or into the psych department. Not that both don’t have their merits, but there needs to be more than that. A full-scale collaboration. Everyone putting these kids and their goals first. I’ll have at least a few more trips to help them straighten out everything they need in order to get things up and running, but the end goal is worth the legwork.
Now I’m thinking of how to draw things out a bit more so I can schedule a few more visits. Maybe she’d want to see me again. Is that too forward?
“Are you saying that as a brush off?” Quinn goes still under my arm, but she doesn’t let her smile slip.
“I’m saying that because I want to spend every minute I can with you, but once I leave, I can’t promise anything else.”
The blush starts on her throat and spreads up her cheeks like someone airbrushed it on. I think we might be on the same page. At least about the here and now. I think she wants what I’m offering. I hope she does.
One-night stands aren’t my MO, but I hope she wants this, too.
“I have to work tomorrow,” Quinn is watching the game like she follows hockey for her job. Can she hear my heart thundering in my chest? “When is your flight home?”
“Not until Sunday night.”
Friday doesn’t have to be an issue. I have meetings too. I can pick her up after school, take her to dinner. I wonder if she wears bright colors and clothes splattered in paint and sequins. I wonder if the kids call her Ms. Cooper or if she lets them call her Quinn. I wonder what her lesson plans are for the next day and what medium she prefers to teach. And despite the fucking hypocrisy of knowing I can’t make her any long-term promises, I hope she gives me the chance to find out.
“My dad’s in the hospital,” Quinn says, and I want to fold her into my arms at the hitch in her voice. “That’s why I’m here for him tonight. If he doesn’t come home tomorrow…well, I promised to bring him good food and entertainment every day until he does.”
“I understand.” I might not have the relationship with my family that she does with hers, but I get it. I do. I also understand what she’s not saying. She has weekend plans. Plans she is not about to drop for a stranger. I like that. Her care for her dad is an attractive trait. I still can’t help but push, just the tiniest bit. “Do you think you could fit me in for a coffee or something?” Anything? I’ll take anything.
“I can do that.” She says, and it feels like my heart skips a beat in my chest. “There’s a decent coffee cart at the hospital if you want—”
