Page 39 of Hockey Nanny

I stayed that way until the ache behind my eyes dulled and my throat burned raw. When I finally lifted my head, the room looked the same. Couch. Coffee table. Dark window reflecting a smaller, wrecked version of me.

That was when I noticed the doorway to the kitchen.

Gage stood there, half in shadow, an ice pack pressed against his cheek. Purple bloomed along his jaw where the cut had already started to swell. His other hand hung at his side, fingers loose, like he hadn’t decided what to do with them yet.

“Sorry,” he said, shifting his weight. “Didn’t mean to… I couldn’t sleep. Face was pounding a little louder than usual.”

A huff of a laugh escaped me, thin and embarrassing. I wiped my nose with my sleeve. “You took a beating tonight.”

The ice pack slid. He adjusted it, winced, then tried again. “Why’re you crying? Do I need to beat up anyone? Because don’t let my current state fool you. I totally could.”

His attempt at levity struck me, and made everything worse. The tears started again, and this time there was no stopping the dam walls crashing in.

“I messed everything up,” I blubbered, and once the door opened, it all poured through without filter. Boone. The night that should never have happened. Dawson finding out, and how I was sure that was the reason they couldn’t get it together during the game tonight. My dad not showing up. The dinner I’d so been looking forward to, cancelled.

My voice tangled over itself, skipping ahead, circling back, leaving holes I didn’t care to fill. I wasn’t talking to him. I was wrenching the muck out of me, discarding it so I could stand up straight again. So I could breathe.

Gage’s ears went red somewhere around my confession about sleeping with Boone. He stared at the floor, then the wall, then back at me, jaw working like he was chewing something tough. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t offer fixes. He just stood there and took it.

When I ran out of words, my chest hitched and stalled. I dragged in air through my nose and waited.

And waited.

The air went icy cool between us. Then he nodded once, and disappeared into the kitchen.

I sagged back into the couch, humiliation settling in. Great. Confess your sins to the one person least equipped to hear them. I’d officially outdone myself. If everything wasn’t ruined before, they sure as hell were now.

Then his voice floated out to me. “Well, are you coming?”

15

~

Carissa

I blinked, caught between curiosity and confusion, then pushed off the sofa. The hardwood floor creaked under my weight as I crossed the living room.

“Coming,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended, and followed the trail of light into the kitchen.

Gage stood at the island, sleeves rolled up, a skillet sizzling on the stove. Vegetables leapt and hissed in the pan.

“What do you think?” He dipped a spoon into the pan, then lifted it to my mouth.

I hesitated, then had a taste. The sweetness of caramelized onions and the tang of roasted peppers hit my tongue in an explosion of flavor.

“Wow. This is… really good.”

“Not sure if I should take the tone of surprise as an insult.” He smiled to himself, turning his attention back to flipping a chicken breast on the adjacent griddle pan.

“You can’t blame the tone,” I replied, standing back to watch him work. His movements were precise, controlled. He added a pinch of salt, a flick of black pepper. There was a calming rhythm to it, one that didn’t match the gruff, brooding face I was used to seeing. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

“Most people don’t.” He tossed the vegetables slightly, then slid the pan off the heat. “More lemon?”

Another taste-test made its way toward me, and I dutifully obliged. Tangy, bright, with just enough heat to make the flavor linger.

“Perfect,” I said, and he nodded like I’d given him a report card with straight As.

“Henry’s a tough one.” It almost got lost under the constant whirr of the vent over our heads. I moved closer but said nothing. “I just don’t want to screw him up. It’s so easy to do, and the kid deserves better.”