Read on for a special bonus epilogue to Heart Check by Emily Charlotte! (WARNING: Spoilers ahead for Heart Check!)
HARPER
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I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to having Luke Dawson’s arm draped around me in one of the booths at the Lakeside Diner.
It’s even busier than usual in the wake of the season’s final game. Lindsey originally gave Dawson a hard time about working tonight, twisting up her mouth skeptically. “I don’t know, I’ve been picking up a lot of shifts for you… We don’t really have the staff to keep the floor full without you and Harper tonight…”
“Lindsey,” Dawson groaned. “I swear I’ll never ask you for another favor. Just one night to celebrate.”
“To celebrate what? Being league champs?” Her brow furrows deepened. “Doesn’t seem like such a big deal to me. Dime a dozen.”
Before Dawson can lay out his own sister, I stepped forward, clasping my hands in a desperate plea. “Lindsey. If you won’t do it for your smelly hockey player brother—which, I mean, fair—do it for me. The best waitress you’ve ever hired.”
She fell silent at that. “Well. Can’t argue with you there. But I will be squeezing you both for all the shifts you’re worth this spring.”
“Done.” Dawson had turned his sunny grin first on her, then on me.
As he is now, taking my breath away right here in the eye of the hurricane that is the diner in the wake of the game. Waiters are flying between tables, delivering onion rings and fries and coffee and hot chocolate. Everyone’s in blue and white—though with the weather starting to warm with the start of spring, attire varies from coats and jackets to very optimistic skirts and shorts—and the diner roars with the enthusiasm of a crowd that’s just seen their team absolutely decimate the reigning champions.
Max and Alex sit in the booth across from us, bubbling with conversation. “I can’t believe how much time you got on the ice today,” Max is saying. A proud grin splits his face. “Is there an award for most improved? Because you for sure would get it.”
“Is that a way of saying I started the season really bad?” Alex asks dryly.
“No!” Max’s face falls. “Just that you’re really, really good now! Trust me, I would never have dated a bad hockey player. There’s no fun in that.”
“That’s what they all say,” Ryan interrupts breezily from his spot on the end. “Good thing there aren’t many bad players around tonight.” He and Alex smack hands in a high five without even looking at each other.
Marissa, standing over him nursing her decaf (she said she was just “dropping by” but “couldn’t stay”), rolls her eyes. “I don’t know… Your stats were down in this game, Thompson.”
“Thompson?” Max’s eyes widen. “What are you, a jock now? I have some really good book recommendations if you—”
She ignores him. “More intercepted passes than usual. Something have you off your game?”
Ryan just raises an eyebrow, arms stretched across the back of the booth. “You been paying attention to me, Lisa Frank?”
“Just trying to diversify my portfolio. Gotta be conversational about athletics in this town.”
“You going to follow baseball next?” He grins. “Gonna be a good season, let me tell you…”
Marissa crinkles her nose. “I was planning on it, but honestly, tonight is kind of hitting my quota for time with you.”
Sabrina pops up, laughing, from her spot beside me. Her cheekbones shimmer with glitter, though she looks a little paler than usual. Like she hasn’t been sleeping enough. I frown. She’s been working awfully hard to publicize the end of the season, but I should probably check in on her. Before I can do anything, she’s flitting toward the jukebox, calling over her shoulder, “She’s got you there, Ryan!”
But peacemaker that she is, she’s soon got a bop-y dance tune playing over the speakers, and Ryan’s sliding out of the booth to join her. She rolls her eyes at him but offers her hand without complaint, and soon half the diner is dancing in the aisles like this is some kind of Disney movie.
Only Sabrina.
The merriment softens even Noah, who catches my eye from across the diner and gives me a begrudging nod.
We’ll never be friends, but after Dawson knocked some sense into him—quite literally—in the Northview game, he realized it was either get on board or face some serious awkwardness on the team. And when I stuck around, cheering Dawson on at every game, and the team’s performance only got better… well, I guess he realized I wasn’t the number one hockey hater he’d always thought I was.
A surprise to you and me both, bud.
I sink deeper into Dawson’s arms, letting out a tiny sigh of contentment. The knit of his sweater is soft against my arms, and when he rests his chin gently atop my head, I feel like I’m cocooned in the safest place in the world. His freshly-showered scent surrounds me, his laugh rumbling through his chest when Max makes another joke about hockey boyfriends, and I pinch myself once again.
The last few weeks have been far more magical than I ever would have imagined. I’ve done my homework and updated my website in the bleachers of the hockey stadium while he finishes practice; he’s willingly offered his hands for packing jewelry orders and his eyes for opinions on graphic design. We’ve studied together—only occasionally getting distracted by capybaras and the other cute animal videos he’s trained his algorithm to deliver—and he’s now leading the pack in math. Even burning the candle at both ends is somehow more doable with his companionship, and I think he feels the same way.
But we’ve made time for fun, too. We’ve closed the diner together dozens of times, and being stuck late with him was no longer the worst fate I could possibly imagine. And with a few more skating lessons, I’m actually getting to the point where I can make it around the rink without falling. (But can you blame a girl if she still has a few “accidental” tumbles?)
I hum to myself as my memory replays the reel, and Dawson’s arms tighten around me in a tiny, subconscious hug.
It’s in this moment that I realize:
Maybe I could get used to this.
Maybe I am getting used to this.
“What’re you going to do with all your free time?” Alex asks, dipping a fry in his chocolate milkshake. “That’s a lot of hours if you’re not on the rink every spare minute.”
“He has to keep his conditioning up still.” Max frowns. “He can’t get out of shape. Honestly, Alex, it’s like you know nothing about this game.”
Dawson grins. “I don’t know. We should make a bucket list or something, huh? What do you want to do before senior year?”
I tilt my head up to look at him. “Ooh. Pull an all-nighter in the library?”
“That’s your idea of romance?”
I ignore him. “Do a beach day at the lake. An 80s movie marathon! Oh, I’ve always wanted to play a massive school-wide game of assassins… think we could pull that off? I bet with Sabrina’s help, we could. That girl’s never met a project she couldn’t organize.”
“And maybe a road trip? There’s lots of cool stuff to see in Chicago…” His voice is light, but my muscles tense up despite my best efforts.
As if on cue, Coach Dan stops by the table just at that moment. Alex and Max clear out, ducking their heads respectfully and heading for the dance party.
Dan’s looked less tired lately—I guess having a winning team will do that to a guy. Fewer circles under his eyes, less five o’clock shadow on his chin. I even catch Shannon Bittle casting him an appreciative glance from the counter.
Dawson straightens up immediately. “Coach.”
Coach Dan extends his hand, and the two shake briskly. They’ve developed a strong bond in the last few months as he trains Dawson to take over team leadership.
Better choice than Noah, that’s for sure.
“I won’t interrupt long, but I thought I’d bring you one last piece of good news tonight.” His grin twitches at the corner of his mouth. “The Steel’s coach confirmed that there’s a spot for you if you want it. They’d love to have you on the team next year.” The grin breaks free. “Congratulations, Dawson.”
Dawson stares at him for a moment, jaw hanging open. When Coach Dan realizes no words are forthcoming for the foreseeable future, he just claps him on the shoulder.
“I’ll leave you to celebrate. That was one helluva season.”
With that, Coach Dan heads to the counter (Shannon Bittle scoots over to leave a very inviting spot beside her) After a long, speechless moment, Dawson finally turns to me, blinking hard. “Did I hear that right?”
“Yes! Come on, you knew it was coming!” A riot of emotions dances in even my gut—a wave of overwhelming pride, and excitement at the path this puts him on, and… yeah, a tiny twinge of grief.
But I immediately shove my own feelings aside. If I’m feeling overwhelmed, I can’t imagine everything going on for him. This is what he’s been working toward all year, long before we started dating. He helped me achieve my goals without blinking—there’s no way I won’t be there for him while he does the same.
So I wrap my arms around him and give him the tightest squeeze I can, hoping my voice sounds normal when I say, “Congratulations, Luke. You really did it!”
He leans back to look at me more carefully, biting his lip. “Thanks.”
I frown. Okay, I’m no actor, but I thought I did a pretty good job seeming totally unconflicted. “Aren’t you happy?”
“I guess. I mean, yeah, of course I am.” His gaze is cloudy, and I silently lace my fingers through his, waiting for him to figure out how to tell me what’s going on. “I just… I don’t know, it’s weird. I’ve spent the last few weeks finding a way to be happy even when I’m not achieving things and making people proud and shit. I’ve been really happy just… being with you.”
I tuck myself back under his arm, doing a terrible job of hiding just how much that sentiment makes me blush. In this moment, I’m pretty sure I could ask him to reorganize his priorities. To keep being happy just being with me. To turn down the Steel, and be captain of the Hawks, and keep packing orders and doing math homework by my side.
But the thought brings me no joy. Only a twisted, hollow sense of regret.
These past few months, I’ve seen just how much he puts into this game. How much it matters to him. How much he loves it—even more now that he’s not carrying as much pressure on his shoulders as he used to.
He’s finally finding a way to love the game and take care of himself, too. I can’t ask him to give that up. Right now, I need to be the one who encourages him to follow his dreams.
The same way he’s done for me.
“Come on.” I keep my voice playful. “I’m glad you’ve found a way to be fulfilled even when you’re not top scorer, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do both. You love hockey, right?”
He frowns. “Yeah,” he mutters, as if it’s something to be ashamed of.
“That’s what I thought. No one who doesn’t love it plays like you did tonight.”
Dawson’s watching me with an expression I’ve never seen before, and I’ve seen a lot in the last few months. Frustrated desire. Goofy happiness. Unshakeable pride. But this one is something… softer. Something vulnerable. The way you look at someone who you need to be the brave one, the one to help you do what you need to do.
We might not have been together long, but we’ve been through a whole lot more than some couples. And if it hadn’t been for our own prejudices and preconceived ideas, we might have been together even longer than that.
We can do this. As long as we do it together.
“We’ll make it work. After all…” I wave the napkin in the air. “We have a bucket list, don’t we? And I bet we can add all sorts of Chicago stuff to it. See the Bean! Go to some used bookstores—I hear they have great ones! See the Impressionist wing at the Art Institute! Go to a Cubs game!” I scribble notes on the napkin, then look up at him triumphantly. “There. Now you have to go. There’s no way we can do all of that in one road trip.”
He shakes his head slowly, but he’s smiling in something like awe. Then he bends to kiss me, so slow and deep that Ryan whistles at us from across the diner.
When he finally pulls back, he’s grinning.
“Give me that napkin. I think it’s still missing something important.”
Before I can protest, he’s scribbled a final item at the bottom. He passes it across to me, and I frown to decipher it.
“Complete inventory in the…” I look up, biting back a laugh.
He’s grinning too, already grabbing my hand to drag me out of the booth behind him. “Lindsey really seemed to need some help tonight, don’t you think? The least we can do is be sure the walk-in freezer is stocked.”
I interlace my fingers through his, memorizing the warmth of his grip. “We wouldn’t want to be negligent employees.”
“Never. In fact, I think I’d better be sure it’s stocked every week.”
As we fall through the door, propping a can in the gap to ensure we don’t end up locked in here for good once again, his hands are already in my hair, his hips pressing me against the wall. I don’t even feel the cold.
Before his mouth covers mine, I murmur, “A tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”
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