Je t'aime, tu sais?

"I feel like a fool," she sniffed, smoothing the tissue she held in her hands in her lap with her thumbs.
"Don't," Patrice whispered, smiling. He rubbed his forehead into her neck, letting her rest her cheek on the top of his head.
"You smell so good," she laughed, her nose clogged up from crying and her voice quiet. She gently cleared her throat. She raised an arm to hug his face to her and kiss his damp hair.
"I won't argue with you, but I can't imagine how," he laughed. He felt terrible that he had to console her in his hockey gear. It didn't reek like it did when he was in juniors and he never washed it, but, it was still sweat and testosterone laden. Maybe somewhere deep in her chemistry that's why she liked it.
He ran his hand up her back again, wiggling his toes in his skate to keep them from going numb.
They sat cramped in a bathroom stall connected to the trainer's room. He was sure they were a sight to see from outside; his skates and bulky shin pads with her tiny jean-clad legs hanging, crossed at the ankles between them.
He held her while she cried in the middle of the tunnel until he heard the stampede and clunk of ice skates climbing from the ice. As the men passed, Patrice held her away from them, between his chest and the wall. They were all very respectful of their privacy, but couldn't help but wonder just a bit.
After, he grabbed her hand and walked her into the trainer's room, giving Babs a nod who nodded in understanding and left with a medical bag full of supplies to hang out in the locker room with the guys.
For additional privacy, Patrice locked them in the adjoining bathroom stall, flipped the lid of the toilet seat down, and sat Jamie on his lap, still dressed from his hockey pants down in all his gear.
Jamie had since calmed and now sat limply leaning into him.
"So, my mom called today," Jamie said, sniffing again. Patrice took the wad of toilet paper from between her hands and dabbed her cheek as she lay against him. He could feel her smile. "Mon amour," she whispered, holding his hand to her wet lips and placing a little hot kiss on his knuckles.
"These," she laughed, wiggling his hand in hers. "These smell less good," she joked.
"Ah, I'm sorry," he groaned, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. "Gloves are hard to keep tidy."
"It's ok," she chuckled, bringing his hand down into her lap with hers. "But, my mom called today; that's how I found out."
"She just told you?" Patrice asked, stroking her thigh.
"No," Jamie answered, sniffing again. "She asked if she could come see me and Emily, see our new place and see how Emily's adjusted."
"Mm hm," Patrice listened, patiently.
"And I said that that sounded great, but, what about work?" Jamie relayed their phone conversation. Patrice mentally kicked himself for forgetting she taught yoga classes at the local gym.
"Yeah?" He asked.
"And then she started crying and was like 'Do I really need an excuse to come and see my girls? I just want to see my girls'--" Jamie's voice broke.
"Sh," Patrice whispered, wrapping his arms around her again as she shook. That's all he needed to hear to understand. The Delacour's were a very proud family, and having only met her mother once, Patrice knew that for her to cry and admit she needed love meant something much, much more.
He held Jamie close to him, burying his nose in her hair and kissing her head softly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him as close to her as possible.
"Hey, hey," he whispered, finding his voice tighten as his throat closed up. Every shake that shook her, every wet breath she inhaled or sob that moved her, he felt himself well up.
He lifted his chin, tucking the top of her head underneath him, and took a deep steadying breath, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as they pooled themselves.
He sucked in his lips, holding his breath.
"I'm so happy I have you," she whispered in French, loosening her arms around his neck and letting them fall below his shoulders, only to wrap around his middle. She grabbed the thin material of his Under Armour and hugged him to her. She placed the wettest little kiss on his neck.
She sniffed.
"I'm so lucky to have you. Please don't leave me. Please."
"Jamie! Jamie..." Patrice cooed softly, lifting his chin from the top of her head and bending forward to look at her seriously. He unwrapped his arms from around her and cupped her face. "Never," he told her, sternly.
He planted a kiss where her nose met her cheek.
Their favorite spot to kiss and be kissed.
"Never," he whispered, butting heads with her so she couldn't see his tears fall, either.
How could she think such a thing? Wasn't there a wedding thing? 'In sickness and in health'? He knew he wasn't married to her yet but god damnit he'd marry her if it proved anything to her. He would never leave her... ever.
"Never, mon amour!" He repeated, suddenly not caring if she saw him emotional. He pulled away from her and held her face again. "Nothing would take me away from you, you understand? Nothing IS going to take me away from you. Ever." He told her, searching back and forth between her beautiful brown eyes. "Nothing Jamie."
He was met with silence, a trembling lower lip, and big, beautiful, bright, streaming brown eyes.
"Nothing, my love," he whispered, cradling her cheek and using his thumb to wipe away one of the many tears.
"I'm failing my thesis," she breathed, just above a whisper.
It all made sense now.
"What?"
"I'm failing. It won't get done in time."
That's why she was stressed last night.
That's why she was shutting him out.
"Jamie," Patrice spoke in shock. "Jamie, I don't believe that..."
"I am," she confirmed, her eyes blinking furiously as she seemed to admit it to herself aloud for the first time and the tears poured out from the rims of her eyes. She chewed on her bottom lip and sniffed, looking down as the waterworks continued to slip and slide off of her delicate face and the tip of her nose.
"We're gonna be alright," he said, cupping her cheek and lifting her face up to make eye contact. "We're going to be fine," he repeated, kissing her wet cheek and giving her the smallest laugh. "Ok? See?" He asked, unrolling a long line of toilet paper, balling it up and dabbing her cheeks dry.
"There," he said, whipping the last of the tears away. "There," he smiled. "All dry."
She sucked her lips in, trying not to cry anymore and instead force herself to smile, but all that did was produce more tears.
"See? I'm just ruining it," she cried, laughing a bit through her labored breathing. She tried to take the toilet paper from him and clean herself up but he wouldn't let her. She rolled her eyes as he went back to drying her cheeks.
At least she was feeling just the slightest bit of her sense of humor coming back. "I'll just start crying again," she sighed with a smirk as Patrice kissed her tears and then dabbed the remaining liquid away with the wad of paper.
"That's ok," he said, smiling at her. She blushed, looking at her lap. "C'mere," he said, dying to get her off of his poor, completely numb leg. She stood in front of him, allowing him to shift his weight around, and then straddled him as he patted his lap, motioning for her to sit.
She hooked her arms around the back of his head and bit her bottom lip, smiling a bit, too embarrassed to look at him.
"I'm sorry I intruded on practice--" she tried to begin.
"I love you." He interrupted. "I think I love you more than anything in this whole world, Jamie," he told her, looking at her. Her eyes rose from their laps. "And I don't want you to think that cancer, or... or numbers on a page, or words in a document, diplomas on a wall, travel time, slap shots, broken bones, tears, arithmetic or nights spent alone in a hotel room is going to change that. Alright?" He asked her.
Her eyes fell again.
"Hey," he said, tilting her chin up.
Her eyes met his again.
"Just the other day I told my parents that I'd never met another person like you before in my life. Not a woman--a person. You're one of a kind, Jamie, and I mean it. I am so enamored with you. I think about you every second of every day. And y'know what? You know what, Jamie? I'm not sure if I really believed in love before I met you. I mean, I knew it was out there I knew people felt it, but I wasn't so sure I'd ever feel it apart from hard plastic and a sharp blade--" he raised his skate clad foot. "I dunno if I really believed in love before I met you, but, I most certainly didn't believe in soul mates."
She looked up at him again, a tear running down her cheek. "You think I'm your soulmate?" She whispered.
"I know I'm not a smart man, Jamie--"
"--you are, Patrice!" Jamie cried, pathetically hitting his chest with her fist full of balled up toilet paper.
"Jamie," he said, directing her attention.
She hiccuped.
"I know I'm not a smart man, but if there's one thing in this world I understand, it's myself," he told her, pointing to himself. She lowered her eyes to see his thumb press into his chest. Then she watched as he grabbed for her hands. "And I know that you make me a better person; I know that you complete me."
Her head was bowed in front of him and he watched as her tears fell from her face to their hands in their laps.
"And if I complete you, and I help you and do the same thing for you that you do for me, then you have my word, Jamie, that I will never leave you," he said, his voice getting tight as he stroked her cheek with his other free hand. "Ok?" He asked, his own voice unable to crack a whisper.
"My word," he breathed as she nodded, collapsing into his arms, throwing her own around his neck.
Together they rocked back and forth and sniffed, alone in the bathroom across the hall, and nothing else mattered.