Page 73 of Cold as Ice

Twenty minutes later, the game was over, and no matter how hard they’d fought, no matter how many shots they’d taken—none as good as that one, but they’d certainly not stopped making the attempt—they’d still lost.

“Hard game. Hard fought game,” Coach Blackburn said as they filed into the locker room.

Mal slumped onto the bench in front of his locker. He could feel Elliott’s eyes on him, but he didn’t want to look up.

He was afraid he’d see an apology—or even worse,guilt—in Elliott’s face, and he didn’t know how to deal with that, on top of his own frustration.

“Yeah,” Zach added. Mal saw him exchange a glance, heavy with meaning, with Coach B. “You guys are four and two.Andyou played your asses off tonight. Really great shots on goal. And that one shot? Mal to Ell? That was a thing of fucking beauty.”

“How’d you even know he was there?” Ivan asked, stripping off his gloves and tossing them into the equipment bin.

He’d just known. Well, not for sure. Not one hundred percent. But he’d taken a very Elliott-like risk, hoping—believing—that he would be there. And he had been.

Malcolm shrugged. “We’ve been playing together for awhile now.”

Ivan made a scoffing noise, and okay, yes, that was fair, though they’d certainly never bickered on the ice the way they had off it. But they’d still not gelled to that extent. Their playing styles were too different. Zach kept telling him it was going to take time, and Mal had been willing to be patient, let the on-ice chemistry develop.

“Well, I’m glad to see it,” Coach B said. “More of that trust. That’s what I want you to take from this game. Not the loss. But how hard you fought. How you swarmed them, and you pushed every step of the way. And how you trusted each other to get the job done.”

But the job hadn’t gotten done.

Mal knew that not every game was winnable. They were in a tough conference, and even though the Evergreens were a damn good hockey team, they weren’t that much better than a lot of other teams.

Still, it sucked. He finished shucking his gear, and grabbing a towel, headed towards the showers.

He’d half expected Elliott to follow, and sure enough, he did.

“Hey,” Elliott murmured, “I want to say—”

“It’s alright,” Mal said. He actually wasn’t mad at Elliott. He’d gone out there, like Coach B said, wanting and willing to do what it took to win. He’d pushed too hard, sure, but it wasn’t likehe’dbeen the penalized player—either of them, in fact.

Was it still frustrating? Oh, it sure as hell was. But it wasn’t Elliott’s fault.

“No, it’s not alright,” Elliott retorted in a voice filled to the brim with guilt and self-recrimination.

Before last night, Mal might have snapped that of course Elliott was going to make this loss all about him, because he always wanted to center every single fucking thing on himself. The goodandthe bad.

But tonight, he kept his mouth shut. Not just because of the sex. Though that was probably part of it. It was impossible to unwind the sex from the rest of it, because it was tangled up inside him, now. It was there and there was no taking it out. No taking it back.

Even if Mal wanted to. Which he didn’t.

“I told you—it’s fine,” Mal said, stepping into the shower cubicle. Flipping on the water hot and letting it cascade down his head, washing away the sweat of the game.

Elliott took the one next to him, and any other time, Mal might’ve thought that he was doing it to get an extra peek.

But Ell had already seen everything he had on offer. Had tasted and touched almost every part of him, last night. Malcolm felt his blood heat, with remembered pleasure and shock, at the memory.

When he looked over, Elliott had his eyes closed. He wasn’t even paying attention to Mal.

That’s better. For everyone. No apologies. No guilt. He’ll move on; he always does.

Nobody was more resilient than Elliott Jones. Losses slid off him, and he was always ready with a smile after or a snarky joke to defuse the locker room tension.

Mal had kind of hated that, before. But now he wanted it back.

Wanted Elliott to bat those ridiculous eyelashes at him and rattle off a come-on.

But he didn’t.

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