Page 123 of Cold as Ice

He hadn’t been able to in the locker room, but now, once they were past the throngs of people leaving after the game, he could reach out for Elliott’s hand and squeeze it.

“Thanks for doing this,” Mal said softly.

He’d meant to let go, but Elliott hung onto it firmly. Tenaciously. “You’re welcome. I’ll admit too, I’m curious.”

“About my dad?”

Elliott nodded. “You’re a unique kind of guy, Mal. And I know he had something to do with that.”

“He did push me to be the best. To take whatever I wanted to accomplish seriously.”

“Yeah, andyoudid those things,” Elliott pointed out. “As long as you remember that’s why you’re here.Youdid them.”

“I will,” Mal promised.

And Mal knew that, of course. Did he forget sometimes? Yes, he did. But he was still startled to hear Elliott bring it up withso much vehemence. The nerves, which had finally just quieted, blazed back to life again. What if Elliott—

No. He wouldn’t push his father.

But then wasn’t pushing a McCoy kind of an Elliott Jones trademark at this point?

Mal pulled open the door to Jimmy’s and held it for Elliott.

He wasn’t particularly surprised Elliott only had to scan the occupied tables for a second for him to figure out which was Anthony McCoy.

“Your dad looks just like you. Just . . .”

“Sterner?” Mal supplied.

“Yeah,” Elliott said, and they headed towards the table occupied by the very upright gentleman, dressed in a perfectly pressed dark green shirt not unlike Elliott’s own.

His father stood up as they approached.

“Hi, Dad,” Mal said.

“Malcolm,” he said, in his usual formal tone as he greeted him. They hugged but it was brief. Cold. Mal hadn’t even necessarily expected it.

“And this is Elliott,” Mal said, and he was sure he wasn’t the only one astonished when Elliott reached over and, ignoring Anthony’s outstretched hand, hugged him warmly.

“Hi,” Elliott said, shooting his dad the smile that had never, ever failed to melt Malcolm, even a little.

“The game was good,” Anthony said, as they settled down in the booth. Elliott’s leg pressed against Mal’s, not because, Mal assumed, space was tight, but because he wanted to feel him.

The feeling was mutual.

“Thanks,” Mal said.

“Mal mentioned you two are on the same line and playing together well.”

Elliott grinned with that same bright, dimpled smile. The one no amount of meeting-the-parent awkwardness or Anthony McCoy’s sternness could dim, apparently.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Elliott said, sharing that smile next with Mal. “He’s an amazing guy to play with. Aspirational, for sure. I wouldn’t want to be on a line with anyone else. And,” Elliott leaned forward, “hot,too.”

Mal wanted to die. Just sink through the bench seat and never return.

His father looked surprised. Then speculative.

“Is that why he’s here at dinner?” Anthony directed this question towards Mal.

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