Twenty minutes later, when Rose stumbles out of Last Call—and she truly is stumbling—I’m sitting on the hood of Claudette, my beloved 1957 Chevrolet Cameo pickup, with my arms crossed and an I-told-you-so smile on my lips. She sees me right away and stops stumbling. Her almost coal-colored eyes focus on me as her long, near-black, pin-straight hair blows around in the wind.
“I knew you’d get shit-faced.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asks, a little bit of anger slipping into her words. “Where is Bri?”
“I drove her home.”
Rosie doesn’t say anything. She simply walks past me toward her bike, which is chained to the drainpipe on the side of the building. “The bar is technically closed but if you go in, Cole might give you one more anyway.”
“I’m not here for a beer, Rose. I’m here to drive you home,” I reply.
She keeps unlocking her bike. It’s not just that I think it’s ridiculous that she rides her bike in the middle of the night on dark rural roads. It’s that her bike is a ridiculous excuse for a bike. It’s this old 1970s Schwinn painted a weird teal with an actual banana seat and long, rolling handlebars that have rainbow tassels hanging from them. It had belonged to her mother when her mom was a teen. She dug it out of the barn when she was still in high school and she’s been riding it ever since. And as if it wasn’t ugly enough, she named it Esmeralda.
It was cute during daylight hours when she’d ride it to the lake or to town. I would get calls every now and then because the chain fell off or she’d get a flat and I’d have to bail her out, which was fine. But at night, drunk, on dark roads, it was stupid, not cute.
“I’ve got a ride.”
I knew she’d say that. She glances over her shoulder at me and I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively and say, “Let’s take your ride and stick it in my ride.”
A smile crawls over her pretty little face even though I know she doesn’t want to give in to it. I hop off the hood of the truck and walk over to her. She’s just finished tossing the lock into the stupid wicker basket attached to her handlebars when I pick the bike up and start carrying it away.
“Luc! Stop!”
I ignore her and lift it into the back of the truck. When I turn around she’s standing right behind me, arms crossed.
“Rose, you’re too drunk to even stand and glare without wobbling.” I try not to smile. “I’m not letting you try and ride all the way home. It’s like a twenty-minute bike ride and it’s already after one in the morning.”
“I’m not a child,” she mutters, staring at the ground between us. “You always treat me like a kid.”
She’s right, I kind of do. There’s more than one reason for that. One being that I still see her as that small, fragile orphaned girl who needed protecting, and the other reason is because she’s no longer that and thinking about her as the sexy, smart, full-grown woman she’s become is dangerous.
“You’re doing me a favor,” I explain softly and wrap an arm around her shoulder as I gently guide her to Claudette’s passenger door. “I used you as an excuse to ditch Bri when she invited me into her apartment.”
Rose makes a face at that, which I ignore and continue. “I was only hanging out with those girls because Adam has a thing for Tasha and she and her friends are huge hockey fans. He used me to impress them.”
Once she’s in Claudette’s cab, I shut the door and lean in the open window so my face is close to hers. Her big dark eyes are intoxicating. She’s having one of those Rose moments where she looks like she’s seeing something about you that you haven’t even discovered yet. Seriously, this girl has been ruffling my sense of security with looks like this since I was a teenager.
I clear my throat, push myself off the window and make my way around the truck. Once I’m in the driver’s seat, Claudette’s engine roars to life and I ease her out of the parking lot. Rose still has those eyes stuck on me. “Are you back with Nessa?”
“What? No. That’s definitely done,” I confirm and think about my ex-girlfriend for the first time in over a month. Nessa and I had been a thing for almost two years and I hardly missed her. I doubt she missed me either. That’s why I call it a “thing”—we were definitely something, but in love wasn’t it. And that was just how we had both wanted it.
“I just… I mean you’re not with other girls and if you’re single…” Her sentence is left hanging in the cab between us.
“I should be out there playing the field? Like Jordan did when he was single?”
“Hopefully not exactly like that.” Rose wrinkles her cute little nose at that and it makes me smile. “Jordy was… an overachiever.”
“You are adorable when you’re being tactful,” I tell her, and even in the dim light of the passing streetlamps I can see her blush.
“But seriously, if you’re not with Nessa, then what gives?”
I don’t respond right away. Claudette careens quietly down the dark, empty streets. Silver Bay is peaceful and serene, as always, and it fills me with a sense of calm I never have anywhere else. Being with Rose does that, too. I glance at her quickly and then shrug instead of answer. I don’t know how to explain my new philosophy on relationships and I kind of don’t want to because explaining it would also mean admitting failure.
She smiles a little bit but I don’t know why. I’d ask her but I’m not sure I want to know so we drive in silence a little while longer, until we’re out of town and on the rural road that leads to the farmhouse she grew up in. The one my best friend now owns.
“How is the Europe plan coming along?” I ask because the silence is starting to feel heavy.
“Good. We leave September first. We’re going to start with a couple days in Paris and then I’ll go with Kate to Cap Ferret for a couple days. Her job starts September twelfth so I’ll probably leave then,” she explains, staring out the passenger window at the dark town beyond.
“So you’re coming back here after that?” I ask. Rose graduated from the University of Vermont this year and she has said she wants to go to grad school but she’s taking this year off first. Her best friend from high school, Kate, was starting a teaching job in France and Rose was going to go with her for a few weeks.
She nods absently. “I guess. To be honest, I was thinking of maybe going off on my own European adventure after that. Maybe head to Spain or Italy. Do my own ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ year.”
“I don’t know what that is,” I admit and glance at her. “But the idea of you alone in Europe kind of scares me.”
“Why do you try and take care of me?”
I furrow my brow. “I don’t know… because I worry about you.”
“Because you see me as a kid?” she questions softly.
“No.”
I glance over at her again as I carefully turn up the long, narrow, dirt driveway to the farmhouse. She’s staring at me and biting her lower lip; her brow is furrowed like she’s deep in thought. Claudette rumbles up the driveway and I pull to a stop near the barn.
“Looks like Jordan and Jessie are asleep,” I murmur, looking through the windshield at the dark house.
“Or still christening the house,” Rose mutters.
“Nah. They’d keep the lights on for that.” I wink at her and that sexy pink hue crawls up her cheeks again.
I open my door and jump out. She does the same and follows me to the back to retrieve that Esmeralda hunk of junk. I place it gently on the ground between us. She looks up at me in the dark; her eyes feel warm on my face.
“I’m not a child anymore, Luc,” she whispers softly but firmly. “I can spend a few months or even the whole year traipsing around Europe by myself, sleeping with every hot Spanish, French or English guy I meet if I want to. I’m an adult.”
I know I make a face when she mentions the sleeping around part and I don’t even care that she sees it. “Of course you can. And I can worry about you. Europe’s a dangerous place for American tourists. Didn’t you see that movie Hostel a few years ago?”
She smiles at my absurdity. “That’s not a documentary, you moron. It was make-believe.”
“Could happen.” I grin at her.
She shakes her head, wisps of dark hair catching and dancing on the wind. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I could handle it?”
She reaches for the bike, leaning toward me, bringing her face so close to mine that my vision blurs. We stare at each other for a long moment; the wind spins gently around us, taking a lock of her hair with it and whirling it around her face. I reach out and gently push it back, my fingertips grazing her cheek and temple.
“I’m taking a break.” I’m not sure if I’m telling her or reminding myself of this.
She steps back almost like my words caused her to stumble. My brain scrambles to find a way to make her understand without revealing every sordid, humiliating detail. “Taking a break from women… for a while.”
“Because of one overdramatic model?” She looks so utterly confused and… adorable.
I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “Because I have to get out of this slump. I have to do better next year and women distract me from hockey.”
Her eyes take on a soft, knowing look and her mouth sets in a pretty little line and I know she knows what I’m talking about. I know she’s seen the photos and the articles and the drama that was the last few years of my life. As Nessa’s career got bigger, our casual thing became gossip mag fodder. Vegas wasn’t a place with a large, rabid hockey fan base, but when a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model shows up at the games in a sequined pink jersey, well, people started paying attention to the team, but for all the wrong reasons—and to me for those same wrong reasons. And it affected my game, and my relationship with the team’s management. I didn’t realize that until it was too late… or at least it feels too late now. I hope it’s not.
“Not all women are distractions,” Rose counters in a squeak more than a voice. “Jessie doesn’t distract Jordan. Ash doesn’t distract Devin.”
“Are you kidding me?” I blurt out and instantly regret it. Rose may not be a child anymore but she definitely has niave views on love. I always told myself I didn’t want to be the guy to give her the painful reality check that would inevitably come, which is another reason why I never let anything happen with us. “Jordy and Dev handle it well, but they’re distracted by their relationships every now and then.”
“But if it doesn’t adversely affect—”
“Jordan’s fight over Jessie with Chance last year caused him to be injured and miss games, remember?”
She bites her lip at that because she can’t argue. It’s a fact. “And Dev missed four games when Conner was born.”
“He had a baby!” Rose says incredulously.
“Most guys miss maybe a game, but Ash demanded he miss more,” I reply and take a heavy breath. “Look, I’m not saying that they shouldn’t be in relationships. I’m just saying I shouldn’t. I’m the one who hasn’t made the playoffs since I was drafted. I’m the captain of a team that keeps getting worse every year instead of better. I’m the one with trade rumors floating above my head this summer.”
She nods, nothing more than that, then takes Esmeralda and walks toward the house. After leaning the bike against the porch railing she gives me a small wave and disappears inside. I feel a weird mix of relief and remorse.
It might make me a jerk, but I’ve always gotten an ego boost from Rose’s crush on me. She’s one of the sweetest, kindest, smartest girls I know. But I’ve always known we weren’t right for each other, because we want different things from a relationship. I wanted sex and no strings and she wanted romance and commitment. I would never risk our friendship when I knew anything more would end in disappoint and heartbreak for her. And even though my relationship strategy had caused me professional issues, I knew the answer wasn’t jumping into a committed romance. It was staying the hell away from women altogether.