Page 17 of Hockey Nanny

8

~

Carissa

In what seemed to be a quest to muddle my mind to the best of his abilities, Dawson took a hard left turn in his behavior toward me and invited me to go skating with him and Henry.

Truth be told, when Henry asked if I would come along, I was ready to let him down gently, if only to save Dawson the strain of denying the kid’s puppy dog eyes. Little did I know it would be the hockey captain himself who eventually changed my mind on the matter.

Back in the bathroom I’d watched the guy speedrun through countless different responses ranging from a knee-jerkno, to care-free indifference, to awkward, cleary-against-his-better judgement insistence that I come along. The last part complete with a nervous smile that looked physically painful to maintain. Needless to say, I was confused.

Ever since the night he brought me tea, Dawson Barnett had been doing an impressive job of avoiding me. He was always courteous, always polite, but I could see him keeping his distance, and I thought I’d be doing him a favor by backing off. But strapped in skates and staring down the ice rink in front of me, I didn’t know what to think anymore.

I risked a glance at Dawson who was crouched on one knee, helping Henry lace up his skates. Unlike me, the guy didn’t seem all that bothered by the chilly air. While I stood shivering inmy sweater, scarf wound tight around my neck, Dawson looked perfectly comfortable in little more than track pants and a loose vest.

“You gotta tie them tight,” he said to Henry, looping the laces with patience I could practically feel radiating from him. “If they’re too loose, you’ll be all over the ice like a tumbleweed in a windstorm.”

Henry’s small tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. “Like this?”

“Almost, champ. A little tighter,” Dawson said, and I caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He was clearly enjoying this far more than he let on.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying not to stare too openly. Watching Dawson with Henry was… I didn’t know. It tugged something in my chest in a way I wasn’t ready to name. There was a gentleness there that didn’t often show up elsewhere. He was coaching without yelling, guiding without hovering, and Henry was absolutely soaking it in.

“Coach Dawson!” Henry chirped suddenly, grinning with pride as he finally finished lacing.

Dawson’s face lit up, a full, easy smile that made the dim rink lights feel warmer. “That’s right, Henry. You’re ready to hit the ice.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Henry calling him “Coach” had sent Dawson into full-on dad mode, and I could see every inch of the man standing a little taller, shoulders back, beaming as if he’d just won the Stanley Cup himself.

I shook my head, tugging at the ends of my scarf. “I’m going to regret this,” I muttered under my breath, mostly to myself.

“Hey, Carissa!” Henry waved a little too enthusiastically, almost tripping over his own skates. “You coming?”

“Yes, I’m coming,” I said, forcing a calm tone, but inside I felt my stomach flip.

Dawson offered me a hand to help me onto the ice. I hesitated, gripping the boards like my life depended on it. He didn’t press, just waited, the quiet patience that somehow calmed me, even as my legs threatened to betray me.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said lightly, though the corner of his mouth lifted in that tiny, knowing smile. “Just… don’t panic. I’ve got you.”

“I’ve… I’ve never been good at this,” I said, and my voice cracked a little, which made me sound far less competent than I intended. Henry had already zipped past me like a little comet, and Dawson looked at me, eyes narrowing slightly as if to file away all my weaknesses for later.

“I’m sure you’re lying,” he said with mock severity. “Or maybe you just think you are.”

“I am not,” I protested, shifting my weight and wobbling. “Henry is better than me. Definitely. A thousand percent.”

Dawson crouched slightly, offering me both hands. “Alright, then we’ll level the playing field. You hold onto me. Don’t worry about a thing.”

I took his hands, feeling that same strange surge again, the one that made my fingers tingle. The ice felt impossibly cold under my skates, and I wobbled so badly that Dawson’s grip tightened instinctively, and I found myself laughing nervously.

“You’re… strong!” I exclaimed, half embarrassed, half delighted.

“Very funny,” he said, his voice teasing, but his grip didn’t loosen an inch. “You just trust me, yeah?”

“Undecided.”

Henry zipped past us again, turning occasionally to give me a thumbs-up. “Look, Coach!” he shouted. “I’m doing the spin thing!”

Dawson’s smile widened, and I felt it again. That strange flutter, the one that made me simultaneously want to cry from happiness and punch him for looking so effortlessly at ease. He wasn’t aware, I realized. Not fully. He wasn’t thinking about me here. He was thinking about Henry. And yet, every time our hands brushed, every time he steadied me on my skates, it felt like an electric current I couldn’t shake.