Chapter 30 Harper
When the hockey team pours out the doors of the locker room in a flood of blue, my heart hammers right out of my chest. All I want is to see Dawson. To congratulate him on that goal—on his win—to make sure he’s okay—
The desperation is undeniable. I can’t possibly pretend I don’t have feelings for him anymore.
I just have to hope he still has feelings for me, too. That Noah was wrong. That his bracelets mean something.
Fans carrying bouquets of flowers block my view, and I keep bobbing back and forth, trying to get a clear view of Dawson’s face. My heart twists in my chest. I wish I had some flowers.
Next time, I promise myself. There has to be a next time.
“Customers!” Marissa hisses from the other side of the table, and I do my best to snap back to attention.
But my eyes have locked onto one pair of broad shoulders through the crowd, and I can’t look away.
It’s like the moment he emerged from the crowd at the small business fair, but there’s no way he could sneak up on me now.
It’s like every cell in my body is attuned to his presence.
I want to run toward him, but we’re swarmed by customers, and he’s not coming my way. I frown, staring after him, willing him to take a step toward our table. To show me he hasn’t given up on us.
Alex is beaming ear to ear, gripping the hand of an equally smiley Max. Max keeps miming like he’s swinging a hockey stick, and I think he’s reenacting Alex’s goal. I can’t help smiling—he deserves that celebration and more.
Ryan’s surrounded by a circle of fans, everyone trying to get close enough to touch his jersey or get him to recount a story. He tosses his glorious blond locks and holds out a bicep to squeeze, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to suppress my smile.
I don’t spot Noah. Either they never let him out of that penalty box, or he’s sulking in the locker room somewhere. Both are fine by me.
The players move aside enough for me to finally catch another glimpse of Dawson. He’s talking to a man I don’t recognize, one who’s wearing some kind of sporty jacket with an unfamiliar insignia. It looks like a little hockey puck. Not ours, not Northview’s…
It must be a scout. The Steel? My spirits leap, an overwhelming hope buoyant in my chest. Thank God someone saw him play like that. It’s everything he’s been working toward all these years, and no one deserves the opportunity more. I know that for sure now.
“You okay?” Marissa raises an eyebrow at me.
I roll my eyes, searching for a snarky comeback—I’d like to see her stay focused under these circumstances—but then her eyes glaze over and her mouth drops open.
I turn back to Dawson to see a tall woman has joined him and the scout.
“That’s Sophie Ko,” Marissa hisses.
I blink. “Who?”
I’ve never seen Marissa so close to murder.
“Sophie Ko of the Independent.” She’s half out of her seat.
“If I covered sports, she’d be my role model.
I mean, she already kind of is. She’s the only woman reporter on the sports section, and she won an award last year after she did that piece on the football team. I’d love to pick her brain sometime.”
We’re both watching just as intently as we followed the game on the ice an hour ago.
Then Dawson lifts his hand, and my eyes follow it like every movement is traced in slow motion.
He’s not just wearing a stack of my bracelets.
He’s wearing my favorite bracelets. Even from here I can see the one decorated with birdcages that made me smirk—hey, if I’m going to go all team spirit, I’m going to give it my own flair—and the one I made just for him.
The one reminding him to trust his team.
Then he looks our way. And he smiles.
It’s like a cheesy scene from a ’90s movie, the way the crowd parts for him as he moves our way.
He never breaks eye contact. Sweat beads at my hairline despite the artificial chill in the air, and the echoing conversations around me are suddenly so loud, bouncing off the high ceilings and linoleum.
My heart is about to jump out of my chest.
When he gets closer, his words start cutting through the noise in that rumbling baritone.
“Really promising small business— applying for a Young Entrepreneurs Grant— has been advocating for more robust business curriculum here at Hamilton Lakes— can you write that down?”
My face glows. He’s been paying attention. And he’s using this moment to boost me up.
He stops in front of our table, nodding at Marissa while I do my best to keep my jaw from scraping the floor.
“And Marissa’s one of our most talented reporters on the student newspaper. She’s running for editor-in-chief next year, and I think she could take it to the next level.”
Marissa gapes at him, and I can tell she’s seeing the Dawson I know for the first time. The thoughtful, kind one who wants everyone else to succeed just as much as him.
I dig my elbow into her ribs and she jolts back to herself, extending a hand to the reporter. She freezes halfway, and her hand darts back to her sweater, smoothing the puffballs, before it shoots back out. “I—hello, I—I write. Sometimes. Or try.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Sophie holds out her hand to shake.
I have to clear my throat to remind Marissa to let go.
“I’d love to talk to you more about your business, Harper?
Could make a great human-interest piece about how it’s been going, running a business as a teenager.
How the school’s supported you—or not—and how you’ve been making ends meet.
What you’d envision for your ideal program.
You know.” She waves her hand airily as if she’s not just described my absolute dream come true.
Exposure for the business, a great item for my grant and college applications, and maybe even some leverage to really change things here at Hamilton Lakes.
I grin. “Yeah, I’d love to. Name your time.”
She nods, typing a note on her phone. “Amazing. I’ll be in touch through your—do you have a website?”
“She does,” Dawson and Marissa say simultaneously. They lock eyes with each other for a long, weird moment. As if wondering if they’re still enemies. Dawson’s the first one to smile, which almost makes Marissa short-circuit again.
I can’t help smiling. I told you he was nice, I want to say. Hell, I want to sing it.
Sophie turns to Marissa before I can break into full Broadway. “If you’re interested in a career in journalism, I’m your girl. It’s a tough field these days, but you can still make it work if you’re flexible. Happy to give you some tips.”
Marissa takes her outstretched card. “I’d love to start with taking down Logan for editor-in-chief, if you have any ideas.”
Sophie grins. “Oh, honey. I ran the most bloodthirsty campaign Hamilton Lakes had ever seen when it was my turn. I’d love for you to beat my record.”
She waves jauntily as she heads out the doors.
As soon as she’s out of sight, Marissa and I turn to each other, stunned. Then she grabs my shoulders and jumps up and down, squealing.
“Your business—”
“Your hero!”
Dawson waits, off to the side, with his hands clasped patiently in front of him. When I turn back to him, he’s smirking that tiny little sideways smirk that hints at his dimples, and it makes me want to hurl myself into his arms.
The air thickens immediately with tension as our eyes meet. His hair is damp from sweat, his cheeks flushed from exertion.
Everyone’s watching us, a little circle clearing around the table. Marissa elbows me hard in the soft spot between my ribs, widening her eyes meaningfully, before stepping away to give us some privacy. I shoot her a smile that’s half-grateful, half-nervous; she mouths, Go get your hockey player.
I turn back to Dawson, pulse racing, heart in my throat.
“Thank you for the introduction,” I manage. My voice sounds strange even to my own ears.
“Least I could do. You deserve all that recognition and more. Always have.” He takes a half step forward, a furrow appearing between his brows. His composure disappears, his words tumbling out fast and frantic. “Harper, I don’t know what Noah said to you, but it wasn’t true.”
My heart stops. So that fight was about me. Stunned, mouth hanging open, I say, “How do you know?”
His eyes never leave mine. “Because anything that would make you keep your distance is so far from what I want.” He takes another step forward, and my heart hammers louder than ever.
“Listen, Harper. I’m sorry about everything.
You were right.” His voice is solemn, sincere. “I really was a little stuck-up.”
“No—well, okay, a little—”
He holds up a hand, and I fall silent out of surprise. “I was too focused on my own game,” he says, and I get the feeling he’s talking about way more than I know. “You helped me realize it. Thank you.”
I clear my throat. “Well, whatever you realized, it paid off. You played… amazing. I take back everything I said.”
His eyes darken with intensity. “What?”
It’s almost impossible to keep my voice light when I’m thinking of how much he deserves this win, how my own insecurities almost allowed Noah to keep us apart, how close we came to missing this moment together.
But there will be time for that. So I just say, “You might have a dozen good years left in you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. My eyes dip to follow it, and my breath shortens.
“Um… I’m gonna…” Marissa’s edging back a step at a time, but I don’t even turn to look at her. All my attention is on Dawson in his hockey uniform as he closes the distance between us.
“Can we talk, Harper?” he says. “We can go anywhere. I’m sure you’ve had enough of this rink for one night. I just want to sort things out. Because I really, really like you.”
Those dark eyes on mine, reminding me of secrets spilled in the dark.
His tousled hair and the heat of a kiss after the best date of my life. A night I never wanted to end.
Hidden dimples, tucked away with the rest of his vulnerabilities, just waiting for it to be safe enough for them to peek out.
He’s just won the most important game of his career so far. There’s a scout hovering right behind him. Two coaches and a dozen teammates. Scores of adoring classmates.
And he wants to talk to me.
I tilt my head up to maintain eye contact as we get very close together.
I want to talk to him all night. About everything I’ve been thinking and regretting and realizing. How I was never ashamed of him, just insecure about myself.
But conversations can wait. He’s shown me everything I need to know. Right now, all I want to do is show him I like him, too. That I’m in this if he is.
So I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. His hands instinctively go to my waist, pulling me close. When I tip my face up, it’s with a smile. And finally, his dimples peek out, right before our smiles meet.
The first time we kissed, it was impulsive and life-changing. The second time, I knew it would be impossible to get him out of my system.
And this one—the third—has all the softness of a promise.
The whole school’s watching, hockey fans surrounding us in a sea of blue. When Dawson’s hand comes up to cup my cheek, whoops and hollers ring out around us.
I don’t care. I want them to know.
In this perfect moment, pennants fluttering above us, wintry chill in the air, cheers of joy echoing from walls newly christened with victory—there’s nowhere I’d rather be.