Page 57 of Heart Check
Streetlights stripe the car as we roll slowly through thequiet streets of Hamilton Lakes. Neither of us seems to want to talk much. I’m too focused on how badly I want to touch Dawson again, and he just seems… chill. Unbothered.
Does he not want to kiss again as much as I do?
He takes one hand off the wheel, reaching over, and I practically jump out of my skin. But he’s only turning on some music.
Jesus, Harper. Calm the fuck down.“Not country,” I point out just to say something.
“Didn’t fit the mood.” We slow to a stop at a red light, and his eyes flick over to me.
“Oh?” My breathing is stupidly shallow. “And what mood is that?”
Without skipping a beat, he says, “Driving a pretty girl home who you’re just waiting to kiss again.”
My heart stops. But then the light turns green and someone behind us honks, and Dawson’s eyes are back on the road and his hands back on the wheel.
I find myself wishing he weren’t such a responsible driver.
We roll through downtown, passing the Lakeside Diner and turning toward my neighborhood. The moment feels dreamy and surreal, and I’m not sure I’ll survive the next five to seven minutes in silence. After grabbing him at the diner the other day, I don’t fully trust myself to be alone around him without doing something rash.
Especially not when he’s out here implying he wouldn’t mind if I did.
Clearing my throat is a million-decibel action in this quiet car. “You were really born to play hockey, huh? Watching you on the ice tonight was incredible.”
Dawson nods, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “Yeah, well. When your dad almost won the Stanley Cup—but didn’t!—you spend a lot of time on the ice. And a lot of time thinking about how easy it would be to blow your shot like he did.”
I shift in my seat so I can study his profile more carefully. Sothat’swhat it’s really about. “He’s said that to you?”
Dawson nods again.“Talent is nothing without good luck and hard work.”It has the ring of a slogan, a mantra. Something memorized, encoded in his genes.
“But you love it,” I say, squinting at him. If this is some kind of daddy issues thing, where he’s only good because of the pressure, I’m about to retract all my newfound appreciation for the sport.
“I love it,” Dawson confirms, the corner of his mouth curling up sheepishly.
“Good.” I nod. I can hardly believe my own thoughts, but it’s taken a lot for Dawson and I to get to this point, and I don’t want to hold anything back anymore. So, blood rushing to my head, I blurt, “Because you have something wonderful out there. The belonging on that team is really special. The way Alex and Ryan have your back…”
He points at me jokingly. “I knew you were talking about me!”
I grin and point right back. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“You’re right.” Dawson flicks the turn signal casually with one hand before rounding a corner, and the stupid gesture makes me weak in the knees with its casual competence.God, Harper, you’re a goner.“I always feel like I have to be careful not to let them down, honestly. My dad drilled thatinto me when I was little. That your talent’s only as good as what it does for your team. And Dad’s invested so much in me over the years—time, and money, and training—and that’s great. Like, I’m so grateful. But it’s a pressure of its own, you know?”
He shifts to face me. “Do you ever feel that way? That you need to prove yourself worthy of everything you’ve been given?”
My breath catches. I never expected Dawson’s internal monologue to be sosad. “Not really,” I say as gently as I can. “I mean, I work my ass off. I know I’m talented, that I could make this business work if I had half the chance. I honestly don’t ever doubt that. It’s more about trying to convince other people to give me that shot, you know?”
Saying it eases a knot in my chest that I hadn’t even quite realized was there. I never thought I had something Dawson craved. As much as I wish I had the kind of support he does, there’s something grounding about knowing I have myownsupport. When you’re used to external validation, maybe that’s harder to come by.
“The nice thing about trying to get out of here is that I know everything is still ahead of me, you know?” I add.
Dawson’s face turns solemn, striped in light and dark as we pass under a streetlight. “Yeah. And I’m always trying to escape the fact that this might be my peak, if I’m not careful.” His mouth twists in a sarcastic smile. “Chasing my glory days, like you said.”
My own words hit like a slap in the face, and I wince. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was talking about, and I was just… bitter. Jealous.” My voice rings embarrassingly earnest in my own ears, but I can’t regret it. Not tonight. Not with him. “I think youhave what it takes to make it, I really do. And so does everyone else in this town, clearly.”
His expression softens into a smile, and he reaches out to rest a hand on my thigh. “Thanks,” he says, voice husky. “That means a lot. But that internal validation thing… I need to work on that. Take a page out of your book.”
“Honestly, that’s a good idea in most areas of life.” I try to keep my voice joking to lighten the moment, but I can’t ignore the warmth of his hand burning right through my jeans, his fingers wrapping loosely around my thigh. That we’ve pulled into my neighborhood, and suddenly the silence is yet again thick enough to cut. Except this time, it’s somehow worse—now that I know a little better what makes Dawson tick, and it makes me ache.
He cuts the engine when he pulls up in front of my house.
