Page 78 of Hockey Nanny

I took a breath. “Sometimes grown-ups have a lot going on in their heads,” I said. “Even during games.”

The third period started with the Knights down by one. Gage threw his body into every check. Boone took chances, driving the play forward with reckless determination. They tied it up midway through the period, and for a brief, fragile moment, hope flared.

Henry bounced on the couch. “See? They’re gonna win.”

I wanted to believe him.

But Colorado answered back almost immediately, a perfectly placed shot off the rush that silenced the broadcast crew for a beat before they recovered.

Dawson was on the ice when it happened.

The camera didn’t need to find him this time. I felt it, a sharp pull behind my ribs, as if something vital had been yanked loose.

The final minutes dragged on. The Knights pulled their goalie. The puck skittered dangerously close to the line twice, only to be cleared away. When the final horn sounded, the score held.

Colorado Avalanche: 4. Golden Knights: 2.

The commentators launched into speculation before the players even reached the bench. “You have to wonder what’s going on with Dawson tonight,” one said. “He just didn’t look like himself out there.”

The camera zoomed in on him again as he skated off, helmet dangling from his hand. His eyes flicked up toward the stands, scanning, searching.

My finger jabbed the power button on the remote.

The screen went black mid-sentence.

Henry looked up at me, startled. “Hey.”

“It’s time for bed,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Come on.”

“But—”

“Tomorrow’s a school day,” I added gently. “We can talk about the game in the morning.”

He frowned, then nodded, trusting me even when he didn’t understand. I guided him down the hall, helping him throughhis bedtime routine with practiced ease, my mind already racing ahead to the sound of the front door opening. To Dawson coming home. To the weight of everything unsaid settling back into the house.

When Henry was tucked in, I lingered a moment longer than usual, brushing his hair back, smoothing the covers.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, already half asleep.

“Goodnight, buddy.”

I turned off the light and stood in the hallway, the silence pressing in from all sides.

I wanted to be in my room. I wanted to be asleep before Dawson got home. I wanted to rewind everything to before it had become this complicated.

Instead, I stood there, wondering if leaving was the only way out, and how everything I’d thought was simple had twisted itself into something I could barely recognize.

26

~

Dawson

The rink was empty except for us. No music. No staff lingering at the boards. Just three sets of blades carving lines into fresh ice and the echo of breath inside helmets. Practice jerseys clung damp against my shoulders, the chill working its way through the fabric and into muscle.

Good.

I dropped a pile of pucks at center ice and didn’t bother looking at Boone or Gage when I spoke.