All of the Stars

Jamie thought about the kiss before he woke up.

Laying in bed, specifically, arms stretch towards the place where Veronica had once lay. With his eyes closed, the memory of the night before was ever more clear, a memory he’d replayed a billion times in his brain.

It had been her who had stepped down to kiss him, so their faces were aligned in the moment before it happened. Veronica who had slid her fingers into Jamie’s hair, her eyes falling shut as lips pressed against his.

He couldn’t get it out of his mind: the soft pad of her lower lip, the curve, the insistence, as she pressed against him. Her breath was sweet, the taste of vanilla gum making him dizzy.

Of course, Jamie wasn’t immune to the human response, particularly when a beautiful girl reached out and kissed him. His own hands had found their way underneath the leather coat Veronica had donned after the game, his fingers chastely below her breasts, resting comfortable on her ribcage. Her cream sweater she had been just as soft as he imagined it might be.

He had been surprised, almost to the point of pulling away, when her tongue slid over his. Of the gasp of her breath evident as Jamie drew her closer.

The thought of her perfume, swirling in his nose; the softness of Veronica’s sweater, under the pads of his fingers; he was intoxicated, had been since the moment it happened. But it was the gasp of her breath that stayed with him, long into the night.

As Jamie’s eyes fluttered open, his fingers brushed the pillow, the space where Veronica had laid her head the night months before. It had been here, in his room, in his arms, that their first kiss had been shared.

Wherein Veronica had been paralyzed by the memory, the nightmares that she had told him about. But it had taken seeing it - and feeling it - to know how terrifying it must have been for her.

She had started twitching, her legs kicking Jamie’s on the edge of the bed. Then her arms had flailed, back and forth, like she was trying to shake herself awake. And finally, she whimpered.

It had pulled Jamie fully from his slumber, sliding across the mattress towards Veronica. Even asleep, where reality couldn’t harm her, she sounded petrified. 

His arm had brushed her hair, his touch trailing across Veronica’s forehead. Those ginger locks, tousled from days without showering, tangled in his fingers. It did little to stop her thrashing, as the whimpers became cries.

Wasn’t there an old wives’ tale about not waking someone in the midst of a nightmare? Or maybe it was sleepwalking? Jamie wasn’t sure, but somehow he knew the only way her cries would end was with waking Veronica up.

His arm had wrapped around her shoulder, bicep flexing to still her. Her eyes had fluttered, face twisting towards his. Jamie held his breath, only to lose it completely, when Veronica pressed her lips against his.

Jamie had froze, holding tight to the girl he’d dreamed about for years, finally in his arms the way he had imagined it. It had lasted only a second, before her lips fell away, uttering one word.

“Jeremy,” she had breathed, more of a sigh.

His heart had sunk. It had been clear that Veronica had been dreaming of someone else, but to feel her lips against his, a small part of him hoped it was for him. Only to be disappointed yet again.

Now, however, Jamie blinked open his eyes, assured that the memory of the night before had been all real, that he hadn’t imagined it. The feel of her lips had been the same; the smell of her hair, brushing against his face, the same.

It had been Veronica had met him eye-to-eye, her eyelids fluttering shut. The way her tongue had brushed the soft skin of his lip, just inside his mouth. He was sure it had been for him, not a figment of her memory like the first time they had kissed.

Or at least, Jamie thought he was.

She had come out of nowhere, disappearing after the last few months. Veronica hadn’t revealed where she had gone, what she had done, just upped and left, suddenly reappearing in his life. Even though that gasp had been all hers, Jamie couldn’t help but worry that it might happen again, that he might fall for her all over again, only for Veronica to leave.

What if….he thought, sitting straight up in bed. His mind hesitated.

He was afraid to consider it, that she might have feelings for him too. The kiss could have been a ruse, a flip instinct after spending the evening at the arena. So many memories were wrapped up in the place, for both him and Veronica. After all, it had been the source of everything with Jeremy, the constant reminder of her loss.

Could the kiss just have been little more than nostalgia for the way things used to be?

Jamie swung his legs onto the carpet next to his bed. Face in his hands, he couldn’t stop his mind from working overdrive, the same way it did out on the ice. The way he overanalyzed every play, wanted to redo each shift to undo the errors made.

Standing up, he strode towards the kitchen, where his laptop sat on the granite island.

He wouldn’t be an error. What happened between them wouldn’t be an error. If Veronica really did have feelings for him - or if she didn’t - he was determined to find out.
__

Veronica’s hands cut through the water, pushing her upwards to take a breath and then diving back down. With each stroke, she moved closer to the end of the pool, another lane completed.

Two more to go, she thought as her hand pushed off the tiled wall, sending her underwater and back the other direction.

With school wrapped up for the day, the pool had been her first thought of solace, the place where she could focus on the exertion of swimming without her thoughts drifting elsewhere.

….Straight to Jamie.

She had thought of the kiss before even waking up, dreaming of the way his breath had swept across her cheek. Of the way his hair had felt in her fingers, spiky on the sides, soft strands swept from his forehead sliding across her palm.

The memory had stayed with her throughout the day: dressing in the morning and pouring a cup of coffee down the front of her dress; driving to school, missing a four-way stop; avoiding Shannon like the plague, lest she have to spill both her feelings and a recount of the evening. There would have been no way she could have kept it away from her friend.

Particularly when the thought of his teeth, raking gently across her lower lip, still made Veronica blush. Or the way Jamie had pulled her close, that hint of aggression making her gasp when he’d kissed her.

Her thoughts had raced to the end of the story, to pulling him inside and--

Stttttttttttttttoooooooooooppppppppp, Veronica told herself, lips sputtering in the pool water.

She stood at the end of the pool, trying to catch her breath. The laps had done her in, and thinking about Jamie - which she had hoped to avoid - wasn’t helping matters. Not that there was any point, after what had happened.

She works hard, does it all without complainin'
She believes, that sacred things don't need explainin'

Veronica was suddenly distracted by the music playing through the speakers, providing ambient noise as the other swimmers paddled their laps. Her mind cued onto the lyrics, cutting like a knife.

And the mind is elevated
Though the body, devastated
The inner life of sweet sacrifice
And with nothing but a needle and a knife

“Ugh,” she muttered, sinking into the pool and letting the water cover her shoulders.

Only a lonely love can devour you
But when when you're lonely, the same love empowers you

Veronica was convinced it was a mistake.

It had been the first thought upon stepping into her home, alone, as Jamie had whispered goodnight. He had been the one to pull away, the look on his face as though he’d just downed a carton of ice cream, but the words saying otherwise.

She foresees, apocalyptic curse will open
She believes, in something she can put her hope in

The kiss had been a risk, for sure. Her heart was still ravaged over Jeremy, and stepping into the arena had only made it worse. A part of her yearned for the days of past, when she would attend games with him up in the suite or down on the ground, in the bowels of the arena. Watching the Stars play had only served as a reminder of what she was lost.

But there was another part, the one that flared like a spark in her stomach, when she saw Jamie grin at her from the ice. The dimple in his cheek had served like a punch to the gut, same as it had when he’d come striding towards her and Shannon after the game.

it's the holiest fixation
And it's taken cultivation
A pioneer in a foreign land
She's devoted to a real good man

“I had a really great time tonight,” he had murmured, in that low, throaty voice that made her heart race. His hands slipped from her waist to her fingers, lacing together before looking back up at Veronica’s eyes. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

Inside, she had gone straight for the freezer, intent on devouring said carton of ice cream. Spoon after spoonful, Veronica had questioned everything: had she said something wrong? Put him in an awkward spot in giving her a ride home? Pushed too far by kissing him?

Only a lonely love can devour you
But when when you're lonely, the same love empowers you

“Jesus,” Veronica muttered to herself, reaching for the metal bars next to the pool, hauling herself out of the water.

The thoughts kept swirling, as she showered; on the way home, hands gripping the steering wheel with annoyance. Locking her car on the street, she headed up the walkway to her home.

Fumbling with her keys, Veronica’s eyes cast up. Her feet scuffed on the bricks below, freezing her on the spot. Her eyes landed on the bouquet of flowers sitting on her front step.

Bright green stems contrasted against black centres. Framing the centre were their petals, the hues ranging from the most delicate shade of lavender, to darker shades of purple - mauve, eggplant. She had grown up with a mother whose green thumb was well-known around town; Veronica recognized the anemones immediately.

She practically ran to the stairs, careful not to disrupt the stunning violet bouquet as she searched for the card. Their stems were tucked into a crystal vase, light glinting off the cut edges as her fingers brushed against an envelope of cardstock.

A painful twist squeezed at her heart, as Veronica read the boyish handwriting, crooked on the paper. A laugh fell from her lips as she read who it had been addressed to.

Ronnie.
__

The telephone ringing would always catch Veronica off guard.

Life with Jeremy had always been hustle and bustle in their home, the big house in the suburbs. With a team of twenty-five athletes to look after, there was always someone needing his attention.

That meant members of the Stars brigade stopping by at any given hour - first thing on a Sunday morning, late night on a Tuesday. And the phone calls. They’d been incessant, players inquiring about flights, schedule changes, whether Jeremy could help fly out their new girlfriend from back home. Veronica had once thrown his Blackberry across the room, when they had been interrupted by a call in bed.

Despite the interruptions, the Stars had become her friends, too. Moving out to the suburbs had resulted in a drop-off of her friendships, with busy lives, and little time to commute out to Veronica’s neighbourhood. Gradually, her friends had been replaced with a more famous variety, people who had been close to Jeremy, too.

When he died, it all ended: the phone calls, their lives together, and for Veronica, many of the friendships she had developed through his team. Perhaps nobody wanted to befriend the grieving widow, after all.

Not a widow, she reminded herself, for the thousandth time. Her fingers moved over the flowers she had been arranging and rearranging in their vase. Growing up, she remembered her mother pointing out the symbolism of each flower in their garden - including anemones.

“They mean wildflower,” her mom had said, fingers brushing over the petals as Veronica’s did now. “The symbolize anticipation, of waiting for something great.”

The shrill ring of the phone caused Veronica to look up, away from the bouquet.

Her feet crossed the wood floors to where the phone sat, next to the refrigerator. The call display flashed; Veronica recognized it. She’d forever remember the number, the internal line from the American Airlines Center.

Heart lurching, she froze. It brought her back to all the times Jeremy called from the rink, telling her he’d be another hour at his desk; the he got roped into drinks with the other front staff, telling Veronica to not wait up.

Shaking her head, she pushed the memories away, reaching for the phone. Knowing who was on the other line caused a grin to bloom on her face.

“They’re gorgeous,” she said, the smile evident in her voice.

“Veronica?” someone asked on the other line.

The smirk fell from Veronica’s features; she blushed a shade of red that would rival a tomato. “Uhhh, yeah. Who’s calling?”

Laughter came down the other end of the line, a bark that immediately told her who it was. No doubt he had used one of the arena land lines, just like Jeremy had done all the time.

“Tyler,” she sighed, facepalming in embarrassment.

“Were you expecting someone else?” he teased, the curl of his smirk undeniable from across town. When Laura hesitated, his laughter fell away. “You were, weren’t you? Was it Benn--”

“What can I help you with, Tyler?” Veronica said forcefully, hoping to distract him.

No wonder Jeremy always said he never told a secret amongst the players. It was like dealing with a group of gossip queens. Seguin cleared his throat, suddenly serious.

“I just wanted to call about the lawyer,” he said, voice devoid of all emotions.

“Oh,” Veronica said flatly.

Right. She had forgotten about that, or tried to put the visit with Jeremy’s parents out of her mind. Until she had at least figured out another plan, a way out of the financial mess.

Veronica had told Tyler, when he’d called the other day about the game. He’d wanted to confirm where the tickets to the Stars game would be, where he would meet them after the game. She had just returned home from her lawyer’s office, and burst into tears when he’d asked what was wrong.

“I know, I need to get on that,” she sighed, opening the fridge and reaching for a beer. After the day she’d had, it was more than deserved. “I just haven’t had time to--”

“I talked to our lawyer,” Tyler interrupted, not letting her finish. “I mean, the Stars’ guy.”

Veronica blinked, caught off guard at his words. “Bernie?”

“Yeah,” Seguin said. His voice continued - Veronica didn’t hear any of it. A rush of relief flowed over her, a spark of optimism that seemed so rare these days.

“Tyler,” she said, interjecting into his speech. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, surprised by his generosity, going to bat for her.

“He didn’t promise anything, just that he’d look into your case,” Seguin replied, the warning clear in his words and tone. “Said there might be some things in your favour, but not to get your hopes up.”

Too late, she thought, taking a sip from the ice-cold bottle. Her eyes glanced across the room, to the flowers Jamie had sent, for which she thought the call from Tyler had been about.

Just in time to see Clarence, her black kitten bundle of fur, leap towards the vase, claws drawn.
Veronica lunged towards the cat, beer sloshing over the rim of the bottle.

“Clarence! No!” she cried, still managing the keep the phone wedged between her face and neck.

Tyler laughed. “Clarence? There a guy there you haven’t told us about, Vee?”

“Shut it,” she said haughtily, unable to keep the laughter from spilling from her lips. Her fingers carefully lifted Clarence from the table he’d managed to land on, one second away from shredding the anemones. “Just my cat, threatening to destroy a vase of flowers.”

As she laughed, Seguin fell silent. “Flowers?”

“Yeah,” she giggled, the sight of Clarence attempting to scale the table lifting her heart. “This gorgeous bouquet--”

Her mouth clamped shut, realizing the secret had nearly been spilled. It had been one thing to divulge the crush to Shannon, knowing match making was one of her greatest assets. But to tell Tyler? That would be catastrophic.

Veronica was too late.

“It was Benn, wasn’t it?” he asked, clearly smirking again.

A sharp exhale fell from Veronica’s mouth, her mind shifting into denial mode. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Classic answer,” Tyler laughed. “Who else could have sent flowers and put you in such a good mood, Vee? And the way you answered the phone?”

“Shit,” she whispered, voice barely audible. Again, she face palmed.

Like it was no big deal, like girls fell for his friends everyday, Tyler shrugged it off, making a pffffft sound.

“Hey,” he said, getting Veronica’s attention. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

She highly doubted that, but nodded anyway. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tyler repeated. After a second, he spoke, that smile back in his voice. “That is, only if you tell me all about that brunette friend of yours who came to the game.”
__

Hot water splashed on Jamie’s wrist, warmer than he had anticipated.

“Fuck,” he hissed, dropping a pot in the sink as he reached for a dish towel.

He shook his head, frustrated for thinking he could just whip up a meal, at the drop of a hat. It had been a full day since he’d sent the flowers, twenty-four hours since they were scheduled to arrive at Veronica’s home. And no answer. Not a call, a text, or even an email.

Who was he kidding - as if she’d email him. Again, Jamie shook his head.

The flowers had either gotten lost, or she was simply avoiding him. That or she hadn’t wanted the flowers, and her silence was a way of rebuffing him in the most polite way possible.

Either way, Jamie was screwed. He certainly couldn’t call the florist, inquiring about the delivery. Bad enough that Jamie had been clueless in the flower shop, randomly picking out the prettiest flowers he laid eyes on, hoping Veronica would love them.

There was no way he could call and see if she had in fact received them. Jamie’s cheeks burned at the thought, of being called out like a loser when the florist would insist she had received them.

And simply not called. Or said anything of the like: I love them, what were you thinking, they’re hideous. Or worse: I don’t want you, and never will.

He needed something to take his mind off her, off the whole ordeal. The Stars’ season opener was the next day, and the team was leaving first thing in the morning to fly to Phoenix, a quick flight two states over. Jamie needed to get his head on straight.

His brother Jordie had plans - a steady girlfriend, who offered to have Jamie over, too, before they headed out of town. But feeling like the third wheel would only remind him of the times he’d hung out with Jeremy and Veronica, the tightness in his chest as he’d watched them together.

So instead he’d called his mother, back home in Canada. From the island off the west coast of the country, she had been delighted when her youngest child asked about his favourite childhood meal. It had only taken her a few minutes to email the instructions for pasta primavera to Jamie down in Dallas.

But the seemingly easy recipe was getting the best of Jamie: splashed pasta sauce on his white t-shirt, spilled dry spaghetti all over the floor, a knife nearly cutting off the tip of his index finger.

The burn had been the last straw. He tossed the strainer into the sink, a string of profanities following. Jamie was so angry he missed the sound of the knock.

Turning towards the fridge, his fingers had wrapped around the bottle of a beer when he heard it: three sharp raps on the door, hard and insistent.

He froze, fridge door open, spilling cool air over his body.

Could it be?

No, he told himself. It was probably Tyler or Spezza or one of the other guys, recognized by his doorman and waved in like a true Stars fan. Hand on the door, Jamie whipped it open in a hurry.

Veronica. He nearly sighed her name, the sight of her face like a tall drink of water, an oasis after dying of thirst in the desert. Like the other night after the game, Jamie froze at the mirage standing before him.

Her sweater was simple - black and white stripes, sleeves pulled up to reveal pale, freckled skin; jeans were nothing out of the ordinary - faded blue with a tear at the knee. Even the jewelry was perfectly Veronica: a long gold necklace, ending in a pendant, hung between her breasts. Studs in her ears and a black-strapped watch were the only other adornment she wore.

They stared at each other for a second; Jamie held his breath, unsure of what to say, what to do in the moment. Veronica bit her lip, hesitating at his reaction - before throwing it all away.

“Ronnie?” she asked, a smirk on her lips and a perfect eyebrow arched towards him.

That did it. Jamie burst into laughter, the dimple in his cheek making Veronica weak at the knees.

“I couldn’t resist,” he admitted, ducking his head so she couldn’t see him blush. Jamie glanced into the apartment, then back at Veronica. “Want to come in?”

It seemed like more than a simple invitation, not simply stepping into his home. After the kiss and his flowers, it seemed like Jamie was drawing her in, against any guilt or hesitation she had about Jeremy.

Her pause was tested against the soft brown of his eyes, of the tattoo sleeve that inked its way down his arm, ending where his wrist held the knob of the door. The wide, hopeful look on his face drew her inwards, crossing the threshold of his place.

Barely a few inches from him, Veronica stepped inside. Memories flooded back, to those months before, when his apartment had been her refuge. Everything looked the same: mail messily piled on the dining table, a six-pack of Gatorade on the island. Stars hoodies and shirts were strewn over every chair or couch.

Some things never change, she thought with a smile, knowing at least one thing had.

“Will you stay for dinner?” Jamie asked, tentatively.

Her stomach flipped. That’s what, for sure.

“Yes,” she answered, spinning on the heel of her ballet flat. The relief on Jamie’s face was palpable, and short lived, as she saw the disaster in the kitchen behind him. “Jesus, what happened here?”

He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the tomato sauce on the counter, a few remnants of pasta still on the floor. He cringed, hating for Veronica to see him such a mess. Looking back at her face, his mouth dropped open, ready to apologize, to order take out, anything to get her to stay.

But Veronica was already kicking off her shoes, dropping her purse over the back of a dining chair.

“Let’s get to work,” she smiled, the cool of her fingers squeezing his elbow.

Jamie could hardly swallow, with the feel of her touch emblazoned upon his skin. It didn’t last long, before Veronica put him to work.

She took on the chopping of ingredients, yellow peppers and zucchini, a few tomatoes she plucked from the basket of fruits and veggies on Jamie’s counter. He was directed to the pasta, following Veronica’s instructions of salting the water.

“This is an….interesting recipe you picked,” she said, glancing his way as Jamie watched the water boiling with as much determination as he had on the ice. She was having trouble keeping her cool, with the flex of his biceps against the strain of his shirt. Didn’t he own clothing that was properly sized, that could handle the heft of his body?

“What?” Jamie cried, beaming as his eyes slid towards Veronica. Her hair was distracting him; her auburn hair was wrapped up in a braid, pulled forward over a shoulder. It was hard to focus when a few tendrils had fallen loose, brushing along her cheekbone. “This was my favourite thing to eat as a kid.”

Veronica made a face, abject horror and disdain all at once. “Pasta primavera? Is that all you had to eat up in Canada?”

He laughed, waving a pasta fork at her. She avoided the swat, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth. Her feet crossed the tile, peeking over Jamie’s shoulder to check on the pasta cooking away.

Her laughter in his kitchen, the light in her eyes, was such a departure from the time he’d caught Veronica drinking all those months ago, as if she might never recover from losing Jeremy.

She caught him staring, suddenly self conscious.

“What?” she asked, swallowing the last of the tomato.

“The flowers,” he said softly, unable to get it out of his mind. “You haven’t said anything about them.”

Veronica bit her lip, knowing this was coming. It had been the reason she’d come to Jamie’s apartment, having avoided him for the last day. The flowers had been a constant reminder of his gesture, every time she passed by the blooms in the living room. Whatever it had meant, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Now she stared up into those doe eyes, the flop of hair on his forehead. Veronica’s heart hammered in her chest.

“Not true,” she whispered. He blinked, confused. “You did call me Ronnie on the card.”

Jamie laughed, his fingers brushing the errant strands of hair behind her ear, the ones that had fallen out of her braid.

“Did you…” Jamie trailed off, his voice cracking with nervousness. He licked his lips, looking back into those green eyes that would be the death of him. “Did you like them?”

Veronica could tell he was uncomfortable, that the sending of the flowers had felt monumental enough. Never mind her silence, how she hadn’t even properly thanked him.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Wha--” Jamie frowned, his heart sinking.

Next to him, the pasta nearly boiled over. Veronica reached around him, turning off the stove. Her eyes met his, confusion painted across his features.

“I loved them,” she smiled, unable to keep the beam off her face.

This time it was Jamie who kissed her, his mouth finding Veronica’s in the silence of his kitchen.

Notes