Page 33 of Hockey Nanny

A chair scraped, and heavy steps sounded. Pacing. I peeked my head in far enough to catch a glimpse of them. The wild anger simmering in Gage’s expression. The quiet tension Dawson worked hard to contain.

“Sorry for not clearing it with you first.” Nothing about his tone sounded apologetic. “But I thought out of everyone,you’dget why I did what I did.”

“That’s convenient.”

I swallowed. Whatever this was, it had nothing to do with me. Except it kind of felt like it did. Everything about tonight felt like it was brushing up against everything else, close enough to implode if I wasn’t careful.

I edged nearer, heart thudding against my ribs. Boone’s shirt slipped on my shoulder and I tugged the robe closed again, like that could restore some sense of order.

“Call it what you want,” Dawson said. “But what’s done is done, and I’m not taking any of it back.”

Silence followed in which Gage seethed, and Dawson let him, not backing down.

My fingers curled tighter in the fabric. The elevator chimed somewhere behind me, another car moving.

I should’ve gone to my room. I knew that. Instead, I stood there caught between the echo of Boone’s hands on my skin and the crack in Gage’s voice, aware that whatever moment I was eavesdropping on was just another line being crossed.

And that made the knot in my stomach settle in for the long haul.

“Fostering that kid was a mistake,” Gage finally spoke. “You pulled him into a home that’s the furthest thing from stable. You travel all the time, he has to have a nanny around because you can’t do it on your own… It doesn’t make any sense, and you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

“You of all people should know what I’m giving Henry is way better than what he’d have in any orphanage,” Dawson shot back. Gage stopped pacing and glared at him. “You grew up in the system, man. You know what it’s—”

I stopped breathing as Dawson’s eyes locked on mine. I’d been so taken by the revelation that I’d edged into view without knowing, wanting to get closer despite my better judgment. Gage whirled around too, as if being caught by one of them wasn’t bad enough.

“I— I’m sorry, I was just…” I was just what? Hiding in the shadows so I could listen to their private conversation? My shoulders sagged, and I just stared at them.

“Great.” Gage threw up his hands. “Next you should sky-write it across the city. Gage Winslow’s a good-for-nothing orphan.”

He kicked a chair and sent it flying across the floor before storming past me without so much as a passing glance.

“Sorry.”

Dawson let out a long sigh, raking his fingers through his hair. He looked like he needed about a hundred hours of sleep.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry you had to see that. Sorry I didn’t keep my mouth shut about his past. I know he hates it when it comes up. Can’t blame him.”

Dawson rubbed a hand over his face again, then motioned toward the drawing room with a tired tilt of his head. I followed him in, the space dim and hushed, lamps throwing low pools of light across leather chairs and a long table scattered with forgotten magazines. The room felt bruised. Like it had absorbed too many late-night conversations and kept them.

He took one of the chairs near the window and sat heavily. Not collapsing. Just… spent. I hovered, then chose the opposite seat, tucking my legs beneath me, Boone’s shirt suddenly very loud against my skin in this quieter place.

“I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he said. “Not in front of you. Or at all.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think you meant for it to land that way.”

“That doesn’t make it better.” His gaze dropped to the carpet. “Gage doesn’t need reminders. He lives with it.”

I hesitated, then spoke carefully. “It explains some things. The distance. With Henry, especially.”

His mouth curved, humorless. “Yeah. It explains it. Doesn’t excuse it.”

I nodded, my fingers worrying the edge of my robe. Henry’s small hand wrapped around mine earlier flashed through my head. The way he’d asked if Dawson was coming back before he fell asleep.

“Gage never made peace with where he came from,” Dawson went on. “Aged out at eighteen. No foster family. No adoption. Just a bag and a goodbye.” He exhaled through his nose. “He learned early that needing people was a liability.”

Something in my chest pulled tight at that. I kept my voice steady. “So now he keeps everyone at arm’s length.”

“On a good day.” Dawson glanced up at me. “On the ice, it turns into something uglier. He plays like he’s got something to prove every shift. Other teams see it and go after him. Chirp him. Target him.” A pause. “The worst part is he joins in. Nobody’s harder on Gage than Gage.”