Page 143 of Cold as Ice

Not now that he’d seen a new way, not since Elliott had shown him that he could be the best parts of himself, without the rest.

Elliott grinned. “YouknowI’ve been here. I knowyou’vebeen here. And don’t say you were twenty-one when you were.”

He put a pair of fingers over Mal’s mouth, and he tried desperately not to think of when Elliott had done that before. Just last night. Elliott had been riding him slow and relentless, dragging out both their orgasms after forbidding Mal to touch his cock. So Mal had grabbed his hand and sucked his fingers down, pretending they were his cock.

Tried andfailed.

Mal shifted uncomfortably in the chair, hoping the table would hide the worst of his erection.

“So, you finally decided to tell everyone, huh?” Ramsey said, sliding into the chair at the head of the table. Like he was their benevolent ruler—or their father.

“Can’t keep a secret as good as this one,” Mal said. Maybe it wasn’t the speech Elliott had given, but Elliott leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek like it was actuallyevenbetter.

Ramsey nodded his approval. “It’s about time.”

“Agreed,” Ivan said.

“You two are gonna tear up the NHL,” Brody said, leaning in.

“That’s the plan.” Elliott still sounded so confident. Mal loved that about him. That his confidence seemed to permeate Mal’s own brain, like he was sharing half his hope.

Ivan raised his glass. “To the two best line mates a guy could hope for. Glad you two finally got your heads out of your asses.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ramsey said slyly and the whole table erupted in laughter. “Now who wants a mimosa?”

Their breakfast demolished, two rounds of mimosas and the first half of the show later, Elliott watched as during the intermission, Finn ducked outside.

He didn’t want to leave the warm camaraderie of the table—or the warm circle of Mal’s arm, wrapped around his shoulder—but he’d been noticing how Finn’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

He could tell Brody or Ramsey—or he could intervene himself.

The answer ended up being a fairly easy one. He gently shrugged off Mal’s arm, gave a slight nod towards the door when Mal gave him a questioning look, and took off to follow Finn.

He was standing right outside the door, prowling back and forth.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Elliott asked, as the door swung shut behind him. “Everything okay?”

Finn’s gaze was bleak, his gray eyes full of a worry that Elliott couldn’t say he’d ever personally experienced. But even if he hadn’t, maybe he could sympathize. After all, he’d been a good shoulder for Mal to lean on, hadn’t he?

“No,” Finn said shortly.

“What happened?” Elliott took a step closer. Put a hand on Finn’s shoulder. He hated how discouraged he looked. Finn was a great goalie and would be even better if he could stop worrying about—and stop comparing himself to—his famous father.

“Dad saw the score from last night and just texted.”

Elliott had seen a few of Morgan Reynolds’ texts over the last few months. They weren’t terrible, honestly. Morgan didn’t expect Finn to be a replica. Always told him to be his own man. To make his own success.

But Morgan didn’t seem to understand how every supportive comment he made still managed to poke and prod at his son in a sensitive spot he apparently didn’t even know existed.

How he could be so completely fucking unaware, Elliott didn’t know, but he’d decided Morgan’s obliviousness made him partially complicit in Finn’s insecurities.

“What did he say?” Elliott asked.

“Oh, just a comment about how lucky I am that I have such a great offense behind me, ready to bail me out every time,” Finn said morosely, staring at his sneakers.

“Is that really what he said?” Elliott would be surprised if that was the case. Morgan wasn’t typicallythatdirect.

Finn pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it over.

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