Page 117 of With the Assist

“And you’re not joining them tonight?” Dad asks, tone casual but eyes sharp.

If I could get away with it, I’d kick him under the table.

Nathan shakes his head, fiddling with his napkin. “No, sir. They had other plans.”

“Work-related?” Dad presses.

Nathan hesitates briefly before taking the rolls from Emma. “Something like that.”

I shoot my dad a look, but Nathan doesn’t seem bothered. If anything, he answers every question calmly. When did he start skating? How long has he been with the Blades? What has his season been like so far?

My dad must know the answers to some of these questions, but he asks anyway. I soften at the way he lets Nathan explain who he is instead of believing what he’s certainly seen on TV. Nathan is so much more than people realize.

Finally, after twenty minutes of grueling interrogation, my dad finally leans back in his chair, fork resting on his plate. “You’ve built an impressive career. That takes discipline and commitment. You should be proud of that.”

Nathan goes quiet. His ears turn a faint shade of pink as his gaze drops to his plate. When he finally nods, it’s small.

“Thank you,” he says. “That means a lot.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, wondering, not for the first time, if his parents have ever said that to him. Deep down, I know they haven’t. And suddenly a lot of things make more sense. The pressure he carries. The way he doubts himself even when he’s playing out ofhis mind. The fear that no matter how well he does, it will never quite be enough.

Irritation simmers beneath my skin on his behalf. It doesn’t last, though, because Nathan smiles, shifting the conversation effortlessly, and I’m swept away with it. I’m determined to keep him smiling for the rest of the night.

Dinner rolls on with stories from Emma about her freshman year and from Dad about his physical therapy. I’ve never filled Nathan in fully about my family, but he doesn’t show an ounce of surprise, rolling with the conversation comfortably. Instead of the anxiety that usually strikes when I think about Dad’s health, I listen without spiraling.

Nathan fits into the rhythm without forcing it, answering when asked, listening more than he talks, and making Emma laugh hard enough to snort at least once.

After we clear the table, Emma disappears and comes back with the Taboo box like she’s been waiting for this moment all day.

“Teams,” she declares. “Wesley and Nathan versus Dad and me.”

Nathan looks at the box skeptically. “I should warn you, my family never really played games.”

Emma grins, tossing her long hair dramatically. “Perfect. Fresh meat.”

I take the box from her and explain the rules, leaning closer than necessary to point at the cards and whisper examples. Nathan listens intently, brows furrowing with focus.

Our first round starts, and something clicks immediately.

We are good. Annoyingly good.

He gets my clues without hesitation. I know exactly how to pivot when he gets stuck. We high-five without thinking, laugh when we mess up, and talk over each other in an easy, overlapping way. Emma groans from across the room.

At one point, I catch my dad watching us, a small smile on his face.

The realization hits me quietly. I like this too much.

Nathan is on my couch, shouting guesses, and leaning into me like this is where he fits. He blends into my life, my family, and my space without effort. It’s as if he belongs here in a way that is both comforting and deeply dangerous.

I shove the thought away.

Tonight is not about implications. It’s about fun. About letting myself enjoy this without pulling it apart piece by piece.

Eventually, my dad yawns and stands, stretching. “I’m calling it. You two cheated somehow.”

Emma laughs, gathering the cards. “They definitely did.”

“Nice meeting you, Nathan,” he says, before kissing my head and heading down the hall. Emma follows not long after, shooting me a knowing look that I absolutely refuse to interpret.