Chapter 18 Harper #2
Alex nods. “If only he could take that awareness and apply it to himself. The guy never knows when to stop. He’s always on the grind.”
“Sounds like your coaches work you hard.” All those early morning practices and extra training sessions Dawson’s had to rearrange his diner shift to account for.
“I mean, yeah.” Ryan shrugs. “But that’s about half of what motivates Dawson.”
“You only giving his dad credit for half the motivation?” Alex whistles. “That might be significantly underselling things.”
“Mr. Dawson?” I frown. The whole jock last name thing is kind of cumbersome at times like this. “He’s always seemed pretty nice to me.”
Ryan shrugs. “Sure. As long as you’re not talking about hockey. Then nice isn’t exactly in your vocabulary, if you’re the caliber of player that he and Dawson are.”
Alex nods. “Yeah. If that’s you, it’s more about, um—”
“Winning?”
“Redemption?”
“Pride?”
They go back and forth like that for a minute, until I’m sure they’ve totally forgotten I’m there.
These guys clearly know each other backward and forward, on and off the ice.
I glance over at the concession stand, where Dawson’s finishing up paying, and my smile only grows at the way those broad shoulders are bent seriously over the counter.
I’m glad he has friends like this who have his back on the team.
“Anyway,” Alex finally says, bringing my attention back, “I’m glad he’s taking a night off to chill with you.”
Ryan holds out his hand for a fist bump, and I hesitantly knock my knuckles against his. “Yeah,” he says. “Everyone wants to hang out with Dawson, but Dawson doesn’t hang out with everybody.”
My cheeks warm. His words add one more fragile plank to the bridge Dawson and I are building, the one that says this is real and I want to know you, too.
“Honestly, you were the one person who wasn’t on Team Dawson, as far as we could tell.” Alex grins. “So this was just about the most inconceivable combination on our bingo card. But we ship it.”
Ryan nods, face solemn. “Even more than Catradora.”
Before I can ask what a catradora is, Dawson returns, holding out a cup of hot chocolate.
I immediately bury my face in it so I can hide the blood rushing to my cheeks.
The more I learn about Dawson, the more I understand him.
The more I like him. He’s not as full of himself as I always thought.
Maybe his bravado is just a front for relentless hustle, for the self-protection of trying to be the best.
Maybe not being on Team Dawson really had me missing out.
The guys have matching shit-eating grins, and Dawson narrows his eyes. “Talking about me?”
“Of course not,” Alex says at the same time Ryan says, “Obviously.”
Dawson grins. “Just don’t scare Harper away, okay?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not that easily frightened off.”
His eyes crinkle with humor, but there’s an intensity to their depth too. “I’ve kinda figured that one out.”
Alex whistles, low and soft. It seems to bring Dawson back to the moment, and he asks, “No Noah tonight?” His tone is light, but if there’s something that legitimately would frighten me off, it would be Noah and his asshole behavior. And Dawson probably knows it.
“Nah.” Ryan’s eyes flick to me for a split second, so fast I probably imagined it. “Said he has some morning meeting with the Gamblers tomorrow and wanted an early night.”
Dawson nods. “I hate to say it, but he hasn’t exactly been captain material lately,” he says, brow furrowed. “Everyone else played really well at this week’s away game, but he wasn’t on the same wavelength. Almost like he’s more invested in next year’s team than this year’s.”
“I think it’s less about the teams and more about whatever’s Team Noah,” Alex says carefully. He stares off above our heads like he’s not used to saying anything critical and can’t quite make eye contact while he does it.
The guys are tense, all their shoulders hunched. “Well, I’m not mad to miss him,” I say to break the tension. “Give my regards to harperhater001, will you? And hawksupremacy99, while you’re at it?”
Ryan snorts. “Yeah, that man is not known for his subtlety.”
Alex pushes back from the wall and leans forward in a dramatic racing pose. “Well, I for one am glad he’s not here, because that means I can beat your ass to the other end of the ice!”
“Oh, no you don’t—”
And then Ryan and Alex are off again, blazing past innocent students in a whirl of speed and skill. I can’t help laughing. Those two are totally harmless. Puppies on skates.
Puppies who’re attracting plenty of admiring glances from the students they almost topple over. Those hockey perks are alive and well.
Dawson turns to me with a grin. “You probably thought hockey was all big plays and glory, huh? But it’s at least half babysitting two idiots with more energy than they know what to do with.”
“I don’t know,” I say, smiling back. “I kinda like them.”
Even Marissa would like them, if she got to know them. The two of us have been judging from such incomplete data all these years.
“Oh yeah?” Dawson takes a step forward, putting his face only inches from mine. My breath catches. “Even though they’re a bunch of bullies on skates with… how many years left before we’re dreaming of the glory days, again? Eight?”
“Ten, actually,” I manage to choke out. Dawson giving me shit is very, very hot. For some reason I can’t take my eyes off his lips. My pulse is racing and we’re not even skating yet. “But I’m starting to reevaluate my position on that.”
Dawson smirks down at me. He’s kinda interested in my lips, too.
“Harper!” a voice calls. Sabrina’s skating toward us wearing a cotton-candy-pink coat and matching hat. “Hey, I’m so glad to see you! I’ve been waiting to be reunited with the best foosball partner I’ve ever had!”
I can’t help grinning back. “Yeah, where’s our trophy?”
“In the mail, I think. In the meantime, what do you say we race some of these guys?” She nods after Alex and Ryan. “Looks like they already have a tournament going.”
This girl is competitive. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think I’m up to that task. Not the best on these skates.” When I stand up, the wobble in my ankles proves my point.
Sabrina grins. “Yeah, I hope you have someone who can help you practice tonight.” She raises a challenging eyebrow at Dawson, and I swear the boy blushes.
But she turns her focus right back to me.
“I’ve been thinking about your jewelry, by the way.
How would you feel about making some school spirit stuff for the game against Northview? ”
I gape at her, momentarily lost for words.
“I know that hasn’t been your niche so far, but it’s a built-in audience.
Could help with the business troubles you’ve been having.
And honestly, I just want some cuter stuff!
” She throws up her hands in exasperation.
“Everything we usually sell is so basic. But see, this is what I love about Hamilton Lakes athletics—it brings people together!”
Sabrina’s enthusiasm is infectious. It’s so different from the way Marissa and I always looked at these teams, but after everything I’ve seen these last few weeks, I have to admit: she’s not wrong.
I’m already mentally tabulating how many days are between now and the game. How much I can create by then, how much it would cost to get supplies. It’d be a stretch at this phase of the semester, but honestly, it’s a good idea. I’m mad I didn’t think of it myself.
Sabrina’s a good friend in more ways than one.
“Let me think about it and get back to you soon?” I say.
“Sure. Just don’t think too long! We have wheels to put in motion!”
Dawson clears his throat. His smile is illuminated in blues and oranges from the rink lights, and his posture is so easy, so comfortable. Like he’s enjoying listening to us bond. “So… can I steal my date yet?”
My face burns like I might combust—my date—but Sabrina just rolls her eyes. “It’s not my fault if I’m more interesting.”
Dawson raises an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that.” He hops over the boards, gliding backward with one hand extended. “Well? Can I have this skate?”
I choke back a laugh. Corny. But I grab his hand and let him tug me out onto the ice. The relief on his face loosens one of the tight threads knotted in my chest. Dawson was actually worried about being rejected. This is new and weird for both of us. But maybe that’s okay.
I’m so wobbly I’d fall over if Dawson weren’t gripping my hand for balance.
Skating uses all sorts of muscles in my ankles that’ve been dormant for years, and I’m clinging to him like a lifeline.
I wince—is this karma for all the years I spent demeaning the talent it took to play hockey?
This is way harder than it looks. And they do it at speed, while passing a puck around and shooting on goals?
And people are trying to knock you down the whole time? !
“I take back everything I said about your sport,” I shout over the pop music. “You deserve every bit of adulation you get. You couldn’t pay me to do this.”
“Not even a multimillion-dollar NHL salary?” Dawson grins.
I pretend to consider it. Before I can fire back, the music shifts to something jazzy and slow.
The businesslike pressure of his grip suddenly feels like something else, something sparky and electric and romantic.
I’d almost been able to forget he was anything but the guy keeping me from faceplanting on the ice.
But now all I can think about is how soft and warm his hand feels in mine.
I don’t let go. Just in case. For safety.
“This is a nice change from the rink DJ,” Dawson says as we loop behind where the home goal would normally be.
“What?” My throat is dry. I’m working really hard to act normal but not at all sure I’m succeeding.
“Usually it’s cheesy old stuff that gets the crowd going. ‘Seven Nation Army’… ‘Don’t Stop Believing’… and ‘Sandstorm’ is bound to play, like, a dozen times.”
I snort. “No wonder you guys are so angry all the time. You’re being slowly tortured by an aging DJ.”
Dawson throws his head back in a full-body laugh, and it illuminates his whole face. It’s so distracting I almost skate right into someone.
“Come on,” he manages eventually, grinning down at me. “We’re not angry all the time. Don’t I look happy right now?”
My hand burns where his fingers lace through mine. His eyes crinkle at the corners from his smile, and every line in his face is soft, relaxed. I’m not sure I can keep looking at him head-on—but I’m also not sure I can look away. “Yeah,” I say. “You look pretty happy.”
“And you?” His expression turns a little more serious. “I know this isn’t usually your thing, but… are you having an okay time?”
He searches my eyes like the answer really matters to him. Like he wants me to be as happy on the ice as he is. Like it might hurt his feelings if I’m not.
So I’m more honest than usual. “It’s a lot more fun than I thought it would be,” I admit. “I never fit in with these things, you know? I always kinda hung out on the sidelines before.”
Dawson’s grip tightens on mine, and he steers us around a corner. “Maybe you kinda kept yourself on the sidelines.”
I blink. “What?”
“I mean, I thought you hated me for a long time. Not exactly behavior that makes a guy want to skate with you, you know?”
I scowl. “Well, just because I thought you were conceited and considered yourself better than everyone else.”
Dawson’s eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “Are you kidding? Harper, I always figured you were too good for me.”
I read once that egotistical behavior usually comes from deep ego insecurity, but I’ve never quite understood it until now.
Maybe what looked like ego was just Dawson’s shield. Puffing himself up before a game to cover the fear of losing it; acting like hockey is the only thing worth caring about because he’s terrified of being without it.
The shock of his statement makes me lose my balance. My already wobbly ankles collapse, my legs shooting out from underneath me, threatening to drop me ass first on the ice.
But Dawson swoops in, wrapping an arm around my waist in time to keep me from wiping out, easily spinning to counteract my fall. Bringing us back to balance.
The maneuver means we’re now very, very close together. Bodies pressed against each other. His grasp encircling my waist. I’d been chilly before, but now I’m burning up.
My mouth makes a tiny oh of shock; his gaze drops to it quickly before his eyes flick up to meet mine again, and my stomach swoops. I don’t even care that half the school is here watching and judging us—I just want to kiss Dawson again. I tilt my head up… let my lips part…
“Cool down!” a familiar voice whoops, and then Ryan and Alex snowplow stop right in front of us, sending a fine spray of ice into our faces.
I straighten up and push away, the ice not doing anything to cool my cheeks. Dawson’s arm drops down immediately, and I miss it so much, I swear I could check a few hockey players myself right now. Alex must read it in my face, because he winces apologetically.
Not Ryan, though. “Did we interrupt something?” he asks with a gleeful eyebrow waggle.
“We’ll settle this in scrimmage.” Dawson shakes a threatening finger his way. But they’re all grinning.
Ryan and Alex take off around the rink again, and Dawson turns back to me, disappointment written all over his face.
“I’m glad we got to know each other better this year.” It’s all I can manage. I fight the blush rising to my cheeks at the idea of exactly how well I’m getting to know Dawson.
Dawson nods contemplatively. “Yeah. Good thing you got my coach fired.”
“Hey!” I swat him with my free hand, and he grins that sunny grin again.
We skate on in silence, soundtracked by (sure enough) “Sandstorm.” And despite the horrible music, I’m really, really happy we’re both trying something new.