SUMMER
The heaviness of sleep begins to fade as I stretch my body, my eyes blinking open. It takes a second or two, but then I realize where I am. In my bed, except I’m lying on top of the duvet with a throw blanket over my body. The setup causes me to sit up and attempt to recall how I got here.
The only thing that makes sense is that Nash must have carried me up here. I only remember sitting on the couch while he put away dishes. I must have fallen asleep. I rub my eyes to wake up further.
A little gesture begins to cause chaos inside of me. If I ended up here, then it means I was inhisarms. For a moment, I let down my defenses yesterday, and a natural hug found my body far too close to his. The idea of Nash carrying me to my bedroom shouldn’t affect me, but it does.
I hear the breakout of Bo’s cry beginning to form. Our clocks are aligned, so I know that he is waking, too. I swing my legs out of bed, my feet touching the rug. I’m still in my tank top and jeans from yesterday, but I’ll worry about that later.
Walking groggily into the hall, a peculiar sound occurs; Bo hasn’t reached his full-fledged crying status.
My eyes open wide when I reach the doorway to his room. Immediately, my sight strikes up to the ceiling, trying to gain composure.
“Hey,” Nash greets me.
He’s pulling Bo up and out of his crib. Albeit, shirtless. What’s worse is that I don’t think he is even lacking a shirt on purpose. That just makes this all the more endearing.
Internally I curse to myself before getting a grip. “Hey. Looks like we can upgrade your baby skills from a four to a five.” I meander into the room and reach my arms out to take hold of my son, but Nash makes no effort to hand him to me.
“It’s good. I think I can handle making oatmeal if you want to change.”
Subconsciously, my eyes slip down to examine myself, and I cross my arms as if I can shield myself. “Yeah, sure… uhm, thanks?” My voice is uneven. “I mean for taking me to bed.” His eyes widen. Shit. “I mean notto bed, just bed, my bed, setting me in bed so I can sleep.” Phew, I think I saved that.
He tries to suppress his melting grin, but I see it all the same. “I got what you meant the first time.”
I blow out a breath, thankful that we can move on. “Just thanks. Okay?”
“No problem,” Nash says as he swings his body side to side, and Bo seems to take interest in grabbing Nash’s chin.
“And, yeah, that would help if you can do the oatmeal. I normally make it then bring him to the bathroom so I can shower and he chills in his bouncer,” I explain.
I take a few steps to Bo’s dresser and pull out some clothes and a fresh diaper then pause when I pivot to look at Nash with doubt. “Maybe I should get him dressed.”
Nash chuckles. “Nah, I have to learn.”
Skeptically, I agree. A few seconds’ pause is mindless. Well, that is until it bursts out of my mouth about logistics last night. “How did you carry me up the stairs?”
He gives me a proud look. “Summer, I’ve played hockey most of my life. If I don’t have the ability to carry you, then I think they were paying millions to the wrong person,” he jokes.
It causes me to smirk. “If you say so.”
Our eyes remain locked for a moment before I leave him to be with my son who is cooing.
The moment I’m out of the room, I lean against the hallway wall and sigh, acknowledging that there has been a shift between Nash and me. And it’s scary.
WatchingNash skate is somehow soothing, with his hockey stick in hand, oblivious to me. Is it the sound of blades on ice? Or simply knowing that he’ll be surprised I’m here.
Truthfully, I’m not exactly sure what possessed me to drive here, but my feet are planted to watch as I hold Bo in my arms. When Nash looks up for a millisecond, he does a double take, surprised that I’m here, as he should be. I raise Bo’s wrist to give a little wave to Nash, and a faint line on his mouth slides up.
Nash slowly skates our way until he’s at gate from the ice.
“Hey. Wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
My eyes circle the arena. “Well, me neither, but here I am. You mentioned earlier about coming here.” My face must show that I’m pleased to be here; no jabs are planned to leave my mouth in the next few minutes.
Nash uses his stick to toss up the puck until he snatches itaway and shows Bo. “Maybe you’ll like hockey one day,” he says to my son before his eyes dart to me as he waits for an explanation.
“I just wanted to… well, everyone is right, maybe.” There I said it.
