Chapter 8 - Carissa
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Carissa
In what seemed to be a quest to muddle my mind to the best of his abilities, Dawson took a hard left turn in his behavior toward me and invited me to go skating with him and Henry.
Truth be told, when Henry asked if I would come along, I was ready to let him down gently, if only to save Dawson the strain of denying the kid’s puppy dog eyes. Little did I know it would be the hockey captain himself who eventually changed my mind on the matter.
Back in the bathroom I’d watched the guy speedrun through countless different responses ranging from a knee-jerk no, to care-free indifference, to awkward, cleary-against-his-better judgement insistence that I come along.
The last part complete with a nervous smile that looked physically painful to maintain. Needless to say, I was confused.
Ever since the night he brought me tea, Dawson Barnett had been doing an impressive job of avoiding me.
He was always courteous, always polite, but I could see him keeping his distance, and I thought I’d be doing him a favor by backing off.
But strapped in skates and staring down the ice rink in front of me, I didn’t know what to think anymore.
I risked a glance at Dawson who was crouched on one knee, helping Henry lace up his skates.
Unlike me, the guy didn’t seem all that bothered by the chilly air.
While I stood shivering in my sweater, scarf wound tight around my neck, Dawson looked perfectly comfortable in little more than track pants and a loose vest.
“You gotta tie them tight,” he said to Henry, looping the laces with patience I could practically feel radiating from him. “If they’re too loose, you’ll be all over the ice like a tumbleweed in a windstorm.”
Henry’s small tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. “Like this?”
“Almost, champ. A little tighter,” Dawson said, and I caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He was clearly enjoying this far more than he let on.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying not to stare too openly.
Watching Dawson with Henry was… I didn’t know.
It tugged something in my chest in a way I wasn’t ready to name.
There was a gentleness there that didn’t often show up elsewhere.
He was coaching without yelling, guiding without hovering, and Henry was absolutely soaking it in.
“Coach Dawson!” Henry chirped suddenly, grinning with pride as he finally finished lacing.
Dawson’s face lit up, a full, easy smile that made the dim rink lights feel warmer. “That’s right, Henry. You’re ready to hit the ice.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Henry calling him “Coach” had sent Dawson into full-on dad mode, and I could see every inch of the man standing a little taller, shoulders back, beaming as if he’d just won the Stanley Cup himself.
I shook my head, tugging at the ends of my scarf. “I’m going to regret this,” I muttered under my breath, mostly to myself.
“Hey, Carissa!” Henry waved a little too enthusiastically, almost tripping over his own skates. “You coming?”
“Yes, I’m coming,” I said, forcing a calm tone, but inside I felt my stomach flip.
Dawson offered me a hand to help me onto the ice. I hesitated, gripping the boards like my life depended on it. He didn’t press, just waited, the quiet patience that somehow calmed me, even as my legs threatened to betray me.
“You’re going to be fine,” he said lightly, though the corner of his mouth lifted in that tiny, knowing smile. “Just… don’t panic. I’ve got you.”
“I’ve… I’ve never been good at this,” I said, and my voice cracked a little, which made me sound far less competent than I intended. Henry had already zipped past me like a little comet, and Dawson looked at me, eyes narrowing slightly as if to file away all my weaknesses for later.
“I’m sure you’re lying,” he said with mock severity. “Or maybe you just think you are.”
“I am not,” I protested, shifting my weight and wobbling. “Henry is better than me. Definitely. A thousand percent.”
Dawson crouched slightly, offering me both hands. “Alright, then we’ll level the playing field. You hold onto me. Don’t worry about a thing.”
I took his hands, feeling that same strange surge again, the one that made my fingers tingle. The ice felt impossibly cold under my skates, and I wobbled so badly that Dawson’s grip tightened instinctively, and I found myself laughing nervously.
“You’re… strong!” I exclaimed, half embarrassed, half delighted.
“Very funny,” he said, his voice teasing, but his grip didn’t loosen an inch. “You just trust me, yeah?”
“Undecided.”
Henry zipped past us again, turning occasionally to give me a thumbs-up. “Look, Coach!” he shouted. “I’m doing the spin thing!”
Dawson’s smile widened, and I felt it again.
That strange flutter, the one that made me simultaneously want to cry from happiness and punch him for looking so effortlessly at ease.
He wasn’t aware, I realized. Not fully. He wasn’t thinking about me here.
He was thinking about Henry. And yet, every time our hands brushed, every time he steadied me on my skates, it felt like an electric current I couldn’t shake.
“You’re getting it,” Dawson said, voice warm. “See? Not so scary.”
“Barely,” I said, wobbling dramatically for effect, though I was starting to actually glide a little. “Barely. Don’t get too proud, Coach.”
“I am proud,” he said quietly, and the softness in his voice made me glance up at him. His jaw was set, but there was that flicker of something—happiness, satisfaction—flicking through his eyes.
Henry skated back toward us, grinning wildly. “Coach Dawson! Watch this!” He tried a little spin, nearly toppling, but Dawson’s hands were there in a heartbeat, steadying him.
“That’s it! You’ve got it!” Dawson cheered, the pride in his voice spilling out.
I watched, grinning despite myself, as Henry puffed up with accomplishment.
There was something so achingly sweet in seeing them both like this, Dawson so alive in his element, and Henry glowing from the attention and approval.
“Alright, your turn,” Dawson said suddenly, turning toward me. “We’ll go for a little ride.”
“Uh… a ride?” I asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Yep. Hold on tight,” he said, and grabbed my hands, spinning us slowly in a gentle circle. My legs protested, my balance teetered, but his hands were firm and steady, grounding me.
“I hate skating,” I said, laughing, half in terror, half in delight. “I told you, I’m better up in the air!”
“You’re fine,” he said, his tone light, but I could feel the tension in his fingers as he kept me upright. “Just keep trusting me.”
Henry zoomed past, calling out encouragement like a tiny coach-in-training. I stumbled again, and Dawson’s hands tightened instinctively, steadying me.
“You’re… ridiculously careful,” I said, laughing, finally allowing myself to relax.
“Better careful than face-planting,” he replied, teasing. “And I’m not letting that happen on my watch.”
Somehow, between wobbles, small spins, and Henry’s constant commentary, I found a rhythm.
Dawson’s hands were warm, steadying me against the ice, and with each glide, I felt…
less terrified. Less like I was going to collapse in a heap of embarrassment.
There was a rhythm to it, and I realized I was actually enjoying myself.
By the time we finally left the ice, Henry had taken both of our hands and slipped in between us, little fingers entwined with ours.
My chest warmed at the gesture; Dawson’s jaw softened, eyes locking on mine just long enough for me to catch the look before he glanced away.
I grinned, leaning across slightly to whisper, “You’re doing a really great job,” and his subtle shift told me that my words had landed just as I hoped.
Back in the house, Henry scampered ahead. “I’m gonna tell everyone I can spin all by myself!” he shouted, twirling in the hallway with his arms out like a tiny airplane.
I chuckled, tugging my scarf tighter as Dawson followed more slowly, hands tucked in his pockets, looking impossibly calm. “Careful, little man,” he said, his voice warm but steady.
Henry skidded to a stop at his bedroom door, hopping from foot to foot. “I need my helicopter! Can’t sleep without it!”
Dawson crouched beside the bed, resting a hand on the mattress. “Alright, let’s make sure your co-pilot is comfy, too,” he said, as Henry plopped the toy onto the pillow.
“Don’t forget it can fly in dreams!” Henry added, tugging the covers over it with exaggerated care.
I bent over, tucking the edge of the blanket around him. “All tucked in and ready for dream takeoff,” I said with a smile. Henry’s eyes twinkled as he hugged his helicopter tight.
Before he drifted off, Boone popped his head around the doorframe, grinning like he’d just thought of the best joke ever. “Hey! Why don’t I get tucked in like that?”
Henry’s eyes popped open, and he shot Boone a mock glare. “Because you’re too big! You’d fall off the bed!” Then he flopped back onto his pillow, giggling at his own comment.
Boone pretended to pout, but his grin didn’t falter. “Injustice! Total injustice!”
Dawson’s jaw tightened beside me, but he said nothing, clearly annoyed by Boone’s antics.
Once Henry finally fell asleep, I let out a quiet sigh. Dawson was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable expression.
“Thanks,” I said softly, meaning it. “For sticking around. And… helping him.”
Dawson’s eyes met mine. A pause hung in the air, tension and warmth coiling together, before he gave a small nod. “You did good. Henry’s… calmer tonight because of you.”
My cheeks warmed. “Well, he did most of the work himself,” I said, grinning.
Before Dawson could respond, Boone reappeared in the hallway, clearly unable to resist stirring the pot. “Carissa,” he said, wagging a finger, “you’ve had a stressful night. I could help you relax… hot tub, bubbles, maybe some wine?”
I froze mid-step, caught between the two of them. My stomach flipped, and Dawson’s sharp glance at Boone didn’t help.
“Boone,” Dawson said, voice low but firm, “that’s enough. Give her some space.”
Boone held up his hands in mock surrender, still smirking. “I’m just offering,” he said, retreating down the hallway. “Offer still stands.”
Dawson shook his head, muttering something like, my brother is impossible. His gaze softened on me, apologetic, and I couldn’t help but grin despite my flustered cheeks.
“He’s… a lot to handle,” I murmured.
“No kidding,” Dawson agreed.
The hallway felt impossibly small, the warmth from the radiator doing nothing to counter the heat between us. Dawson leaned slightly closer, and for a moment, I thought maybe… But then he straightened, breaking the tension.
“I should get to bed,” he said, voice a little rough.
I blinked, caught between disappointment and lingering thrill. “Right,” I murmured.
He gave me one last glance, softening just for an instant, then turned and disappeared.
I leaned against the wall where he’d been standing, letting my eyes drift toward Henry’s closed door.
My chest still felt full, warm from skating, laughter, and seeing Dawson so open and alive with Henry.
Boone’s ridiculous offer lingered like a spark I couldn’t quite ignore.
I shook my head, laughing softly at the chaos of it all. One thing at a time. First: Henry tucked in, Dawson hovering like some impossibly handsome guardian angel, Boone smirking somewhere in the background, and me… me feeling like my chest might burst.
How was it possible I could even think about… both of them? My mind did a loop-de-loop and promptly refused to land on a single, coherent thought.