Page 37 of Heart Check
At some point he asks me to explain metalworking, and I scoot toward him so I can show him my bracelet from my vantage point. I lean back into his chest, and my body softens like it’s been here a million times.
He turns my outstretched arm this way and that toexamine my work, and when he finally lets it fall, I don’t move away. It’s the middle of the night and I’m at a hockey party with Luke Dawson and everyone else is asleep. This is already unreal.
So I let dream logic soften the edges of everything around me, and I focus on the rumbling of Dawson’s chest beneath my head as we talk later and later into the night, warm and cocooned in this unexpected circle of stories.
The first thing I become aware of the next morning is a pair of arms encircling my waist. Heat like a furnace behind me. The soft, snuffling sounds of someone breathing deeply in sleep.
Dawson.
I freeze, the calculator part of my brain back online and immediately tabulating all the places our bodies are touching.
His shoulder against my back.
His arm wrapped loosely around my waist.
The curve of his hips behind mine.
It’s undeniable: I spent the night on a couch with Luke Dawson.
The Harper of a few weeks ago wouldn’t have dreamed this scene up in a million years. I never wanted anything to do with the hockey team, and Dawson was the epitome of their entitlement.
But… is he? After last night’s conversation, and all his little thoughtful gestures, and how careful he was to check in on me… maybe there’s more to Dawson than I gave him credit for.
I almost don’t want to move. It’s so warm and secure here, like the moment we arrived at the party, Dawson guiding memore gently than I thought possible. But now that the early morning watery light is washing through the windows, I have a feeling staying any longer might break the magic.
I slip out from under his arm. He shifts, releasing a sleepy sigh, and for a moment I swear he’s going to wake up and see me sneaking out. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him—it’s just that I’m a little overwhelmed by every tangled emotion in my chest, and I suddenly understand whathangxietyis. My mouth is dry, a faint headache pounds at my temples, and I’m all jittery and panicky. I need to get myself together before I can handle a conversation with Dawson.
I freeze and wait for his breathing to stabilize. His eyelashes flutter against his cheek, his thick eyebrows furrowing a little at whatever he’s dreaming about, before everything smooths and softens again and he drifts back into deep sleep.
It’s almost enough for me to lunge back onto the couch, nestling into his chest again.
Instead I square my shoulders and grab my keys from the coffee table. Then I tiptoe through the wreckage of the house without a backward glance, slipping my feet back into the shoes I left in the foyer.
I’m turning to close the door behind me when I lock eyes with Noah at the top of the stairs. His hair’s mussed with bedhead, and there’s a smirk on his face that I really don’t like. “Not so disgusted by the hockey team anymore, huh?”
14.DAWSON
I’m smiling when I wakeup on Saturday morning, still groggy from sleep. I keep my eyes closed for a minute, replaying all the events of last night before I get up, disturbing Harper and ruining the moment.
Talking with her on the couch, learning about her jewelry business, trying to stay focused on everything she was saying and not on the way her lips moved as she spoke.
Circling her wrist with my fingers, feeling her breathing in and out against my chest.
Making her drink water, reminding myself she wasn’t fully sober. Wondering how much of this she’d be willing to repeat when she is.
I was halfway through describing the importance of Don Cherry’s bow during the ’79 Stanley Cup semifinals when I realized she hadn’t asked a question in a while—she had a whole lot of questions about hockey for someone who supposedly wanted nothing to do with my team—and looked down to find her fast asleep on my chest.
I didn’t want to wake her. She looked so peaceful. So I gradually tilted us to a slightly more comfortable napping position,pulled the quilt from the back of the couch over us, and did my best to stay awake so I could sneak off to crash somewhere else when she was fully under. But I don’t think I lasted more than a few minutes. It was a long day, and her quiet breathing in the dark relaxed me more than anything had in a while.
It’s a major jump scare when I open my eyes not to Harper but to Noah.
He’s sitting in an armchair a few feet away, clutching a steaming mug of coffee. He must’ve been up for a while, if he’s had enough time to figure out Ryan’s fancy espresso machine.
“Good morning?” I struggle upright, scrubbing a hand over my face.
Noah smirks at me. “Not who you expected?”
I struggle toward the kitchen, wrapping the quilt around my shoulders like a cape. My face is warm, and not just from sleep. Spending the night with Harper feels private. If Noah saw us together, I’m gonna need some coffee before I’m ready to debrief. “What do you mean by that?”
