Chapter 19 - Carissa
~
Carissa
The locker room doors swung open before we could knock. Heat, movement, and the scent of sweat hit immediately. Players shouted over one another, clattered skates against the floor, rattled sticks against lockers.
Henry’s eyes went wide. “There he is!”
He shot off before I could grab hold of him, and made a beeline for Dawson. Which left me out of place and painfully self-aware in a horde of hot guys, some of whom weren’t fully dressed yet.
My eye caught Boone, staring straight at me. He was topless, with nothing but some K-tape strapped to one shoulder. I brought my legs close together and squeezed.
“Like what you see, McCabe?” His grin had that easy edge that made me want to roll my eyes and laugh at the same time.
I was grateful for it, because it made being around them way less nerve wracking than it had the potential to be. These past few days alone, Dawson had proved more complicated to navigate than I was ready for. So the Boone-branded levity was welcome.
“Depends,” I said. “If what I see is a guy who’s about to be late for one of the biggest games of the season, then I’m going to want my money back.”
He came over, all swagger and winning smile. “We’ve been so busy training for tonight, I never had the chance to give you a stern talking to about what you did.”
“What I did?” He was standing far too close to make this a random conversation in the middle of a packed and bustling locker room and yet, he acted like we were the only two people in there. As though he had me all to himself.
“The pool the other day? You left me in a bit of a… predicament, to put it mildly.”
I dipped my head and bit back a laugh. He’d never know how much restraint it took to walk away from him that day. I’d used studying as an excuse, but my focus had been fucked when I got back to my room.
“Sounds like a you problem,” I said, and let the room filter back in.
Henry was quite at home with the team. He jumped onto the bench, palm out, calling “Good luck,” “Good luck,” “Good luck” each time a player passed him with a high-five.
“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have brought him down here.”
But Dawson, who’d been overseeing the lucky vibes, simply shook his head. He looked like a proud dad showing off his kid to everyone. “He’s no trouble.”
Even then, it felt as though he were only acknowledging me because I’d spoken directly to him. I didn’t like the knot that formed in my stomach over it.
Soon the room thinned. The other players drifted toward the ice. Just Dawson, Boone, and Gage remained, the noise of the arena folding around us but not quite leaving.
Henry jumped off the bench. “Can we go get popcorn before the game?”
“Sure, kiddo.” Then I looked at the guys, backing toward the door. “I think he’s covered the good luck part, so I’ll just say—”
“Don’t. Don’t say it,” Dawson interrupted, cutting the sentence clean.
“Yeah, this isn’t the theater,” Gage said. “Say the thing you were about to say, and it’ll probably come true.”
I froze, understanding immediately, and made the zipper motion over my mouth. It probably wasn’t the best idea to tell them to break a leg.
Dawson’s gaze snagged on the VIP pass dangling around my neck. “Where’d you get those?”
“Boone said it’s a special card,” Henry piped up without hesitation, swinging his one around. “It lets us come back here, and we can sit real close to watch you guys play.”
Dawson shot Boone a loaded look, then returned to lacing up his skates, silence settling in his wake. My stomach churned in response. His coldness was subtle, but I noticed. A quiet pulse of worry that he might be feeling weird after the other night.
No better time to make a quick exit. We were almost at the door when Henry rushed over, throwing his arms around Gage’s waist in an awkward but heartfelt hug. “Good luck.”
Gage’s grin widened, and he ruffled Henry’s hair. “Thanks.”
I caught a flash of warmth in the way he smiled at the kid. Then he spotted Boone smirking across the room and stiffened, the smile dropping instantly. He cleared his throat, peeling Henry’s arms off him.
“I mean, sure, whatever. I have to go,” he said, grabbing his gear.
I watched him leave, intrigued by his determination for others to see him as a surly grump who doesn’t have a tender bone in his body. A different determination rose up in me then. I’d get to the bottom of the mystery that was Gage Winslow.
“Ready?”
Henry grabbed my hand, his excitement practically dragging me along.
Outside the locker room, the lights from the arena hit us in full force. The ice gleamed far below, and the hum of the crowd echoed faintly from the concourse. The VIP section waited, seats directly behind the team bench.
We sat, Henry with his giant box of popcorn, and me with a hotdog. LA Kings was no pushover, and tonight would set the tone for the rest of the playoffs. That tension was palpable all around us, and it helped me forget about everything else whirring around my head. At least for the time being.
We sat, Henry with his giant box of popcorn, me balancing a hotdog on my knee. The LA Kings weren’t an easy draw, and tonight felt important in a way that spread through the seats and into my bones. It gave my thoughts somewhere else to go, which was a relief, even if it wouldn’t last.
The teams spilled onto the ice, skates cutting white lines across the surface. I found Boone immediately. He glanced up toward the stands and caught sight of us, mouth tipping into a grin as he lifted a hand to his lips and blew a kiss in my direction.
I waved back, arm lifted high, until my motion stalled halfway. Dawson was looking straight at me. No smile. No acknowledgment. Just that unreadable focus before he turned and pushed off toward the boards.
My hand dropped to my lap. My stomach followed it.
I told myself I was reading too much into it, but I knew better. Whatever was sitting between us wasn’t going to fix itself, and pretending otherwise never worked. I’d have to face it head-on, sooner rather than later.
The whistle sounded and the game was underway.
I didn’t track the finer points. Lines changed. The puck moved faster than my eyes could keep up with. The Kings pressed hard early, bodies crashing into the boards close enough that I felt it in my feet. Their first goal came with a roar from the visiting fans and a groan from everyone else.
Boone answered almost immediately. One rush up the ice, a clean shot, and suddenly the arena exploded. I jumped up with Henry, hotdog forgotten, his popcorn flying as he shouted Boone’s name at the top of his lungs.
“Did you see that?” he yelled, gripping my arm.
“I saw,” I said, laughing, heart pounding in my throat.
The game tightened after that. Hits came heavier. Players slammed into the glass right in front of us, breath fogging the barrier as they skated away. My attention snapped to the far side of the ice when gloves hit the ground.
Gage.
A Kings player got in his face, words lost to the crowd, and then they were on each other.
Fists flew. The officials rushed in too late to stop it from turning ugly.
There was blood on the ice, bright against the white, and my chest clenched until I saw Gage pull back, still upright, still swinging. The blood wasn’t his.
I let myself breathe again as they dragged both men apart and sent them off. Gage skated toward the tunnel, jaw set, looking more irritated than hurt.
Play reset. The teams lined up again, tension wound so tight it felt like the whole building was holding its breath.
Henry tugged on my sleeve. “I need the bathroom.”
I looked down at him, then back at the ice, then at him again. “Can you hold it?”
He shook his head, bouncing in place, eyes wide with urgency.
I sighed, already standing. “Okay. Come on.”
We threaded our way up the steps, past knees and spilled drinks, my eyes flicking back to the ice more than once. We hit the hallway just as the roar went nuclear behind us.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, calling a goal for the Golden Knights.
I groaned out loud. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Henry laughed, grabbing my hand as I steered him toward the bathrooms, the sound of celebration chasing us down the hallway while I missed it entirely.
Despite our mad rush to get back to our seats, nothing much happened for the rest of the game. LA Kings threatened once or twice, but it was the Knights who came out on top in the end.
Henry and I waited near the shuttered concession stand, metal grates pulled down, the smell of popcorn lingering in a way that made him insist he was hungry again. He hopped from foot to foot, replaying bits of the game to anyone who would listen, which at the moment was me and a soda machine.
Boone appeared from the locker room first.
His hair was still damp, longer strands curling at his neck, a duffel slung over one shoulder. He spotted us and broke into a grin that felt entirely earned tonight.
I wanted to congratulate him but barely got the words out before he was on me, arms wrapping around my middle as he lifted me off my feet and spun me once, twice, the world blurring into bright lights and laughter.
“Round three, baby, here we come,” he yelled. “You’re officially my lucky charm. Did you see my second goal?”
I laughed, a little breathless, more nerves than humor, especially when he set me back down and my shoes found the floor again. Because I hadn’t seen his second goal, and also because Dawson and Gage were walking toward us.
Henry was the one to spill the beans.
“I needed to pee,” he announced, unapologetic. “But we saw the part where that one guy tripped over his skates and went into the net.”
Gage snorted, adjusting the strap of his bag. “He deserved it. Ready to go home?”
I reached for Henry’s hand out of habit, fingers closing around his smaller ones, and that was when Boone stepped in beside me and took my other hand. His grip was easy, confident, fingers threading through mine as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Dawson’s gaze flicked down to where we were connected, then back up to my face. His expression gave nothing away.
We started walking out, Henry swinging our joined hands between us, already talking about the snack he wanted at home, and whether he could be VIP for the next game too.
Boone stayed right there at my side, hand warm in mine, and I couldn’t decide if that steadied me or made everything more complicated than it already was.
Henry was in bed within minutes of his snack, sprawled out, one sock kicked off somewhere under the covers. He’d refused a bedtime story, choosing to watch highlights of the game on his iPad instead. I left him with a promise to turn it off after ten minutes.
I should have gone to my room.
Instead, I found myself in the hallway, barefoot on plush carpet, my heart doing something restless and impatient. Boone’s door was down the hall, light spilling out from underneath it. I knocked before I could talk myself out of it, pulse tapping too fast against my throat.
The door opened almost immediately.
Boone stood there like he’d been expecting me, wearing nothing but his post-game sweatpants, eyes already lit with interest. He stepped aside without asking, one hand gesturing me in.
“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” I said, words tumbling out as soon as I crossed the threshold. “I know it’s late.”
He lifted a hand, palm out, and my mouth snapped shut as my body obeyed before my brain caught up.
“Just so we’re on the same page,” he said, gaze steady on my face, “are we doing that thing where we play pretend?”
My brows knit together. He moved closer, his attention fixed on me in a way that made heat climb up my neck. I could feel it in my cheeks, in the space between us shrinking inch by inch.
“Pretend what?” I swallowed hard.
He was right in front of me now. Our bodies brushed, intentions undeniable. His hand settled at my hip, fingers firm, grounding me in the moment even as my thoughts scattered.
“That you didn’t come here to fuck me.”
My heart skipped so hard it felt like it would crash clean out of my chest.
I barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on mine.
The kiss landed heavy and demanding, his lips parting mine without hesitation, heat and intent flooding every inch of space between us.
I gasped into him and he took it as an invitation, tongue sweeping in, claim made clear in the way he kissed me like he’d been waiting all night.
My hands slid up his chest, gripping his shirt.
There was nothing but the press of his mouth and the sound he made when I kissed him back just as hard.
With Boone, there was no second-guessing.
No careful pacing. He lifted me with ease, my thighs locking around his waist on instinct, my back hitting the wall hard enough that the framed photos rattled.
I didn’t break the kiss. Neither did he.
His body pinned me there, heat everywhere, his hands roaming under my shirt, the sensation dizzying and fast and overwhelming in the best way.
He made a low sound into my mouth, the kind that vibrated straight through me, and I clung to him, lost in it, willing to let it go wherever it wanted to go.
And that’s when the door flew open.
We broke apart so abruptly I practically fell out of his arms.
Dawson stood in the doorway, jaw set, eyes fixed on us. His expression was solid, closed, nothing giving.
I was breathless and flushed, heart racing for reasons that went beyond the kiss. I slid out of Boone’s hold, tugging my shirt down, hands shaking just enough to annoy me.
“Is— Is everything okay?”
“I can’t find Henry,” Dawson said. “He’s not in his room.”
“What?” I asked, stepping back fully now. “What do you mean? I put him to bed a few minutes ago.”
He just looked at me without answering, and that silence landed heavier than words.
Boone scoffed, irritation flashing across his face. “Well, he’s clearly not here. So if you don’t mind…”
He gestured toward the hall, ready to dismiss the interruption, ready to pull me back into what we’d started.
But I didn’t let him.
I moved past them both, heart pounding, the imprint of Boone’s hands still vivid against my skin as I headed down the hall, dread setting in with every step.