Page 36 of Heart Check
He’s peering at me with concern. I probably have a buffering symbol above my head. “You need water,” he decides.
“Youneed water,” I say automatically, and it reminds me of the moment in the fridge, the way his eyes flicked to my lips before they flicked away.
He rolls his eyes. “I’ve barely been drinking.”
“Really?”
He shakes his head. “Not when we have another game next week. Can’t compromise my performance.” While I’m taking that in—that his friendliness tonight isn’t the effect of drunkenness—he holds up a hand. “Just sit, okay?”
So I sit. As two a.m. approaches, I sink into the deep couch looking out the living room windows. It’s the comfiest seat my butt has ever felt, and the glass of water Dawson brings when he joins me is the best drink I’ve ever tasted. I gulp half of it down in one go, cool and quenching.
At this stage of the night, his hair is more mussed than usual, flopping chaotically as whatever product he uses loses its hold. I like it like this. It matches the softer Dawson who’s been checking on me all night, the flush in his cheeks, the quiet of the house as the party shifts into something gentler.
This Dawson makes the petty rivalry of the last few weeks seem so silly. Maybe all I needed was a little time to get to know him.
I lean forward to put the empty glass of water down on the coffee table, and when I settle back onto the couch, I’m somehow seated much closer to Dawson. Close enough to tuck myself under his arm again.
Suddenly I can no longer repress the moment in the walk-in when I could swear he was about to kiss me. The heat of his body pressed against mine—the scent of him all around me—the tiny inhale of breath—
From the way his eyes flicker across my face, I wonder if he’s thinking of the same thing.
I’m holding my breath. I feel suddenly certain that kissing Luke Dawson would be nothing at all like my dry peck with Ethan at homecoming.
“Your business,” he says, clearing his throat, “tell me more about it?”
Right. Of course he isn’t thinking about kissing me. Why would he be? I take a deep breath, leaning back slightly so I don’t do anything rash. “I’ve been building it for years. I used to only make things for my friends, but the demand started getting out of hand.”
Dawson nods. “I remember when every girl I knew started wearing one of your bracelets.”
I blink. “You do?” He just nods, so I stumble ahead, trying to regain my composure. “Well, I started off with simple beaded stuff, but pretty quickly I wanted to make more of my own designs. I started thinking, there’s no way I can afford all these supplies if I don’t start charging for some of this stuff. So I started Beads by Braedon. Last year I made an online storefront, and, well…” I shrug. “Things have been taking off. So I’ve been hoping it’ll win me the Hamilton Lakes Young Entrepreneur Grant for college, and maybe I can use the experience to get me into business school. But I have a lot to learn, and our district doesn’t have nearly enough economics and business development classes, so.” I take a deep breath.You’re monologuing, Harper.“I’m kind of on my own. But I’m figuring it out.”
Dawson frowns. “It sucks to have everything riding on something that’s not in your control. And for other people to not see how much it means to you.”
I blink, startled. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly.” I’m close enough to see the ring of brown and gold in his eyes, the freckles on his nose. It must hypnotize me, because I keep going. “If I’m honest, that’s why your team got under my skin so much? Like, I always thought it must be so nice for other people to care about what you want to do with your life. Care enough to devote so much of their own time to cheering you on.”
His gaze turns softer, understanding. I have to look away. I’ve never really connected the dots like that for anyone else. Have barely admitted it to myself.
“Yeah, that’s not fair at all.” I look back, startled, at Dawson’s mouth twisted in frustration, his eyes intent on mine. “For what it’s worth, I meant what I said earlier. I really dothink you can accomplish whatever you set your mind to. You’re up against a lot, but you haven’t let it stop you yet. I admire that, honestly. We could all use a fraction of your drive.”
My cheeks are on fire. He’s not saying anything I haven’t heard from Marissa and my parents, but coming from Dawson, it means so much more. He’s not at all the dismissive jock I always assumed. “Thanks.” It comes out as a whisper, and I have to clear my throat. “What about you? It sounds like you work your ass off for the team.”
“I told you I’m trying to get a scholarship to Michigan eventually,” he says. “It’s where my dad played at the start of his career. I know I could try out for a lower-tier team, but Dad’s always been so insistent that I’m even better than he was, that I could go all the way. And I guess it feels like I’m completing some unfinished arc, you know?”
He searches my face, like he’s afraid I’ll laugh at him. I don’t blame him for being nervous—I’ve mocked his team and this game plenty of times before, and suddenly I regret every joke. Tonight, all I want is for him to finish his story. I nod as encouragingly as I can and he relaxes, continuing his explanation.
“But without a scholarship, I can’t afford to leave Hamilton Lakes, and I’ll end up inheriting the Lakeside and running a diner for the rest of my life. And the first step is making it onto a good Juniors team next year. That’s why Coach Red getting fired is so stressful. I know I’m a great player.” He shrugs, and for once I don’t see it as self-centered—more like he’s just acknowledging a fact that would be dumb to ignore. “But without the right coach and the right connections thisyear, it won’t mean anything. I have this one moment to make something of myself. If I don’t, I’ll be staring up at my dad’s old jerseys at the Lakeside when I’m forty, thinking about the year I almost did something with my life.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” I say slowly. “No wonder the changes this season mean so much to you.”
He nods, making that intense eye contact again. For once I don’t want to tease him, not even a little bit. Talking to him like this makes it impossible not to see the importance of what he cares about. Makes it impossible not to see him as way more real than before.
Does he deserve all the credit the rest of the school gives him, and I’ve just been too close-minded to realize it?
I pull my legs up onto the couch, and the cushions tilt us closer together. Our knees brush, and this time I don’t move away.
“Okay, so. As long as you’re convincing me maybe hockey isn’t quite as dumb as I thought… can you explain what this icing thing is?”
His face lights up, and his excitement over rules and technicalities is almost enough to make me understand the game—and definitely enough to keep me from realizing how late it’s getting. The house gets quieter and quieter, and our bodies become looser, melting into the couch, inching closer and closer together.
