Page 19 of Hockey Nanny

I froze mid-step, caught between the two of them. My stomach flipped, and Dawson’s sharp glance at Boone didn’t help.

“Boone,” Dawson said, voice low but firm, “that’s enough. Give her some space.”

Boone held up his hands in mock surrender, still smirking. “I’m just offering,” he said, retreating down the hallway. “Offer still stands.”

Dawson shook his head, muttering something like,my brother is impossible.His gaze softened on me, apologetic, and I couldn’t help but grin despite my flustered cheeks.

“He’s… a lot to handle,” I murmured.

“No kidding,” Dawson agreed.

The hallway felt impossibly small, the warmth from the radiator doing nothing to counter the heat between us. Dawson leaned slightly closer, and for a moment, I thought maybe… But then he straightened, breaking the tension.

“I should get to bed,” he said, voice a little rough.

I blinked, caught between disappointment and lingering thrill. “Right,” I murmured.

He gave me one last glance, softening just for an instant, then turned and disappeared. I leaned against the wall where he’d been standing, letting my eyes drift toward Henry’s closed door. My chest still felt full, warm from skating, laughter, and seeing Dawson so open and alive with Henry. Boone’s ridiculous offer lingered like a spark I couldn’t quite ignore.

I shook my head, laughing softly at the chaos of it all. One thing at a time. First: Henry tucked in, Dawson hovering like some impossibly handsome guardian angel, Boone smirking somewhere in the background, and me… me feeling like my chest might burst.

How was it possible I could even think about… both of them? My mind did a loop-de-loop and promptly refused to land on a single, coherent thought.

9

~

Carissa

A loud clatter echoed from the kitchen, metal bouncing against the floor. I barely had time to process the noise before Henry’s small, hesitant voice floated down the hall. “Uh oh…”

My stomach dropped. I dashed toward the kitchen first, only to see a tipped-over cup of juice, sticky red liquid spreading across the counter and dripping to the floor. “Henry,” I called, grabbing a paper towel, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, his little voice trying to sound brave. “I—I didn’t mean to.”

I sighed, already imagining the cleanup ahead. Juice on the counters, juice on the floor, and the sticky trail leading straight to the hallway. A paper towel wasn’t going to cut it.

I sprinted toward the bathroom, towel in hand, hoping to stop the mess before it got worse, and flung the door open without thinking. And God, I probably should’ve thought that move through for longer than a second.

Gage. Naked. Just out of the shower. The towel hanging loose on his hips, and the steam curling off his skin made my brain completely short-circuit.

“Whoa, hey,” I squeaked, jerking back. My foot caught on the rug, and I stumbled, reaching out instinctively. His chest. My hands on it.

Heat flared up my neck. “I’m so sorry,” I stammered, my voice small and ridiculous. “I didn’t… I mean, I wasn’t—”

Gage tilted his head, one eyebrow raised, eyes glinting with mischief. “You really shouldn’t barge in on people like this.”

I fumbled for one of the towels folded neatly on the shelf, but kept missing because my eyes were glued to the expanse of his broad, chiseled (did I mention, bare?) chest.

“Sorry,” I repeated. This time my fingertips nudged something worthwhile. Still a miss, though. “I just need… I need…”

He just let me dangle there for a second too long, a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. I could feel my pulse in places I wasn’t sure should even have a pulse.

“Here,” he said finally, draping a towel over my outstretched hands. His fingers brushed mine. Just that slight touch made me stumble back another step. “Careful out there.”

“Thanks.” It was the longest coherent sentence my brain could muster in the moment.

I turned to flee, relief washing over me, until a low voice stopped me mid-step.