Page 56 of Hockey Nanny

“Yeah, this isn’t the theater,” Gage said. “Say the thing you were about to say, and it’ll probably come true.”

I froze, understanding immediately, and made the zipper motion over my mouth. It probably wasn’t the best idea to tell them to break a leg.

Dawson’s gaze snagged on the VIP pass dangling around my neck. “Where’d you get those?”

“Boone said it’s a special card,” Henry piped up without hesitation, swinging his one around. “It lets us come back here, and we can sit real close to watch you guys play.”

Dawson shot Boone a loaded look, then returned to lacing up his skates, silence settling in his wake. My stomach churned in response. His coldness was subtle, but I noticed. A quiet pulse of worry that he might be feeling weird after the other night.

No better time to make a quick exit. We were almost at the door when Henry rushed over, throwing his arms around Gage’s waist in an awkward but heartfelt hug. “Good luck.”

Gage’s grin widened, and he ruffled Henry’s hair. “Thanks.”

I caught a flash of warmth in the way he smiled at the kid. Then he spotted Boone smirking across the room and stiffened, the smile dropping instantly. He cleared his throat, peeling Henry’s arms off him.

“I mean, sure, whatever. I have to go,” he said, grabbing his gear.

I watched him leave, intrigued by his determination for others to see him as a surly grump who doesn’t have a tender bone inhis body. A different determination rose up in me then. I’d get to the bottom of the mystery that was Gage Winslow.

“Ready?”

Henry grabbed my hand, his excitement practically dragging me along.

Outside the locker room, the lights from the arena hit us in full force. The ice gleamed far below, and the hum of the crowd echoed faintly from the concourse. The VIP section waited, seats directly behind the team bench.

We sat, Henry with his giant box of popcorn, and me with a hotdog. LA Kings was no pushover, and tonight would set the tone for the rest of the playoffs. That tension was palpable all around us, and it helped me forget about everything else whirring around my head. At least for the time being.

We sat, Henry with his giant box of popcorn, me balancing a hotdog on my knee. The LA Kings weren’t an easy draw, and tonight felt important in a way that spread through the seats and into my bones. It gave my thoughts somewhere else to go, which was a relief, even if it wouldn’t last.

The teams spilled onto the ice, skates cutting white lines across the surface. I found Boone immediately. He glanced up toward the stands and caught sight of us, mouth tipping into a grin as he lifted a hand to his lips and blew a kiss in my direction.

I waved back, arm lifted high, until my motion stalled halfway. Dawson was looking straight at me. No smile. No acknowledgment. Just that unreadable focus before he turned and pushed off toward the boards.

My hand dropped to my lap. My stomach followed it.

I told myself I was reading too much into it, but I knew better. Whatever was sitting between us wasn’t going to fix itself, andpretending otherwise never worked. I’d have to face it head-on, sooner rather than later.

The whistle sounded and the game was underway.

I didn’t track the finer points. Lines changed. The puck moved faster than my eyes could keep up with. The Kings pressed hard early, bodies crashing into the boards close enough that I felt it in my feet. Their first goal came with a roar from the visiting fans and a groan from everyone else.

Boone answered almost immediately. One rush up the ice, a clean shot, and suddenly the arena exploded. I jumped up with Henry, hotdog forgotten, his popcorn flying as he shouted Boone’s name at the top of his lungs.

“Did you see that?” he yelled, gripping my arm.

“I saw,” I said, laughing, heart pounding in my throat.

The game tightened after that. Hits came heavier. Players slammed into the glass right in front of us, breath fogging the barrier as they skated away. My attention snapped to the far side of the ice when gloves hit the ground.

Gage.

A Kings player got in his face, words lost to the crowd, and then they were on each other. Fists flew. The officials rushed in too late to stop it from turning ugly. There was blood on the ice, bright against the white, and my chest clenched until I saw Gage pull back, still upright, still swinging. The blood wasn’t his.

I let myself breathe again as they dragged both men apart and sent them off. Gage skated toward the tunnel, jaw set, looking more irritated than hurt.

Play reset. The teams lined up again, tension wound so tight it felt like the whole building was holding its breath.

Henry tugged on my sleeve. “I need the bathroom.”