Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Vivian reached Pat’s Pub ten minutes before the time she and Dean had agreed on, pulling into the parking lot across the street. She had expected the appointment to take longer, but instead, it had wrapped up early, leaving her with nothing to do but think.
Thinking paired better with wine, so she’d decided to head to the pub rather than killing the extra time in her office. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous about seeing Dean today. Usually, she lived for their dates, anticipating them with excitement.
Today, however, the text hadn’t been flirty, fun, or dirty. Just an invitation to talk and a promise it wouldn’t last long. No smiley face emoji. No teasing remark in response to her “sounds serious” jest. Not even an “everything is okay” tacked onto the end.
Just…talk.
She hated that word because it left far too much room for the imagination.
Then her thoughts circled back to their phone call a couple of nights earlier. She hadn’t planned to tell him why she’d been off or what significance the day held, but she’d done a shitty job masking her sadness.
Twice a year—on Phil’s birthday and the anniversary of his death—the grief found her, even when she swore to herself that she was braced for it. The rest of the year, she was able to hold it together and even smile at memories of him without pain.
But on those days…
On those days, it felt like the air was knocked from her lungs and keeping it together wasn’t an option. Dean had heard the grief in her voice, even as she’d tried, miserably, to hide it. So, she had told him it was Phil’s birthday, admitted she’d taken the day off and gone to visit his grave.
Dean had listened and asked a few gentle questions. He’d even said he wished he could be there for her. Opening up to him had been cathartic in a way, and she hadn’t thought anything was amiss. Until his text today.
Maybe he realized dating a widow was more complicated than he expected. Maybe hearing her cry over another man had changed something for him.
She frowned and shook that thought away. It wasn’t fair for her to think that way.
Dean had never once suggested she should stop loving Phil, never hinted that her marriage was something to forget.
She had moved on. She truly had. So she didn’t see why being with Dean meant she should forget Phil. What she felt for both men could exist together, even if the balance wasn’t always simple.
God. She was inventing problems that probably didn’t even exist. “Borrowing trouble” as her mom used to say.
Vivian crossed the street, smiling as the delicious scent of lamb hit her before she even reached the door.
The chalkboard outside declared tonight’s special was shepherd’s pie, and Vivian decided right there and then, she and Pip were having takeout for dinner tonight.
The warm casserole was comfort food, and her baby girl needed some TLC after feeling so lousy the past day or two.
The familiar warmth of Pat’s Pub greeted her the moment she stepped inside. The late afternoon crowd was sparse, a few regulars nursing beers while highlights from last night’s hockey game played on the television above the bar.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Vivian smiled as Padraig Collins walked over to the table she’d claimed, menu in hand.
“I was beginning to think you’d found another Irish pub to hang out in,” Padraig teased.
Vivian placed her hand over her heart and gasped. “Never. My loyalty is and always shall be to Pat’s,” she declared dramatically.
The first time she’d ever been in this pub was the night Victor brought her, after that game all those years ago. The night she’d sat next to Dean, trying not to stare at him with the moon eyes of a young girl with her first crush.
Padraig chuckled. “Thank God. What can I get you, Viv?”
“A glass of sauvignon blanc, please.”
“You doing happy hour alone?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Just meeting…” Shit.
She and Dean probably should have considered going to a bar where no one knew them.
Pat’s Pub was the watering hole of choice for the Stingrays, the place where they came to celebrate wins or commiserate their losses over a pint of Guinness. “Just meeting a friend.”
Padraig knew Dean and Victor, so she hoped the bartender wouldn’t think too hard about why she and the Stingrays’ coach were meeting up for drinks alone without her brother.
“You catch last night’s game?” Padraig asked.
Vivian nodded, wincing. The Stingrays had been on a bit of a losing streak lately, blowing two games on the road, then shitting the bed last night at home. “Of course, I did.”
“I’m hoping someone explained to the defense that they’re allowed to protect a lead.”
Vivian snorted, wondering if she should tell Padraig he could offer that advice to the coach himself in just a few minutes.
“They’ve been playing like they’re allergic to third periods,” Padraig continued.
Vivian couldn’t disagree with that assessment, though she refused to talk bad about her beloved Rays. “They’ve got talent,” she countered.
“They do. Landing Dominic Gallo and Jordan Bryant was a stroke of genius, but if the team keeps taking penalties in the offensive zone—”
“We’ll be golfing by April,” Dean said, grimacing.
Neither Padraig nor Vivian had noticed when he walked in.
Padraig brightened when he saw who she was meeting, clearly not worried about Dean overhearing them.
Not that Dean would care. He’d admitted once that he valued Padraig’s opinions, liked that he didn’t pull his punches when it came to the way the Stingrays were playing.
“Dean,” Padraig said, shaking his hand. “Good to see you, man. Don’t worry. There’s still a lot of season left, and I know you were the genius who signed Gallo and Bryant. You guys will get there.”
Dean’s smile was as weak as his tone. He sounded as tired as Vivian felt. “Thanks, Paddy.”
“I was just about to grab Viv a glass of wine. Guinness?”
Dean nodded. “That would be great.”
They watched Padraig return to the bar to get their drinks, then Dean sat down at the table, joining her, but not bothering to look at her. Vivian wasn’t sure what to say because when she searched for his smile, it wasn’t there.
His shoulders were tight beneath his jacket and his jaw was tight. There was a heaviness in his expression she’d never seen directed at her before. It was, however, one she’d seen after every Stingrays’ loss.
Her stomach clenched, as every hopeful explanation she’d constructed dissolved the second their eyes met. She knew exactly why he’d asked to see her.
Before they could say anything, Padraig was back, setting wine in front of her, a pint in front of Dean. “Are you guys just having drinks, or would you like to order something to eat?”
Vivian had been planning to grab the shepherd’s pie to go, but all of a sudden, her appetite was gone.
“We’re just having drinks,” Dean answered. Padraig smiled, then drifted away to serve another customer.
Vivian wrapped both hands around the wine glass, trying to keep them from shaking. “How have you been?” she asked, hoping to delay the inevitable.
Because there was no denying why Dean had invited her here.
“I’m doing okay.” He didn’t sound okay. “How’s Pip?”
“Much better. Just a twenty-four-hour bug. Her teacher said a lot of kids have come down with it at school. Her head’s still stuffy, but the fever is gone, and the cough isn’t nearly as bad.”
“That’s good,” he said.
Vivian drew in a deep breath. Conversations with Dean had never been hard work, never felt the slightest bit awkward, but this one…
“You said we needed to talk,” she said, taking the bull by the horns.
He lifted his pint and took a long sip. She wondered if he was seeking liquid courage.
“We need to stop this, Viv.”
“Stop what?” she murmured.
“I think it’s time we end things between us.”
The words landed with a dull thud as her brain tried to process them. “Why?” she asked, confused and shocked. What the hell had gone wrong?
Dean looked down at the table, not her, as he spoke. “It’s time.”
She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she decided to give him a push. “Shitty answer. Try again.”
He rubbed his jaw, but at least he lifted his eyes and looked at her. “We’re very different people, Viv. Different backgrounds, different perspectives on life.”
She laughed humorlessly. “That answer is even shittier. Make this make sense, Dean. What happened that changed your mind?”
He sighed. “I can’t be the man you need.”
She frowned.
“The man you deserve,” he added.
Vivian felt as if she’d been dropping down in the middle of an episode of The Twilight Zone. “Deserve?”
“You deserve a man like Phil.”
Hearing Phil’s name hit her like ice water. “Like Phil?” She was starting to feel like a parrot, repeating everything Dean said.
“You deserve a man who will always be there. Someone who puts you and Pip first every single time.”
Her confusion only deepened. She knew she and Dean had been taking things slowly, never really labeling what this was, but in her mind, they were building something, laying the foundation for a future she’d begun to hope they’d spend together.
Their relationship had unique challenges—his job, her widowhood, Pip—but she hadn’t seen any of those things as barriers.
Just things they would need to figure out along the way.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“I’ve spent my entire life choosing hockey over relationships.” His voice was steady, and she got the sense that he’d practiced the part. “I told myself I was doing right by McKenna because I wrote a goddamn check every month and sent overpriced, guilt-driven presents.”
Vivian stared at him. She knew he was struggling with past decisions he’d made regarding McKenna, but she didn’t realize just how deep his guilt ran.
“I wasn’t there,” he continued. “I left Ellie completely alone to raise our daughter because hockey was more important.”