Robbie checked her phone for the millionth time. Still no text from him.

Paul had received the call first thing in the morning—the jury had reached a decision. She hadn't been able to go to the courthouse or get word of the verdict elsewhere because of her class in the middle of the day and her open office hours afterward. On the way home, however, she'd been flipping around all the local radio stations, but so far . . . nothing.

The suspense was killing her.

What could possibly be taking so long? she wondered, pulling her purse and computer bag from the back of the Jeep and kicking the door closed. Making her way up the walkway, she fished around inside the crammed tote for her house key. Damn it. She was about to put it all on the ground for a more thorough search when her fingertips touched metal. "Hah," she called out in victory, holding the key ring in front of her like a prize catch.

Something snagged her attention—a hint of movement over by Max and Megan's place. She scanned the curtained window but all was still, as it always was, as it should be. A chill raced down her back, producing a healthy crop of goosebumps along her arms. It's nothing, she told herself. Probably just a bird darting about.

Nevertheless, she hastened her steps to the front door.

Once inside, she threw her bags down, turned the lock with shaky fingers, and pressed one eye to the peephole, not sure as to why she felt so spooked.

"Hey."

She jumped, hitting her nose against the door. "Jesus," she breathed, twisting around and bringing a hand up to her chest as her brain figured out what she'd seen and heard. Paul was at the end of the hall, sullen and silent, both hands clasped behind his back. It took a few seconds for her heart to calm enough to let his expression fully sink in.

Oh, no. The disappointment sat heavy in her stomach. She could only imagine how he felt. Worse yet, how Colonel Shaw felt. "You did everything you could for—"

Suddenly his face brightened, those dimples on full display as he swung an arm forward, listing to the right to make way for the cluster of red roses cradled along its length. The other came around holding a magnum of champagne.

"You butt!" She ran down the hall and into his arms. "Congratulations!"

"We did it," he whispered into her hair, doing his best not to crush any petals.

She stepped back and he handed over the flowers. Not entirely sure of how to react, she lifted them to her nose and inhaled their perfume. "No one has ever bought me flowers," she murmured without thinking. Realizing how pathetic that sounded, she kept her gaze on the bouquet and pulled it tighter to her chest.

"I'd buy you an orchard if I could, Robbie."

Something in his words brought her head up. It could have been the regret in his tone, or the mood she was in, but it sounded suspiciously like . . . a goodbye. She looked beyond him and spotted the duffel by the bedroom door. Now her stomach felt hollow, but it was nothing compared to the void he was about to leave in her life. "You're packed?"

"I have a flight out at ten A.M. They've assigned me to another case." Paul took her hand. "I'm sorry. I wish I could stay longer." He lifted the bottle in the air. "Let's save the champagne until after the game. We can stay up all night if we have to, I don't care. I can fly with a hangover."

Ah, yes. The hockey game. The anxiety was already there, a slight pressure building in her head, threatening, like the onset of a cold. Her coping mechanisms could only handle so much. How was she going to get through it knowing he was leaving the next day? How was she going to hold it together when everything was coming undone? Part of her wanted to beg out of it, push for a relaxing last night at home, but this was a huge day for him and he had gone to so much trouble to get the tickets. God, help me, she prayed. For this one night, please let me be normal.

She smiled, putting on a brave face. "I'll go get changed."

Two hours later they were in a parking lot not far from the arena. Paul came around to her side of the Jeep as she got out.

"Just a second," she said, pulling out her wallet and phone. "We can use the express entrance if I don't have a purse." He accompanied her to the back where she locked up the rest. "Ooops, wait." She reopened the storage unit, retrieved her gum, and locked it all up again. "Want one?" she asked, holding up the package.

"No, thank you," he said, waiting as she unwrapped a piece and popped it in her mouth. "Is that for . . . "

Robbie nodded. "I count as I chew."

"It helps?"

"It distracts me." Speaking of distractions, she wanted to get off the topic of her problems. "Have you been to many hockey games?" The underground was crowded, as she expected. A final game would be well attended. She kept her focus on the ground in front of her as they walked.

"A few of the Kings regular season, yes, but never a playoff game."

"You might have to wait a long time for that."

"Very funny." Paul wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Hey"—he pointed as he redirected her—"the elevator's this way."

She came to a halt, watching the huddle of shifting bodies slowly push forward, the open doors acting as the narrow end of a funnel into a six by seven foot box. When not one more sardine would fit in the can, the doors closed.

Paul put his face in front of hers. "We can take the stairs."

"No, it's fine. We can wait."

"Are you sure?"

You can do this. She swallowed and nodded.

Paul offered her his hand, and she grabbed onto it. When the doors opened again, he led the way, keeping their palms glued together. And wouldn't you know it, they ended up stuck in the middle with bodies all around her, pressing in, closer and closer as more and more squeezed their way on. To slow down her pulse, she closed her eyes and focused on the man beside her, molding herself to the hard contours of his arm. One hundred and twelve, one hundred and thirteen— Suddenly, Paul shifted away and his hand slipped free of hers. Robbie opened her eyes in a panic, jerking her head around.

But there was no need to worry. Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his mouth coming close to her ear to whisper, "Close your eyes again."

She did as he asked just as his lips touched her neck, sending shivers across her skin. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting you," he said quietly between kisses.

Best. Tactic. Ever. The man was a magician with his mouth. She sagged into his warmth. Some in the crowd may not have liked the PDA, but too frickin bad because, for the first time in her memory, she felt totally relaxed in an elevator. Besides, most would be understanding and presume they were a young couple in love, enjoying a night out.

A last night out.

Okay, she needed to stop all the thinking and focus on the feeling.

The doors opened, too soon in her opinion, and they were on the move again. Her hand was back in his, staying there as they walked the streets of Chinatown to the arena, passed through security, and made their way along the concourse to find their section. They stepped their way down toward the glaring white surface, the sound system pumping out music as the jumbotron played clips, the crowd already beginning to react, hyping themselves up for what was about to come. It was only going to get louder. As they squeezed by numerous sets of knees, her hopes of a seat close to the aisle were dashed.

She'd forgotten about the chill and how it would rise from the ice to nibble at her cheeks.

"Here." Paul pointed out seats 10 and 11. Right in the middle. Of course. "What do you think?"

"They're great," she said, because they were. Lower level with near-center-ice views from right behind the CAPS bench, you couldn't get much better than that. She flipped down the chair, parked it on the plastic, and was reminded again of the chill as it took a bite out of her other set of cheeks. Tugging on her jersey, she stretched it down to her thighs, thankful for the added layer of insulation.

"You okay?"

"Yes."

"Warm enough?"

"Yes."

"Is it too—"

She put her hand up. "I promise I'll let you know if I need anything."

"And I'll promise not to mother." He grinned.

God, he was so gorgeous. It still amazed her that they were together, even if it was all about to end. "Deal." She leaned toward him, bringing her mouth up to his for a quick peck, the soft contact intended to be lighthearted, yet utterly heartbreaking.

She sat back and began micromanaging, shrinking the crowd down to the few bodies surrounding her while diverting the rest of the noise to the speakers above. It was the trick that got her through the pre-game festivities, the ceremonial puck drop, the National Anthem, and the starting lineup.

As the players began to set up on the ice, Paul leaned over. "How about we go get a beer?"

"I'll get it."

He frowned. "No. We go together."

"I can manage," she said, too severely perhaps, but she was feeling pretty confident, and the concourse would likely be quiet with the game about to begin.

He studied her face and nodded, seeming to understand her motivation. She had something to prove. To him. To herself. To the whole damn crowd.

She should have known better.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped at the trash can to throw out her gum and unwrap a fresh piece. The spicy cinnamon filled her mouth as she looked for the concession with the shortest lines. Right there.

She made her way over and stood behind a young couple who looked to be arguing. The man glanced her way and did a double take. "Hey," he said, turning to point at the number on her jersey. He was wearing the same one. "Ovechkin's amazing, right?"

"That's why they call him the Great Eight."

"Tonight's going to be his night."

"I think so too."

The woman with him narrowed her eyes. "Todd?"

"Yeah," he said, still staring at Robbie. Then he seemed to catch himself. "Oh, sorry," he muttered. He jerked his head at his partner. "Sarah doesn't like hockey."

Todd was lucky that looks did not actually kill. Sarah was plainly ready to get back to the arguing, turning her back on Robbie to wait in a huff for her date to—

Without warning, the goal horn blared, the crowd erupted, the lights in the concourse started to flash like a strobe on steroids—and all of Robbie's defenses were shot to hell. The CAPS fans in front of her went wild, bouncing up and down while they screamed and fist pumped the air above their heads.

Even Sarah.

Robbie's breath came in short gasps as her pulse started to race. The noise, the lights, it was sensory overload, too much for her to handle all at once, and she took a step back, unaware that more people had joined the line. Her heel came down on something soft.

"Owww, Jesus, watch it," a woman yelled.

"Sorry," she mumbled, backing off to the side, only to hit someone in the adjacent line.

Loud music filled the cavernous concourse until the announcer's booming voice cut through it to broadcast, "Washington goal by number—"

"What's your problem, lady," she heard spat at her as her eyes darted around, looking for some open space. There was a wall between the stands, and as she blindly made her way over to it, she sensed that all the attention was beginning to shift from the television screen behind the servers . . . to her.

The cement was cool against her forehead.

"Are you okay?"

She turned to find Todd and Sarah supported by a group of other good Samaritans. Just as she'd thought, she was attracting a crowd. They were close. Too close. Far too close.

"Yes," she croaked. "Back up and leave me alone."

"You don't have to be such a fucking bitch," Sarah said, pulling on Todd's sleeve.

And just like that, Robbie was transported to a different time and place, back to Parker in his kitchen with Lauren standing at his side, hurling insults. She covered her ears, as if that would somehow block the memory of those hurtful words, and slid down the wall to her haunches.

Todd leaned over, his mouth moving, the concern on his face obvious. She felt bad, but didn't have the strength to—

Suddenly, all eyes shifted left. Some of the guys took a step back, but the women stood frozen, widening their stare, giving him away. Paul had arrived. A hand landed on hers, curling around it to pull her to her feet.

And there he was, all smiles, not an ounce of embarrassment or disgust anywhere on his face. "I decided I wanted a hot dog too," he shouted over the music, ignoring everyone else around them.

"Liar." She laughed a little even though she felt like crying.

He opened his arms and she melted into them. Things began to quiet down, both in the arena and in her head, as she listened for the beat of his heart.

"What number are you at?" he spoke in her ear.

"I had to start over. Fifty-six."

"Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine . . ." His voice rumbled in his chest while he counted on, like a child about to play hide and seek.

They'd come full circle, hadn't they. She'd been hiding most of her life until this man came along, a man who'd never had to seek out a woman, a man willing to look beyond the obvious, overcome the obstacles, and not give up until he found her. He'd pulled her free and shown her what life could be like outside of her safe space, and like a fool, she'd let him. She'd thought she could handle it, play the game and not get hurt.

But she'd been wrong.

Tomorrow, she would go back into hiding.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTY

Poor Robbie. She wanted so desperately to get through the night without incident. Paul was there for her, though, wasn't he? But now he's leaving. What do you think about that?

Dedicated to @munichmunich  for being such a great supporter, for always hounding me for updates (keep it up🥰), and for reminding me of an excellent steamy chapter from The Dangerous Ones for the WattpadAfterDark "Show us your Story" contest. Thank you ♥️♥️♥️

PS: The Birthday Gift is on my profile page for those who are interested. It's also an important chapter for what's to come here later, but that's all I can tell you😉

All votes and comments are appreciated ✨❣️✨❣️✨