“That’s a lot to ask of you.”
“You’re not asking; I’m just telling you what’s on the table.”
She’s looking at me, and I can see her fighting against what she wants versus what she thinks she should do.
"We should be smart about this," she says finally.
"Probably."
"Should maintain boundaries."
"Definitely."
"We should not sit this close on the couch at ten at night when Harper's asleep, and we're both tired and not thinking clearly."
"That would be the responsible choice."
But neither of us moves.
We sit here, hands linked between us on the couch, close enough that I can count the freckles on her nose, watching each other like we're both waiting for someone to make the choice we're too scared to make.
Eventually, Nora pulls her hand away gently. "Goodnight, Ty."
"Night, Red."
She disappears upstairs, and I'm left on the couch with cider that’s now gone cold and the realization that I could get used to this—to days at pumpkin patches, evenings decorating porches and late nights on the couch talking about complicated feelings.
I could get used to Nora in my house, in my life, in every space that used to feel empty.
And that terrifies me more than anything Reaper could do on the ice.
Because wanting something this badly means you can lose it.
And I'm not sure I'd survive losing this.
19
NORA
Friday night games have become my favorite part of the week, which is a sentence I never expected to apply to myself about hockey.
Michelle is already in our usual seats when Harper and I arrive, with Liam's jersey on, her dark hair in a ponytail, and two coffees in hand. She passes one to me without being asked.
"You're my favorite person," I tell her.
"I know." She peers into the carrier at Harper. "She's wearing the jersey again."
"Tyler insists. For luck, apparently."
"It's working." Michelle settles back. "Liam says the guys are actually starting to respect him. Even some of the veterans who were icing him out."
Something warm moves through my chest that I choose not to comment on.
"That's good," I say. Keeping my voice neutral—professional—like I'm just the nanny who happens to be here.
Michelle gives me a look that says she sees straight through me but doesn't call me on it.Yet.
The arena fills. I know the rhythm of game nights now: the anthem, the starting lineups, the specific noise thecrowd makes when the home team takes the ice. I know which section has the best view of Tyler's usual position. I know that Michelle will explain any play I don't understand, and that Harper will be extremely interested during the first period and deeply asleep during the third period.