Page 1 of Hockey Nanny

1

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Dawson

The problem with the Golden Knights’ annual charity event wasn’t the erratic scheduling, nor the event itself. It was for a good cause, one of the few causes I didn’t mind losing a rare free morning to; teaching kids from the orphanage how to skate felt like the least we could do. No, the real problem lay entirely with my teammates, who, despite my continuous insistence that I most certainly wasnotlooking for love on an arbitrary Tuesday, tried their damndest to set me up with every beautiful woman who happened to look my way.

The rink was packed that day, swarming with volunteers and my own rowdy teammates, and every eager child and overwhelmed adult that made up the Harbor Kids Orphanage. Despite the chaos of the crowded event, Boone had somehow roped me into a conversation with yet another potential love interest (or ‘future wife,’ in his words).

“Angie over here is a teaching assistant at MIT.” Boone leaned an elbow over the railing, digging the heel of his skate into the ice. He cocked his head toward me, blowing a strand of blond hair from his eye. “You like math, don’t you, Dawson?”

Angie, the latest in a long line of unfortunate, innocent bystanders, blushed from her spot just beyond the rink. “It’s not as impressive as ‘star player in the NHL.’” She tucked a curlbehind her ear, eyeing me with a sheepish smile. “Your brother tells me you’re looking for a date tonight.”

“Well,” I kept up a stiff, practiced smile, but my eyes narrowed pointedly at the sly, grinning source of my problems. “Boone has a habit of running his mouth.”

Boone only shrugged as he pushed off the railing, skating backward with a sigh. “Just looking out for my Captain is all.”

I threw a scathing glare in his direction before offering Angie an apologetic bow of my head. “Truth be told, I’m a bit busy tonight. It might be the middle of summer, but it’s going to take a lot of work to get this team ready for the upcoming season.”

Behind me, Boone collided with our goalie, and they both came zipping by in a blur of motion. They landed on their asses in a tangle of laughter and blame. Angie and I winced at the same time, exchanging glances while my two confounding teammates scrambled to their feet.

Angie raised a brow, content (to my immense relief) to let me off the hook. “Seems like you’ve got your hands full. Maybe next time you’re in the area, then.”

“Yeah, definitely next time.” I lied through my teeth, flashing her an eyeful of pearly whites before skating over to Boone. I gripped my troublesome twin by the forearm, using the few inches of height I had on him to look down my nose at his deceptively innocent expression.

I kept my voice low, even though it was impossible to be heard over the chattering noise and corny pop music crackling from the overhead speakers. “Quit it, okay? I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Dawson, dude, relax.” Boone shrugged me off, skating a lazy arc behind me before flinging an arm over my shoulders. “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry her. It’s just a date. Whenwas the last time the legendary Dawson Barnett went on a date, huh?”

Exactly eight years ago, before my hockey career took off and I replaced hopeless romantic endeavors with keeping the team in check. And, more specifically, reigning in Boone’s rampant horniness before it got us all banned from most public spaces.

I dryly stated as much and ducked out from under his arm. “I’m not interested in dating.”

Boone groaned with exaggerated agitation and skated after me, keeping pace despite my very obvious attempts to get the hell away from him. “Eight years, Dawson. Those are, like, caveman numbers. Your love life is prehistoric.”

“I don’t need a love life, thank you very much.” I dodged a giggling kid, wobbling along on shaky skates, and jabbed at Boone with my elbow. “Now stop playing matchmaker and go make yourself useful. Half of these kids don’t know the first rule of falling on the ice.”

“Fine,” Boone blew out a breath before his expression softened in my periphery. “I just— I’m worried about you, dude.”

“I’m fine.” I brushed him off.

“You’re lonely.”

If my heart twisted ever so slightly at that blatant observation, that was between God and me. “Yeah, well, you’re a pain in the ass. Go figure.”

Boone delivered yet another theatrical sigh before finally peeling away. “Alright, wallow in your celibacy if you must. I’m going to go show the ladies how great I am with kids.” He executed a twirl more graceful than that bulky body seemed capable of, and flashed a devious smile. “Prepare to witness ovulation en masse.”

I didn’t dignify that deplorable statement with a response, but it occurred to me that my brother might require a tighter leash before he ended up following his dick right off a cliff. I watched him weave his way through the crowds, as comfortable on the ice as he was on solid ground, and wondered how the hell we turned out so different.

We shared the same history, the same upbringing, but where I’d walked on eggshells around our father, Boone had charged ahead with shockingly little regard for the consequences of being so brazen. To him, the stonewalling, the disappointment, and the intense isolation meant nothing. Water off a duck's back to one so blasé about his own personal failings.

We may have had identical DNA, but I wasn’t built that way. I absorbed everything. Every harsh word, every insult, every slammed door, and every strict stare that told me I wasn’t good enough. I ruminated, replayed, strategized, and obsessed. I trained harder, pushed further, fought tooth and nail to be the version of myself someone like our father might actually approve of. Not that it did me much good.

“I see Boone’s playing Cupid again.” A flat voice reached my ears, and I turned to see Gage, our center defenseman, drifting toward me.

“So it would seem,” I slowed to let him catch up to me, eyeing the aloof brunette with a frown. “And I believe I putyouin charge of keeping him off my back. What happened?”

Gage shrugged, eyeing the gaggles of skating children with unambiguous distaste. “He made a compelling argument. He said if you go one more day without getting laid, you’re going to end up marrying your hockey stick.”