Page 148 of Cold as Ice

“See you on the ice,” Malcolm said.

That had seemed like enough to say, only five seconds earlier, but now it wasn’t enough. Couldn’t possibly be enough. He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Elliott’s cheek. Not enough to steal his thunder or his spotlight, but enough to tell him everything Elliott should always know.

You’re loved.

You’re admired.

You’re needed.

You’re mine.

“Seeyouon the ice,” Elliott said impudently, that grin he’d always loved—and hated, too, for a little while—plastered across his handsome face.

Six months after that . . .

The music was booming, reverberating throughout the rink, lights flashing and strobing with every bass drop.

Elliott gripped his stick tighter with his gloves and tried not to panic-slash-anxiety puke all over the ice.

He knew it wasn’t just him feeling this way. “EvenI’mfreaked out,” Mal had told him, a few nights ago as they lay in their bed together. Mal had bought a king, to celebrate Elliott being drafted by Toronto, and they’d spent the summer training and getting ready for opening day, hoping they’d both make it on that opening day roster.

And here they were. Together again.

Though, Elliott wondered if you could really sayagainwhen it felt like they’d never left each other’s side.

And now, he was sure that they never would.

“You good?” Mal leaned in and Elliott could still barely hear him over the music and the announcer.

He’d just announced the starting line, which they weren’t in—yet, Malcolm kept saying, like it was only a matter of time and at this point Elliott had to believe that was true. They were good, individually, but together? They could be great. Toronto knew it too, and that was exactly why they’d drafted Elliott.

The rest of the games they wouldn’t get a special intro like this, but because it was opening night, every player got recognized. Especially the two rookies.

Elliott stepped onto the ice, and felt the impact of it resonate through him.

“Introducing number thirty-five, fresh to Toronto ice for the first time, forward Elliott Jones!”

Elliott skated down to the line of players, taking in his teammates’ nods and acknowledgements.

He’d worried, the tiniest bit, if he and Mal were going to be a problem, but right before their first official practice, one of the older guys had thrown a towel at him and catcalled, following that up with, “Don’t fuck in the showers and we’ll be kosher.”

They had not fucked in the showers. Honestly, they’d been working so hard on the ice and also off it Elliott hadn’t even been tempted, and that was saying something.

“And also introducing number thirty-six, also new to our ice, forward Malcolm McCoy.”

Elliott tapped his stick on the ice, welcoming his boyfriend to the ice for the first time.

Malcolm came to a stop next to him. “Hey,” he said, grinning through his helmet. “Imagine finding you here.”

Elliott grinned, his smile so wide his face practically hurt.

The announcer finished the rest of the team, and final warmups began.

Elliott skated over to the bench, grabbing some extra tape for his stick. Making sure it was good and ready. Mal came over after he’d made a few extra rotations on the ice.

Elliott nudged him with his elbow. “You ready for this?”

Would Malcolm ever be as free and easy as Elliott was? No, he wouldn’t. And Elliott was perfectly, one-hundred-percent okay with that. He didn’t want a clone of himself. He only wanted his stupidly stalwart, still-too-serious, ride-or-die, loyal and true guy, Mal.

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