Page 18 of Hockey Nanny

“You’re getting it,” Dawson said, voice warm. “See? Not so scary.”

“Barely,” I said, wobbling dramatically for effect, though I was starting to actually glide a little. “Barely. Don’t get too proud, Coach.”

“I am proud,” he said quietly, and the softness in his voice made me glance up at him. His jaw was set, but there was that flicker of something—happiness, satisfaction—flicking through his eyes.

Henry skated back toward us, grinning wildly. “Coach Dawson! Watch this!” He tried a little spin, nearly toppling, but Dawson’s hands were there in a heartbeat, steadying him.

“That’s it! You’ve got it!” Dawson cheered, the pride in his voice spilling out. I watched, grinning despite myself, as Henry puffed up with accomplishment. There was something so achingly sweet in seeing them both like this, Dawson so alive in his element, and Henry glowing from the attention and approval.

“Alright, your turn,” Dawson said suddenly, turning toward me. “We’ll go for a little ride.”

“Uh… a ride?” I asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Yep. Hold on tight,” he said, and grabbed my hands, spinning us slowly in a gentle circle. My legs protested, my balance teetered, but his hands were firm and steady, grounding me.

“I hate skating,” I said, laughing, half in terror, half in delight. “I told you, I’m better up in the air!”

“You’re fine,” he said, his tone light, but I could feel the tension in his fingers as he kept me upright. “Just keep trusting me.”

Henry zoomed past, calling out encouragement like a tiny coach-in-training. I stumbled again, and Dawson’s hands tightened instinctively, steadying me.

“You’re… ridiculously careful,” I said, laughing, finally allowing myself to relax.

“Better careful than face-planting,” he replied, teasing. “And I’m not letting that happen on my watch.”

Somehow, between wobbles, small spins, and Henry’s constant commentary, I found a rhythm. Dawson’s hands were warm, steadying me against the ice, and with each glide, I felt… less terrified. Less like I was going to collapse in a heap of embarrassment. There was a rhythm to it, and I realized I was actually enjoying myself.

By the time we finally left the ice, Henry had taken both of our hands and slipped in between us, little fingers entwined with ours. My chest warmed at the gesture; Dawson’s jaw softened, eyes locking on mine just long enough for me to catch the look before he glanced away. I grinned, leaning across slightly to whisper, “You’re doing a really great job,” and his subtle shift told me that my words had landed just as I hoped.

Back in the house, Henry scampered ahead. “I’m gonna tell everyone I can spin all by myself!” he shouted, twirling in the hallway with his arms out like a tiny airplane.

I chuckled, tugging my scarf tighter as Dawson followed more slowly, hands tucked in his pockets, looking impossibly calm. “Careful, little man,” he said, his voice warm but steady.

Henry skidded to a stop at his bedroom door, hopping from foot to foot. “I need my helicopter! Can’t sleep without it!”

Dawson crouched beside the bed, resting a hand on the mattress. “Alright, let’s make sure your co-pilot is comfy, too,” he said, as Henry plopped the toy onto the pillow.

“Don’t forget it can fly in dreams!” Henry added, tugging the covers over it with exaggerated care.

I bent over, tucking the edge of the blanket around him. “All tucked in and ready for dream takeoff,” I said with a smile. Henry’s eyes twinkled as he hugged his helicopter tight.

Before he drifted off, Boone popped his head around the doorframe, grinning like he’d just thought of the best joke ever. “Hey! Why don’t I get tucked in like that?”

Henry’s eyes popped open, and he shot Boone a mock glare. “Because you’re too big! You’d fall off the bed!” Then he flopped back onto his pillow, giggling at his own comment.

Boone pretended to pout, but his grin didn’t falter. “Injustice! Total injustice!”

Dawson’s jaw tightened beside me, but he said nothing, clearly annoyed by Boone’s antics.

Once Henry finally fell asleep, I let out a quiet sigh. Dawson was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable expression.

“Thanks,” I said softly, meaning it. “For sticking around. And… helping him.”

Dawson’s eyes met mine. A pause hung in the air, tension and warmth coiling together, before he gave a small nod. “You did good. Henry’s… calmer tonight because of you.”

My cheeks warmed. “Well, he did most of the work himself,” I said, grinning.

Before Dawson could respond, Boone reappeared in the hallway, clearly unable to resist stirring the pot. “Carissa,” he said, wagging a finger, “you’ve had a stressful night. I could help you relax… hot tub, bubbles, maybe some wine?”