Page 26 of Hockey Nanny

Carissa leaned close as I swiped the tickets. “You’re worrying about them again, aren’t you?”

I shook my head, trying to keep my face easy. “Not worrying. Just… thinking.”

She gave me a look that could’ve melted steel. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Henry held up the stuffed helicopter and squealed. “It’s mine!”

I scooped him up, holding him high, while Carissa laughed and ran her hands along the side of the prize counter to steady herself as she leaned down. “Good work, team. Henry’s got the whole collection now.”

We wandered a few steps away, Henry bouncing in my arms, and I felt like the night could stretch forever. I didn’t often get to open up, but tonight, I let her see a crack in the armor.

“You know,” I said quietly, letting my voice drop just enough so only she could catch it, “my dad… he was never gentle with us. Hockey was everything. Still is. I got used to doing things the hard way, yelling, pushing myself, pushing my brothers. Dawson… Gage… they’re my family. I want them to be okay, but it’s hard not to… you know.”

Carissa’s eyes softened, and she didn’t say anything. She just nodded, letting me speak without interruption. Henry was oblivious, spinning around, chasing a ball that rolled away from the next game.

“I’ve been on ice since I could walk. Hockey’s all I know. It’s what keeps me grounded… what taught me to fight for people Icare about. My brothers included. Sometimes I push too hard, but I only want them safe,” I admitted.

Her hand brushed mine. “I get it,” she said simply. No judgment. Just understanding.

The corner of my mouth lifted. “Yeah. It’s rare I actually talk about it without making it sound like whining. So thanks for letting me be… you know, human for a second.”

She laughed lightly, squeezing my hand before letting go. “I wouldn’t call it whining. Just… Boone being Boone.”

I grinned at her, tension sliding out from my shoulders. It was the first time in a while I’d felt something close to relief.

Henry ran back, his laughter echoing through the arcade. “Race again! I want another race!”

I groaned, scooping him up again. Carissa followed, still grinning, and we ran a few steps to the next track, joking and teasing. Her laugh bounced off the walls, and I couldn’t help but notice how easily she filled the space. She was light, full of life, but real too, not some carefully curated version of herself.

We rolled through another few games, winning a silly stuffed dragon for Henry, and I couldn’t stop grinning at the way he hugged it like it was the Stanley Cup. Carissa’s hands found mine at one point as we counted tickets, her eyes locking on mine with something quiet and steady. I wanted to hold that gaze longer, but Henry spun off again, demanding our attention.

I let the laughter and chaos of the arcade take over, keeping my worry contained where it belonged. Carissa was by my side, smiling, joking, and I had to admit, it felt damn good to just be here. Just us. Just this night. Just Henry thinking we were his personal entertainment squad.

Henry darted ahead, spinning toward the next game like a tiny tornado, squealing with excitement. Without thinking, Carissagrabbed my hand and tugged me to run after him, her grip firm but easy, like it had always belonged there. The electricity in that simple touch ran straight up my arm, twisting into a pulse that made my chest stutter.

I tried to keep my face casual, grinning at Henry as he barreled past us, but the way Carissa’s fingers lingered just long enough left me feeling like I’d been kicked awake in the middle of a dream. She glanced back at me, playful and unaware, and my pulse jumped again, betraying me entirely.

“Wait up, slowpoke!” she called, tugging me a little faster, and I couldn’t stop the laugh that came out rougher than I intended. Her hair brushed my shoulder as we ran, her energy warm and magnetic, and I had to shove down the awareness of just how close she was, how… distracting.

12

~

Carissa

Henry was moving ahead toward the next cluster of games, and Boone fell in step beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.

“How’s your aim?” he asked, nodding toward the zombie shooter. His tone had that easy confidence he always carried, like he knew I’d either nail it or flail spectacularly and he’d get to laugh either way.

I snorted. “Better than yours, probably. But let’s test it, shall we?”

He grinned, long and lazy, and looped an arm around my waist as we reached the game. “I’ll be your partner in crime. Just don’t shoot me in the crossfire.”

We slipped in front of the game, the arcade noise bouncing off the walls, lights flickering over faces, over buttons and joysticks. Boone moved close behind me, his hands resting lightly on my hips, steadying me as I gripped the joystick. I felt the weight of him, the warmth of his body pressing against mine. My heart decided that was the perfect time to start racing.

I tried to focus on the clattering zombies on the screen, on the shrieks of pixelated danger, but I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him. The lights from the machine traced the line of his jaw, highlighted the faint shadow of stubble along his cheek, and I realized my pulse had picked up without warning. He bent slightly, murmuring a direction about a zombie coming fromthe side, his breath brushing the back of my neck. My stomach fluttered, nerves tangled with something hotter and sharper that I didn’t want to name.

When he touched the small of my back to get me in position, I stiffened for half a second, thinking that was it. That was the line. But then Boone pressed in closer from behind, arms sliding around my waist to guide the joystick in unison. I froze, caught in the press of him, the closeness of his chest, the solid heat of him so near. My hands clenched the controller tighter, not that it helped me focus, and I turned my head just a fraction.