Chapter 15 - Carissa
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Carissa
I blinked, caught between curiosity and confusion, then pushed off the sofa. The hardwood floor creaked under my weight as I crossed the living room.
“Coming,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended, and followed the trail of light into the kitchen.
Gage stood at the island, sleeves rolled up, a skillet sizzling on the stove. Vegetables leapt and hissed in the pan.
“What do you think?” He dipped a spoon into the pan, then lifted it to my mouth.
I hesitated, then had a taste. The sweetness of caramelized onions and the tang of roasted peppers hit my tongue in an explosion of flavor.
“Wow. This is… really good.”
“Not sure if I should take the tone of surprise as an insult.” He smiled to himself, turning his attention back to flipping a chicken breast on the adjacent griddle pan.
“You can’t blame the tone,” I replied, standing back to watch him work. His movements were precise, controlled. He added a pinch of salt, a flick of black pepper. There was a calming rhythm to it, one that didn’t match the gruff, brooding face I was used to seeing. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
“Most people don’t.” He tossed the vegetables slightly, then slid the pan off the heat. “More lemon?”
Another taste-test made its way toward me, and I dutifully obliged. Tangy, bright, with just enough heat to make the flavor linger.
“Perfect,” I said, and he nodded like I’d given him a report card with straight As.
“Henry’s a tough one.” It almost got lost under the constant whirr of the vent over our heads. I moved closer but said nothing. “I just don’t want to screw him up. It’s so easy to do, and the kid deserves better.”
I frowned. “Nobody’s perfect. You shouldn’t put pressure on yourself when all he needs is for you to just be yourself.”
He gave a short laugh, bitter, but not without a trace of amusement. “I’ve had to fight for a place in the world my whole life. Didn’t get a lot of chances to be… me.”
“What would that look like?” I found myself asking. He glanced at me with a questioning look as if I’d suddenly said something in a foreign language. “If you got the chance now, who would Gage Winslow be?”
He thought for a moment, absently nudging the chicken in front of him. “Good question.”
“Do you have an answer?”
He shrugged. “Most people think I’m the guy they see on the ice. Angry, impatient, getting into trouble.”
“I see a player who never gets tired of stepping in when the chips are down.”
His hand stilled, and he slowly moved to turn off the burner. The kitchen felt smaller, warmer, the night pressing in from the windows but nothing in here demanding anything we didn’t want to give.
“Sometimes I think… I have to be what they expect. I have to not let them down.” There was a pause, and then he continued with, “The kid gets close to me, it’s only a matter of time before my reputation rubs off on him.
Makes his life harder. Our own fans hate me.
The media can’t get enough of the headlines that make me out to be the bad guy. He doesn’t need that. Doesn’t need me.”
I swallowed, inexplicably moved by the honesty on offer. “It didn’t sound like hate echoing through the arena tonight. You saved the game.”
He smirked faintly, then went back to plating. Chicken on one side, sautéed vegetables layered on the other, lemon wedges at the edge. He slid the plate across the island to me. “Eat. Tell me if I overcooked it.”
I raised an eyebrow, skeptical, then took the fork. Every bite was impossibly good. Tender, flavorful, balanced. I stopped mid-chew and looked up at him. “This is incredible. Not angry, or impatient.”
Our eyes met, and he looked almost surprised by my observation.
“Seems you have more than one side to you, Gage,” I said quietly, and took another bite.
“Yeah, well, consider yourself lucky. This is a once-in-a-blue-moon kinda thing.”
I laughed, a short, genuine burst. The tension of the night, of Boone and Dawson, Henry, my dad, it all loosened a fraction. My shoulders eased against the counter. “You’re full of surprises.”
He glanced down at the mess he’d made and shook his head. “It’s easier when it’s just me. No expectations. No one to disappoint.”
“Except… that’s a lie.”
His gaze shot up to mine, searching.
I let it simmer, working through another bite packed with scrumptious flavor. “You hold yourself to the highest standards. Highest expectations. You’re always pushing, because it’s you who’s never convinced it’s enough. Sound about right?”
“Nobody asked you,” he said, and a glimmer of a smile lifted his expression as he slid onto the stool beside me. “Anyway, there’s no room for softness in my world.”
“There’s always room for a good cook, though.”
He plated some chicken and veg for himself and took a bite. “I wouldn’t call it good. I get by. Just always like cooking, I guess.”
I smiled, feeling the weight on my shoulders dissolve. “I’d be really happy if you like cooking more often. This is amazing.”
“In that case, I’d cook for you whenever you want,” he replied, holding my gaze. His eyes weren’t as guarded as they always were. Maybe it was the low lighting, or some unknown side effects of the meal he’d prepared, but they seemed almost soft.
The deep purple bruise blooming along his cheekbone and the thin red line on his temple caught my eye. “If you’re going to cook for me like this, then I get to patch you up when you need it.”
Gage froze mid-bite, fork hovering in the air. “That’s not necessary.”
“Not a request, Winslow.” I was already sliding off the stool, knees bending lightly as I rummaged in the kitchen drawer for the first aid kit.
When I returned, kit in hand, his eyes followed me, wary and amused, as I sat again, close enough for our knees to almost touch. He tilted his head slightly, the bruise catching the dim kitchen light. I opened an alcohol swab, gave it a little shake, and he flinched.
“Stop being such a baby,” I said, leaning a little closer, careful with my hands as I pressed the swab to the cut. He winced, squeezing his eyes shut, but didn’t pull away.
“This is why I said to leave it,” he muttered, but there was no real argument behind it. “These things heal fine on their own.”
I ignored him, working with deliberate care, cleaning along the edge of the cut, the faint sting pulling another flinch from him.
Our eyes met, and for a stretch of seconds it was just the two of us in the dead of night, the faint crackle of the stove under the pan he’d just used, and the slow, deliberate motions of fixing him up.
“Relax,” I said softly, pressing the band-aid over the thin line. “There. Done.”
Gage leaned back, a hand idly brushing the counter near mine. I caught the small shift of his body, the way he didn’t recoil from it. Trust, unspoken and effortless, filled the space between us. It was charged with something else, too, but neither of us was ready to call it out.
He finally exhaled. “Thanks.”
I set the kit aside, and cleared my throat. “Just because I’ve promised to patch you up doesn’t mean you should be reckless every chance you get.”
“That’s just who I am.” His easy smile returned, eyes glinting with mischief. “Man of risk. Danger.”
I narrowed my eyes, catching the faint flicker behind his confident posture.
“You don’t fool me, you know. You care about Boone and Dawson, and putting your body on the line is how you show it.
But there are other ways.” I nodded toward the empty plates.
“Like incredible chicken and sautéed vegetables, for instance.”
He studied me, chest rising and falling, and didn’t argue. Nothing but quiet acknowledgment and the way his gaze softened, just a little, before he finally murmured, “Fair.”
I stood, tucking the kit away, feeling the shift in the air. Something about him had dislodged and been laid bare. A side I hadn’t seen. Hadn’t known was there. Someone who fought his way through everything and yet, beneath it all, could be quietly present, quietly generous.
As I walked out, I knew I’d been given a glimpse of who Gage could be when he wasn’t hiding behind a wall of anger and aggression. Not cold or distant, but a man who cared deeply, and could cook up a storm.
It was this image playing in my mind when I ran into Dawson stepping out of my bedroom upstairs.
“Everything okay?” My voice was surprisingly steady for someone instantly consumed with the fear of being fired. All that hard work from Gage downstairs was instantly erased, and I found myself paralyzed all over again.
Dawson nodded, and stuck his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. I was sure he’d gone to bed hours ago, but he was still dressed. And apparently, looking for me.
“Are— are you okay?” He studied me closely, probably noticing the sickening shade of green I’d just turned.
It was a gentle probe in the right direction, but after the week I’d had, the crying session on the sofa, the surprisingly good heart-to-heart with Gage… I just didn’t have it in me to keep beating around the bush.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “For what happened with Boone. It was totally unprofessional, and… and unethical. I crossed a line, and I understand if you don’t want me working for you anymore. It was a mistake. I never should’ve—”
“It’s okay.” Dawson had closed the space between us, the warmth of his hand seeping into my cheek.
He met my eyes with a pained expression that made the rest of my speech wither away to nothing.
His thumb slowly grazed my skin, making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle unexpectedly.
“It’s okay, Carissa. I’m not going to fire you. ”
“Y—you’re not?”
A wistful smile curled his lips, but didn’t do much for the cryptic shade of sadness turning his eyes a deeper shade of green. “My brother’s always been the bold one. Even as kids, he never let his fears hold him back.”
My heart picked up, thudding in my ears as I realized the confession for what it really was.
Finally understanding the look in his eyes.
I swallowed, but when I was about to reply, Dawson blinked a few times fast. It was as if he’d just realized how close we were standing, how his hand still cupped my cheek.
He backed up without a moment’s hesitation, shaking his head as if to rearrange his thoughts. “I, uh… I actually came to your room to see if you were up. To ask if you’d like to go to a party with me.”
“Now?”
“No.” He gave a light laugh. “Next week. Events threw together this black-tie thing…”
My face must’ve been doing something weird, because he trailed off and went back to looking at me a little too closely.
I wasn’t sure what he’d expected. I was ready to go into my room and start packing.
Never to see any of them ever again. Instead, my brain now had to deal with a sudden party invitation.
“Did you hear what I—?”
“I heard.”
“Okay. Good. And?”
I heard the word, “Yes,” fall out of my mouth while a million thoughts barreled through my head at the same time. And before I’d regained full control, it was followed by, “I’d love to go with you.”