One foot on the bus about half past nine
I knew that you were leaving this time
I thought about laying down in its path
Thinking that you might get off for that
I remember that night we laid in bed
Naming all our kids that we hadn't had yet
One for your grandma and one for mine
Said we'd draw straws when it came time

I'll move on baby just like you
When the desert floods and the grass turns blue
When a sailing ship don't need a moon
It'll break my heart but I'll get through
Someday when I stop loving you

I bet all I had on a thing called love
I guess in the end it wasn't enough
And it's hard to watch you leave right now
I'm gonna have to learn to let you go somehow
Somehow
Someday when I stop loving you
__

Staring at the heavy wooden doors before her, Veronica barely noticed as her mother picked errant strands of lint, smoothing her daughter’s dress. Chatter could be heard beyond the double doors just a foot from her fingertips, shuttered locks unable to hide away the notes of music straining from the violinists.

She studied the grain of wood, polished over years by the church’s staff, the variances like a lifeline telling stories Veronica wished she could somehow understand.

With a flourish the doors - keeping her from the day’s truth, the surreal-ness of the moment - whisked open, hundreds of eyes upon her. Her mother’s hand pulled Veronica’s elbow forward, down the aisle as everyone turned to face them.

It was exactly how Veronica pictured her wedding day. The faces of family, cousins, aunts, uncles - a lifetime of loved ones flown in across the country, gathered in one place. To say nothing of friends, the people she’d gone to grade school with, sorority sisters, all here, on her most important of days.

Through the slow motion, the hazy fog that seemed to envelop her, Veronica hoped for a freak accident - a lightning bolt, a chunk of plaster falling from the roof, striking her skull.

Anything to kill her on the spot, lest she meet the coffin at the end of the aisle.

As her mother nearly dragged her along the thick carpeting underfoot, the eyes of two hundred gathered for the funeral followed them. Each step forced Veronica to tell her legs to physically move, numbness spreading across her skin like an early winter frost.

What Veronica wasn’t prepared for was the feeling of…nothing. The music picked two days ago, from a list of songs Jeremy never listened to? Veronica didn’t hear it. The smell of flowers he’d never know the name of? Couldn’t smell them.

Even the box, the wood shell that carrying the last physical evidence of their lives together - Veronica’s green eyes floated over heavy coffin but didn’t register anything besides the dark mahogany, the chrome hinges that kept her fiancé locked away.

Like she could feel the panic pouring off her in waves, her mother wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. A kiss brushed somewhere in the copper locks before she tugged Veronica down into a seat in the front row, the room hushed into silence before the service began.

Her eyes flit around the room, from the minister whose voice filled the space, to the co-workers, friends, his family - people who knew Jeremy longer than Veronica did, those who’d become as much a part of her life as they were to him.

The numbness across her skin was so pervasive that she barely noticed the fingers curling around her own until they pulled tight. Veronica glanced down, before eyes snapped up - seeing Louis, Jeremy’s father next to her, a face as familiar as the man she was to marry, one she hadn’t noticed until the gesture he’d extended. In the moment, the universal gesture of grieving, Veronica couldn’t seem to notice anything besides the way his eyes were blood-shot, red from crying.

In the way her would-be father-in-law clutched her fingers, held tight to her hands, Veronica couldn’t help the jealousy.

Jealous of Louis, for his tears shed. Of her mother, who still had a husband at home, even if it wasn’t her own father. Of the minister, who would feel the pain for only another hour, before performing someone else’s wedding, a baby’s baptism.

Of everyone in the room who wouldn’t go back to the big, empty house in the suburbs. The forever house they’d planned on raising their children in, with a big porch and a swing for spending lazy Sundays sipping tea and reading the paper.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Veronica knew it was the moment she should be crying, waiting for the tears that never came. After all, how was it possible to feel anything when her heart had been ripped out, pulse halted just like Jeremy’s?

A few seats away, a woman’s sob choked out - Veronica’s eyes fluttered shut, imagining the sound as her own, matching the pain radiating from the hole in her chest.
__

Jamie heard the weeping near the front - immediately his eyes cast towards Veronica, expecting tears to be streaming down her heart-shaped face.

But she sat frozen, sitting stoically without movement, rigid as a board. From across the church he had a clear view of her face, the red hair falling past her shoulders in waves, simple diamond stud earrings that caught the late afternoon light.

Did he give her those?

An early wedding present, maybe an apology gift for being away so much? It was inappropriate to wonder, impossible not to.

“Jeremy was taken from us too soon, too fast – but today we remember him for the loving, kind, young man full of excitement and a zest for life,” the minister droned and the smiles of people around him, remembering the man - the friend, rather - Jamie had known since his first season in the league.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

On any given day the team would be practicing, preparing to head to Anaheim to kick off the Stars’ return first playoff run in six seasons. Maybe if the hockey ops team hadn’t pulled an all nighter before heading to California none of it would have happened. Maybe the drunk driver would have cabbed it home, instead of taking the route that lead straight into Jeremy’s sedan.

Instead the whole team was gathered at a funeral home, along with the entire management and front office - remembering someone ripped from their lives, their family, so suddenly.

Jamie all at once realized the sobs were coming from Jeanine, one of the receptionists at the American Airlines Center - Jeremy’s assistant. Planning the flights, buses, meals and hotel logistics for a team in the Western Conference of the National Hockey League was a beast of a job and aside from Veronica, Jeanine likely spent the most time with him.

Guilt coursed over the Stars captain like water, ebbing and flowing. It was hard not to feel as Jamie glanced between the faces of his teammates, their imposing physiques standing out like an army amidst the withering frames of grief.

The knowledge that each of the players on their team saw Veronica’s fiancé more than she did each day, that his work took him away more than it needed to - ate at Jamie as the minister waxed poetic about Jeremy’s love for his family, the friends who came to know him.

Instead, he thought of the mundane requests – for more tickets, a late hotel check out, to fly in a family member for a game – meaning he was away from her. The guilt was palpable on the features of Jamie’s teammates.

And still….it was Veronica’s face, a face devoid of tears, sorrow, pain and any other recognizable emotion, that drew him in. Squaring his shoulders, tilting his head, he could see through the church full of mourners straight to her face. She looked...numb. Like she’d simply trying to move through the motions to get through what Jamie could only imagine would be torture.

After the typical spread of squares and sandwiches with the crusts cut off, terrible coffee and strong drinks, everyone gathered would go back to their regular lives. Someone else tasked with managing the team logistics would replace Jeremy. The team would head to the airport, a plane bound for Anaheim.

Except for Veronica. Jamie thought of the big, empty house awaiting her - a place Jeremy hosted the Stars’ Christmas party the previous year, showing off the rooms they’d planned to fill with children and a lifetime of memories.

It’s in that moment that Jamie vowed - he won’t let her wither. Jeremy didn’t ask - who would have anticipated he’d be killed at 29 years old – but Jamie would do it anyway. He’s the leader of his team and Jeremy was a friend.

It’s the least I can do, he promised himself, stomach tying into knots.
__

The sight was completely out of place – black suits, black dresses, black on black on black. Even living in New York for two years couldn’t have prepared Veronica for the sight of so much of the color.

Not a color, Jeremy used to say, her walking encyclopedia. Black is the absence of light.

Kind of like her life now.

Even his co-workers – after years of being around the team, she was used to seeing them in suits, in dress shirts and ties. Every game saw them donning the monkey suits like they were playing dress up, so it should look normal.

Maybe it was the somber faces - everyone looked out of sorts, like they couldn’t wait to shake the family’s hand, down a drink, choke back a few hors d'oeuvres, before getting the hell out of dodge.

Veronica’s champagne flute was replaced with a fresh glass - in its place, dark amber liquid, tinkling with ice cubes. She examined the tumbler, mesmerized for a second by the way condensation beaded against her skin.

“Figured you could use something stronger,” the soft voice drew her attention upward, the color of the drink nearly matching his eyes. The half smile and gentle shrug of Jamie’s shoulders was a reminder that Veronica wasn’t the only one drowning in pain.

“Thanks,” she murmured, licking her lips before taking a sip of the strong, powerful alcohol.

It burned her throat but provided some moisture so she could at least pretend to hold a conversation with the people who came to remember Jeremy. Not uttering a word since being awoken from the drug-induced slumber by her mother had left Veronica’s throat raw. Or maybe it was thanks to the hysterical sobbing and screaming of her dreams?

“Scotch?” Veronica asked, the fire from the drink spreading across her chest, down her arms.

Just like being in his arms, her subconscious bleated.

The warmth she felt matched the look on Jamie’s face as he shook his head, taking a healthy swig from his own glass. “Rye,” he offered a small smile, lips pulling up at the corner of his mouth. “Thought the Canadian drink of choice might be appropriate.”

Veronica nodded; glad she was able to avoid the others in the room with a conversation as mundane as alcohol.

Better than the ones asking her what she would do with the house, whether she’d stay in Dallas, or the most popular question – would she keep wearing her engagement ring?

“Who the fuck serves champagne at a funeral?” she blurt out, suddenly struck by the serving choice. Jamie’s lips pulled back over white, straight teeth, a brilliant smile so out of place. He laughed, the dimple appearing in his cheek.

The sound felt like a slap to the face. Not that it was inappropriate or wrong or didn’t belong. It was simply that a week without laughter and the impending doom of a lifetime without it – without him – suddenly struck Veronica. The alcohol went to her head, like the air had been sucked out of the room.

“I, uh – sorry,” Veronica stumbled in the three-inch heels her mother insisted she wear, catching his arm in the process. She shoved the glass into Jamie’s free hand as the room spun, black spots appearing in her vision. “Sorry, I’m sorry – excuse me.”

Maybe she could expel this pain like a hangover, purge the sorrow from her system. Veronica turned and booked it as fast as possible towards the ladies room, the bathroom providing the only respite for her pain.
__

“Nice one, man,” Segs appeared behind Jamie, his voice devoid of the sarcasm usually lacing his every word. “Send the grieving widow running for the washroom.”

Benn stared at the tumblers in hand, Veronica’s marked with the remnants of her ruby lipstick on the rim. Turning to face his teammate, Jamie set the glasses on a nearby table before shoving both hands pockets – where they couldn’t choke him.

“I didn’t do anything,” Jamie hissed at Tyler, looking around to see if anyone noticed he’d sent Veronica running away. “And she’s not a widow – they weren’t married.”

The look on Seguin’s face said only thing only – are you fucking kidding me? Jamie instantly regret the choice of words. As if that mattered – like an extra ring on both their fingers and a piece of paper from the state of Texas would change how she felt, how the whole thing felt.

“Sorry,” Jamie muttered, glancing towards the bathroom where she’d probably locked herself away.

Taking a sip of his own drink, Tyler said nothing - the teammates stood together in silence, the weight of the air in the room heavy. Neither needed to say aloud at how fucked up the situation was, before one of them did it anyway.

“Jesus, 27 years old,” Seguin sighed, tossing back the last of his vodka, neat. “What do you think she’s gonna do?”

Jamie shrugged, not sure of the answer himself. How does one begin to rebuild a life when you’re still building the first? How do you disentangle yourself from someone when your lives have grown together like roots?

A waiter appeared with an assortment of mini quiches, which Tyler helped himself to. Across the room, Jamie saw a flare of red hair from the corner of his eye. Veronica emerged from the washroom, smoothing the front of her dress.

He stared for a second - the locks curled softly into waves, likely at the hand of her mother; the shaking hands smoothing the front of her black sheath; green eyes flicking nervously as she glanced around the room.

Enough checks into the board, pucks into the soft spots between his ribs - Jamie could recognize the telltale paleness that came with getting sick. He moved before his feet even knew it, barely hearing the words as he advanced away from Seguin.

All Jamie could see was the tremble of her lip, the clench of Veronica’s fingers around the small black purse, tight to her chest. He was across the room in seconds, the crowd seeming to part to let him through.

“You okay?” he breathed as his hand slid against Veronica’s waist, making her jump.

Veronica’s light eyes snapped up towards him - easy to see the panic that’d overtaken her. Jamie didn’t need an answer as he glanced around the room, seeing everyone too engrossed in small talk about Jeremy to notice them.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked quietly. Her eyes widened slightly and even though Jamie couldn’t deny he’d thought about it, it wasn’t what he meant. “Want me to take you home?”

She hesitated, a flurry of emotions passing over her porcelain skin. Veronica nodded and began moving towards the exit, as desperate to get out of there as the rest of the crowd packed inside had been since the service ended.

They didn’t tell anyone they were leaving, didn’t even stop to grab her jacket from the coat check. Not that it was needed in the April weather - Dallas spring had come fast and furious, flowers blooming across the city in spite Veronica’s despair.

Despite the balmy eighty-five degree temperature as they stepped into the fading evening light, Veronica shivered - as if she was suddenly, acutely aware of the void beside her.

“Here,” Jamie offered, slipping the suit jacket off his shoulders, distracting her.

Veronica blinked, fumbling with the silken strands of material enveloping her, the scent swirling in her nostrils. Good thing Jamie was the one to lead her to his car - she’d never have made it, too busy comparing the scent of his cologne to the one she’d known for years.

Door open, seatbelts on - not until the roar of the sedan’s engine came to life, carrying them away from the lot full of cars that Veronica spoke. Or shouted, rather.

“Not home,” she cried, the reality of what awaited her suddenly clear. Her eyes turned to him, full of fear. “I can’t…anywhere but there. I can’t go home, Jamie.”

His fingers burned with the urge to smooth the hair that’d been windswept from the walk to the car, cup her face to stop her teeth from chattering like she’s frozen, but he couldn’t.

She just lost the love of her life, for Christ’s sake, Jamie told himself.

Instead his hand moved from the gearshift to her forearm – as chaste a location as possible in cramped quarters.

“It’s okay,” Jamie tried to soothe her while still keeping his eyes on the road. “You just looked like you needed to get out of there.”

She shook like a leaf but it seemed to make her relax incrementally against the heated leather seat. Veronica leaned her head back, eyes closing as she pulled his jacket closer around her. Jamie wondered if it would be left with her perfume, the way her hair always seemed to smell like strawberries when he was close to her.

The drive from the funeral home to Jamie’s building took a good half hour and in the process he ignored the way the cell phone buzzed in pocket of his suit pants, probably multiple teammates wondering where he’d disappeared. A few glances toward the passenger seat - Jamie was relieved to find Veronica had dozed off, curled up like she hadn’t slept in years.

Only when he turned off the ignition did she stir, her mumbles incoherent. By the time Jamie made it around to the side of the car to open her door, Veronica blinked up at him, sleep and pain leaking into her eyes.

“Where are we?” she whispered, accepting his outreached palm to help her out despite the confusion. He told himself the way Veronica gripped his hand was simply because she was exhausted - literally.

“My place,” he quietly replied, tugging her towards the elevators. “I have a guest room – you can get some sleep, no one will bother you.”

He expected her to resist, saying she shouldn’t be here, that he should take her to a hotel – Jamie braced himself for it. Instead she followed him into the elevator, Veronica’s arms wrapping around the jacket that swam on her small frame. Eyes cast downward, her acquiescence surprised him - she must have really needed this.

“Thank you,” she whispered, hair in her face so he couldn’t see the eyes – the ones he’d been unable to get out of his mind for years.

Jamie led the way to his apartment, holding the door for her to pass. She and Jeremy had been there before – for Stars functions, when the team’s had gathered for previous playoff games.

This time, though, Veronica didn’t hesitate at the great room, the kitchen leading off of the dining room. She headed straight for the hall towards the guest room like she belonged there - Jamie’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.

He leaned against the doorframe as Veronica wordlessly pulled back the covers, kicked off her shoes and slipped into bed, his suit jacket still covering her shoulders.

Jamie moved to close the blinds on the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking out the view of downtown, the Trinity River, of the new season budding outside while devastation reigned in the guestroom of his home. Veronica pulled the blanket over her head as he padded across the carpet towards the door.

“'Night, Vee,” he whispered, before the door latched behind him.

He wasn’t sure she heard him, but it was enough for now.

Notes