All of the Stars

If anything, the numbness was a reprieve - a way to avoid the if/then questions that’d been plaguing her since Jeremy’s death, like the ones on the Teacher’s Licensing exam.

If Veronica kept everything numb, then she wouldn’t have to acknowledge things were real. If she returned to the empty house waiting for her, then she’d have to face the constant reminders of Jeremy, of the life they’d once lived together.

Like the toothbrush he’d never use again; outdated magazines on the coffee table, kept years past their publication date; even the shoes he’d kick off at the front door, that she was always lecturing him to put away.

God, what she would have given to be able to nag him just once more.

On the morning after the second-worst day of Veronica’s life, of all the places she thought of waking up - a hospital, the alley behind a seedy bar, or not at all – it wouldn’t have been the room her eyes flicked open in.

The physical presence of living with someone is overwhelming when ripped away, like taking off a Band-Aid too quickly. After years of waking up with Jeremy beside her, of missing him when he was away with the team on long road trips, Veronica suddenly realized how much of him was everywhere: his water glass on the nightstand, the smell of his cologne on their sheets, leftovers in the fridge from a restaurant he went to the night before he died.

She woke the morning after the funeral in an environment absent of anything familiar. A place strangely comforting to not be home, in that house all alone, in a bed that suddenly seemed all too big by herself.

But the guest room, with its matching comforter and pillows that screamed a woman helped him decorate – a girlfriend, probably his mother – was so devoid of personality, of anything recognizable that Veronica suddenly panicked.

Flipping back the covers, tiptoeing across the carpet, quiet as a mouse as she moved through his apartment, hoping to avoid Jamie at all costs. It was clear she shouldn’t be there, in his home. She shouldn’t have stayed – and needed to get out immediately. But fishing through her purse, Veronica realized - Jamie drove her, from the funeral home.

Sighing, she flopped onto the leather sofa in the adjoining living room, tugging a blanket hanging over the back around her frame. Somehow the sofa was of greater comfort than the bed she’d slipped into unconsciousness the night before - out here it felt possible to breathe, where she wasn’t reminded of everything missing. Flitting in and out of sleep, her eyelids fell heavy on weary eyes for a few hours.

Legs stretched out over the chaise, Veronica’s green eyes cast out across the floor-to-ceiling windows lining Jamie’s home. The city was just waking up, light casting shadows along the buildings surrounding the high-rise.

It was for this reason that so many chose to live out in Dallas’ suburbs, the wide-open spaces creating a feel of freedom - the downtown life could make one feel claustrophobic. But for Veronica, the steel towers seemed to be one more layer designed to keep the world - and reality - away.

The scotch she found in Jamie’s liquor cabinet was doing a mighty fine job of that, too. She glanced around, the silence of the space making her wonder where Jamie was - asleep? Practice?

For the moment, the anxiety, the demons were tamped down, thanks to the dark liquid which seeped down her throat. Veronica praised herself for the incremental improvement – at least she wasn’t insisting on lying in pitch darkness like she had since last Wednesday.

Wednesday. The day everything suddenly divided into before and after with that one phone call, the looks on the faces of the emergency room doctors who told her they’d been unable to save Jeremy’s life.

Instantly her life had been cleaved into distinct halves – before, like the last time they’d made love, the last road trip of the regular season. After, when Veronica frantically searched for razors, pills, rope – anything to end it all immediately. Before, the day he died when she’d been on the phone as he’d left in the morning, waving goodbye to Jeremy as he walked out the door rather than saying I love you. After, the morning her mother found Veronica in hysterics on the floor of the bathroom before leaving for Jeremy’s funeral.

A key scraping in the lock distracted her. Veronica tried to conceal the drink, realizing the futility of her actions - the bottle of alcohol was in plain sight, laid out on the coffee table before her.

Instead, she smoothed her tangled hair, sitting up straight - anything to look like less than a complete disaster.

Jamie kicked the door closed behind him, toeing off trainers that went flying into a closet. A hat sat atop the strands of dark hair, pushing the locks out of his eyes. It did everything to display the softness of his face, the careful arch of his eyebrows - that face couldn’t tell a lie.

His attire alluded to where he’d just been, straight from practice: track pants, a zip-up Stars hoodie with his number embroidered on the shoulder - number fourteen, close to his heart. Veronica watched from her position of obscurity, clutching the glass close to her chest, as Jamie flipped through the mail, tossing envelopes onto the island and dumping the junk flyers into the recycling bin under the sink.

So responsible, even with his mail – Jeremy once told Veronica the captain was the most dependable, most capable player on the team.

Jamie would do anything to protect those guys, he’d told her. You won’t find a better guy than him.

If Jeremy were here, she’d tell him he was right – anyone else would have let her wilt like a flower at the funeral. Instead Jamie swooped in just as he’d been doing lately with the team – the overtime hero saving the day.

Newspaper in hand, Jamie could feel eyes on him - his gaze flicked up, seeing Veronica huddled on the sofa. Instantly it felt as though she’d invaded his personal space, like overstaying her welcome. Her shoulders hunched as she shrunk into the soft fabric of the couch, glancing down before their eyes met.

“Hi,” he breathed.
__

Jamie was used to seeing her dolled up – dressed to the nines for the Stars’ Christmas party last year in a silver sequined dress, hair curled in soft waves and heels so high they made her legs seem to go on forever.

He’d also seen her game-day uniform, down in the tunnels so often it seemed like she was a part of the family – a Modano jersey and skinny jeans, complete with black-heeled boots; a sight that always made him grateful for hockey pants.

But there was something about the way she blinked at him from across the room – hair mussed, eyeliner smeared from sleep, blanket pulled around her like a cocoon. Something so raw about way she shrunk into the pillows, glass of something strong in her hand - his heart squeezed at the sight of her.

You’re beautiful, Jamie wanted to say.

“Hi,” he managed instead, like all the air had been compressed out of his lungs.

“Hi,” Veronica mumbled sheepishly, moving to rise off the sofa like she felt out of place. Her fingers fumbled as she folded the blanket, setting it neatly on the couch. Again his mind wandered to the place where he thought about the scent of her hair, any remnants of her perfume on the soft material of the throw.

“Nice outfit,” he joked, trying to keep her at ease, making light of his suit jacket she’d slept in - that would need more than a few steamings at the cleaners to get the wrinkles out.

Still clad in the black dress that skimmed along her curves, Veronica had paired the garment with what looked like a pair of the knee-high socks handed out by the team, running all the way up underneath her skirt.

“Sorry,” she sighed, slipping off the jacket and laying it on the arm of the sofa. “I snooped – pantyhose doesn’t keep you very warm.”

He shrugged, as if to let her know it was all good – Jamie would get a lifetime supply of the socks sent over if it made her feel welcome, like Veronica could come to his place when she needed to. They stared at each other for a second too long – she broke the silence first.

“Sorry I’m still here – I didn’t know…” she apologized again, avoiding his gaze, instead focusing on the bottle of scotch and empty glass on the table next to her. “I’ll definitely pay you back for this – and cleaning the jacket.”

Like the moment at the funeral, Jamie couldn’t help it - he laughed. The thought was so absurd – that she should be apologizing for still being there, that she’d offer to pay him back for a bottle of scotch he didn’t even know was in the liquor cabinet.

Again she stared at him like he’d called her mother a bad name, like Jamie said something to offend her – maybe he had. It suddenly occurred to him that the sound of laughter might be so foreign that Jamie cut his snicker short and was back to watching her like a wild animal - like any sudden movements would send her over the edge.

“Sorry – it’s just, you don’t – don’t worry about it,” he motioned to the bottle that Veronica’s delicate fingers slipped around, other hand reaching for the glass before she made her way toward the kitchen. “I don’t even know who brought that over here.”

They regarded each other for a millisecond before speaking in unison.

“Seguin,” voices answered at the same time. A grin spread across his face and he swore the hint – a brief flash – of a smile briefly crossed Veronica’s face before disappearing again.

Still grinning, encouraged by the minute progress, Jamie moved towards the fridge, his stomach growling from the hour-long practice he’d just endured.

“Have you eaten anything?” he turned towards Veronica, in the process of refilling her glass with more of the amber liquid she’d clearly been imbibing all morning. “I can whip up an omelet or something.”

Shaking her head, she instead held up the glass.

“Breakfast,” the bitterness laced Veronica’s voice, red hair falling across high cheekbones as she cast her eyes downward to to avoid what was sure to be a disappointed look on Jamie’s face.

“Vee...” he couldn’t help it - the nickname or the lecturing. It came with the territory of being captain of the team, of looking out for a legion of guys. “You need –”

“Stop,” she interrupted him - the first time in a long while that Jamie had seen the fire in her that he knew so well. “Please, Jamie – I’ve had enough people telling me what I should do or what I need and I just…”

Jamie didn’t wait to hear the rest of the words, before he was around the island, pulling Veronica against his chest. One hand slid through her thick mane of hair, the other rubbing her back, hoping to tame the way her breath had seemed to ratcheted to near hysteria.

“Sorry, Veronica. I’m sorry,” he whispered against her ear, feeling guilty all over again. Jamie held her close, trying to keep his thoughts from the salacious in the vulnerable moment.

They stood encircled for what felt like an eternity, as her arms slipped around his waist, face buried against his chest. Only when Jamie fell silent did he realize she was hiccupping, her small shoulders shaking.

He pulled back, peeling Veronica away from him, to see tears streaming down her face, leaving tracks of makeup in their wake.
__

No need to tell him – or anyone else, Veronica told herself, watching the streets of Dallas fly by.

There wasn’t a reason to tell a soul that the first time she physically shed tears about Jeremy – let alone a flood of waterworks – was pressed up against Jamie, the scent of clean boy and soap and aftershave a reminder of what it was like to regain the most basic of senses.

She sighed, leaning her head against the window, the glass’ cold a painful reminder of the direction they were headed. Silence stretched between them, overladen with music that flowed from the speakers of the car’s sound system.

With you I've loved, but how love goes?
How love goes?
How it goes?
With you I built a tower,
With you it stretched to the sun,
But how it crumbles?
How is gone
With you my voice would carry and drift on through the air,
But how it falls us when you're not there

The big, leafy green trees seemed to dance as they sped past, towards the suburb where the empty house stood. Veronica’s eyes flitted shut, against the words that seemed to stab at her with every bleat, against the rhythmic guitar and soulful croons.

You hold me close
As I fell through your arms
You hold me close
As I fell through your arms
And you hold me close
As I fell through your arms

I wouldn't watch you go and leave all that we know
But love's so hard to hold
'Cause I wouldn't watch you go and leave all that we know
But love's so hard to hold

Suddenly, Veronica’s eyes snapped open – her mother. Jeremy’s father. A list of family that’d been staying at the house or stopping by since the accident.

“Fuck,” she cried, catching Jamie’s attention and a worried look that crossed his face as he kept an eye on the road. “I didn’t tell anyone where I went yesterday. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

As if on autopilot, Veronica’s fingers managed to slide the phone out of her purse. She noticed there wasn’t a missed call, email or text, before Jamie’s voice filled the empty space of his Mercedes.

“I called the house,” he whispered quietly, carefully choosing his words. “I talked to your mom – told her you were staying with a friend and that you wanted me to let her know.”

Again, she couldn’t help but blink at him – it was a ballsy move, that’s for sure. Anyone could have seen them leave together and of all people, her mother would have been the one to immediately assume the worst - that there was something going on.

Which there isn’t, Veronica told herself, observing Jamie’s profile from the passenger seat. Obviously.

She didn’t know Jamie. Besides the time she’d spent with him, with Jeremy, through the team, and the way he’d taken care of her in the last twenty-four hours, it'd demonstrated that his captaincy of the Stars was more than well-deserved. But all this?

“Why are you doing this?” she blurt out, praying the words wouldn’t sound too harsh as they sprung from her lips. Apparently losing Jeremy caused Veronica to lose her filter too – she practically told her Aunt Mildred to fuck off at the funeral, after she'd insisted Jeremy’s death at such a young age was a blessing in disguise, because there was still time to find a new husband.

“Sorry, that was a bitch thing to say,” she explained as he smirked, Jamie’s lips pulling up at the corner before the grin spread across his face. “I mean, you’re going out of your way to help me. You don’t have to.”

All evidence of Jamie’s good mood faded as he stared at the pavement before them, his jaw twitching as he pondered an answer. He was silent so long Veronica wondered if he’d heard her at all, or if he was allowing reprieve from the callous comment.

“He was my friend,” Jamie cleared his throat, choking out the words. Dark eyes glanced her way, guilt seeping in at the edges. “Seriously, it’s the least I can do.”

Puzzled by his response, the emotional response, Veronica could only stare. It wasn’t much of an answer, but it would have to suffice for the moment, as she turned her attention to the driveway, his car pulling across the interlocking stone.

The house had been Jeremy’s idea. Growing up in Colorado, Veronica had set her sights on the Big Apple for college, before criss-crossing across the country with stops in Chicago and Austin, finally settling in Dallas. It was where she’d met Jeremy on a blind date, two years earlier. Still, she’d practically choked on her spicy tuna roll at his suggestion that they move to the suburbs. Never had Veronica thought that over a sushi dinner, Jeremy would have dropped the bomb of his dreams for quieter living, that he’d found a house they’d both love.

She’d been one of those who swore she’d never give up her Manolos for minivans, trading the Sex and the City lifestyle for swing-sets and sandboxes. But the second she’d stepped into the four-bedroom, three-thousand square foot home with an open floor plan, walk-in closet, gourmet kitchen and backyard big enough for a pool - Veronica was sold.

It was easy to picture life in the house with Jeremy – he was a few years older, a lot more responsible than the other guys she’d been with, loving and capable. Add in a couple of kids and it seemed picture perfect.

The dream, however, tacked on an hour-long drive to the inner-city school she taught third-grade at, cramped with thousands of other commuters on the interstate, headed for the city. It took a daily reminder to tell herself it was worth it.

The house now standing before Veronica was like a labyrinth – hard to believe just a week earlier she’d adored coming home to the house they’d built together.

In the silence Jamie waited - ignition off, seat belt unbuckled - for her to make the first move. Veronica’s fingers clutched the door handle with a vice grip and she could taste the bile rising in her throat.

“Veronica,” his voice startled her, his fingers sliding across her free hand. His touch was as much a juxtaposition in the warmth as in size - Veronica’s gaze flew up to meet his eyes, caramel-coloured and soft at the corners. “You can do this.”
__

The first thing Jamie noticed is how much she looked like her mother.

Sharon was waiting as Veronica twisted open the lock of the big, heavy door. Warm air greeted them, the scent of freshly-baked bread swirling in the air as they stepped into the house.

The friendliness, however, ended there.

Veronica’s mother immediately enveloped her, the only difference between them being grey hair showing at Sharon’s temples and slightly aged hands that slid around her daughter’s back. Lips kissed her temple before they broke apart, turning to regard Jamie, the almost stranger in the foyer of Jeremy’s home.

“Mom, you remember Jamie from the service,” Veronica said slowly, a refresher for her mother, who must have met dozens of men in suits yesterday, all looking like the same, one after another.

“Yes – thank you for calling,” Sharon murmured pointedly to him, like she didn’t need her daughter’s reminder. There was something icy in her eyes, hard behind the words that should have sounded kind. “It was good to know Veronica spent the night at a friend’s place.”

Jamie tried not to dwell on the way she murmured friend – like a directive, an order to color within the clear lines. His head nodded and he accepted Veronica’s offer to take the denim jacket he’d donned for the ride over, her insistence that he stay for coffee.

Following Sharon into the kitchen, it was plain to see who was in charge as the matriarch explained that the aunts, uncles and cousins who had flown or drove in for the funeral had left.

Jamie couldn’t help keep his eyes off Veronica’s face at the news, the crease between her eyebrows. He’d watched her features, tried to keep his glances unobtrusive for years, but even in the moment he was unable to tell if she was disappointed or relieved – on one hand, less people to pepper her with questions; on the other, reminders that she was actually alone.

The traditional-style kitchen was the same where Veronica and Jeremy hosted the team for a party last Christmas, but the difference was instantly evident – the room felt cold, empty, lifeless.

“When do you have to leave, Mom?” Veronica leaned a hip against the island, protectively folding both arms over her chest. She seemed to be a stranger in her own home, like she didn’t want to touch anything for fear of breaking.

Her mother reached for the mugs in the cupboard next to the stove, moving to pour the steaming liquid that’d been brewed in the coffee machine. She flitted between the fridge and island effortlessly, an assortment of cream, milk and sugars appearing before Jamie.

Veronica waited until her mother’s back was turned to slip some whiskey in her cup, swiped from a Mickey conveniently in a cupboard. Green eyes met Jamie’s and his heart pounded as she winked, a secret kept between them.

“Two days – my next shift at the hospital isn’t until Saturday,” Sharon explained, doing her best to avoid looking in Jamie’s direction. “Honey, you’re still wearing the same clothes as yesterday – why don’t you go change?”

Mother knows best – Jamie knew from personal experience. Veronica nodded before wordlessly setting her mug on the counter, slipping from the kitchen and leaving Sharon with the man who’d stolen her daughter away for a night.

“Thank you again for calling last night,” Sharon repeated the second her daughter is gone, sliding onto a stool a few seats away from him. “We were so worried when Veronica disappeared yesterday – it’s so unlike her.”

Again the edge crept into her voice - Jamie was immediately defensive of her, protective of the girl who had never been his, would never be.

“Well, I imagine this whole situation is unlike anything she’s ever been through before,” he tried to keep his voice even, remembering the tips the Stars media team taught him, to keep from falling into the tricks of reporters. “She looked like she was desperate to get out of there, like she needed some air.”

Sharon watched Jamie for a moment, those same emerald eyes as Veronica’s carefully regarding him. She pursed her lips before speaking, stirring her coffee.

“You know, Veronica loved Jeremy very much,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not sure she’ll ever be able to move on from this.”

The words hung in the air, clear as day: keep out.

A repeat from the previous afternoon, in the funeral home when he acted first and thought later, the sound of Jamie’s chair scraping on the tile floor was the only sound in the room. He only realized it at the front closet, away from the godforsaken woman known as Veronica’s mother and her accusations. No one was perfect - not Jamie, and certainly not Jeremy - but he wouldn’t tolerate her laying indictments when no crime had yet been committed.

“You’re leaving?”

Veronica was descending from the front stairs when he closed the closet door, yanked his jacket from a hanger like his life, his freedom depended on it.

The hurt in her voice stopped him in his tracks - deep down Jamie couldn't help but feel like he’d once again let her down. Turning to face her, coat in hand, he sucked in a breath. Black leggings wrapped around her lean legs, a long striped sweater that looked soft enough to spend a day snuggled up with, and that face: russet locks that fell a few inches past her shoulders, a cleft chin, light eyes that watched him carefully.

“Yeah, I have to go,” he glanced at his watch, tearing his gaze away. He hurried to tug the denim jacket over his broad shoulders, as if the plane taking the team to California left in an hour and not a few days. “I have a ton of stuff to do before we fly out.”

Veronica tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, biting a lip before meeting Jamie’s face again. Her eyes were so clear, so honest – it stole his breath again.

“I meant it before, Jamie – what I said,” she whispered, taking a step closer. “Thank you.”

Her arms were around him before he knew it - instinctively Jamie glanced towards the kitchen where no doubt her mother was eavesdropping. The warmth from her embrace, her curves pressed against him, was intoxicating - it took everything in him to pull away.

“Look, I want you to have something,” Jamie murmured softly, so only Veronica could hear. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pressed the object into her hand, the metal digging into her hand. “If you need a place to stay, anytime, you know where to go.”

Veronica stared at the key for a long second, before her eyes flicked up to meet his. Once again the tears were back - she couldn’t help it. Something about being around him made her feel safe, like she could let go, feel everything she needed to.

The look in Veronica’s eyes made Jamie want to stay forever but instead he slipped out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

“Bye,” he whispered to himself, before he could do anything he’d later regret.

Notes