Page 139 of Cold as Ice

“We know the risks. We know what could happen. We’re hoping for a different result, though,” Mal said.

“For Toronto to still want Elliott?” Coach appeared to be seriously considering this. “Well, it’s not the problem it usedto be, for sure. And they see how well you’re skating together, especially recently. Like you each took something from the other . . .” He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “I can see why, now.”

“Yep,” Elliott said happily. “I removed the stick from Mal’s ass.”

“Don’t talk to Coach about myass,” Mal hissed under his breath, and Coach flushed.

“I don’t see a huge, insurmountable problem,” Coach said. “Keep playing the way you’re playing and it won’t matter. Teams want results. They want more goals than the other team, and with the pair of you leading in so many statistics, making each other better every week, I can’t see that this would be enough to discount that.”

“Really?” Mal sounded shocked.

How badly had Mal believed this would torpedo his future? And he’dstillagreed. Elliott felt a new wave of love for his guy.

He trusted him.

He trustedthem.

Coach waved a hand. “Maybe they’ll even like it? I can’t say for sure. But I don’t see a huge problem. Could another team take Elliott first? Sure. Still, I appreciate the heads-up. And an effort to keep the PDA to a minimum, at the rink . . .”

“That won’t be a problem,” Mal said quickly.

“I don’t know about—” Elliott started to say.

Mal interrupted him, shooting him a quelling look. “It won’t be a problem,” he repeated, even firmer this time around.

Elliott grinned. He was going to get exactly what he wanted.

No.

He’dalreadygotten exactly what he wanted.

“Good,” Coach said. “See you both at practice.”

They got up and were almost to the door when Coach said, “And really, Elliott,don’ttalk to me or anyone else about Malcolm’s ass.”

Elliott cackled, Mal groaned, and he knew then—it was going to be okay.

Better than okay, actually.

Chapter 18

Elliott didn’t know howhe’d feel, going back to statistics class after he’d taken Dr. Howard’s test. He hadn’t heard anything from either her or Dr. Bricker—or from Dr. Prosser herself, but he was still surprised when he walked into the lecture hall and she wasn’t there.

Instead, it was Dr. Bricker setting up his laptop at the front of the room.

“Dr. Bricker, hey,” Elliott said, approaching him.

He met his eyes and stood up to his full height. “Oh, Elliott, I’m glad I saw you. I was hoping I would.”

“Dr. Prosser’s not here,” he said. He frowned.

“No. No, and she won’t be, again.” Dr. Bricker sighed. “Dr. Howard didn’t tell you, yet?”

“No,” Elliott said uncertainly. He’d told Dr. Howard that he didn’t want her overly punished.

“Well, it’s complicated, and I probably shouldn’t tell you all the details—but frankly, you were the one who lost out here, so I think you deserve to know. Essentially, Dr. Prosser endedup in debt to the wrong kind of people.” He pulled his glasses off, cleaning them. Elliott had a feeling he was trying to pick his words carefully. “She thought she could take the house in an illegal gambling ring. She needed money for a sick relative, and it spiraled out of control—and then to settle the debt, they wanted her to take you out of the equation.”

“Me?” Elliott couldn’t believe this. He was just . . .well,him.

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