Page 71 of Cold as Ice

“I’m taking advantage of our opportunities.”

The Evergreens were normally a fairly aggressive offensive team, but Elliott had learned howtheyset the tone for the rest of the lines, and as he looked out onto the ice, he was glad to see their second line swarming over the Cyclones’ side of the ice, giving their goalie all he could handle.

“Just don’t get too aggressive,” Mal warned.

“Got it,” Elliott retorted, annoyed that Mal was still in warning mode when the whole team was doing a great job keeping the puck on the opposite side of the ice.

It was funny how he’d worried about keeping his edge out here, when Mal’s natural state seemed to keep him there, anyway.

The first period continued, then the second, until it was nearly over, Elliott’s breaths coming in short, heavy pants as their line came back to the bench, letting the next men up finish the remaining time on the clock.

They hadn’t scored again, but the Cyclones’ defense felt off and so they’d hassled the Cyclones’ goalie the whole period, their shots nearly double that of the other team.

“Keep it up,” Zach said, leaning in, as Elliott squirted Gatorade into his mouth.

Mal said nothing next to him, a hot hard pressure against his side, even through all the layers of their equipment.

But even though he was silent, he’d played his ass off out there, keeping up with Elliott, even through some of his crazier play—even going as far as being open when Elliott had inevitably stolen a puck right off a cross-ice pass, and trying to sneak it in behind the goalie’s stick.

It hadn’t worked but it had given Elliott a little extra boost.

Whistles sounded and Elliott jumped and stared at the ice.

The second line was on the ground—well, two out of the three. The third had his hands in the air, and he was motioning to the ref.

“Shit,” Malcolm said, doom in his voice.

The ref called one penalty. High sticking. Okay. That sucked. Not great news. Especially because they’d just gotten off the ice and he and Mal were both on the kill team. But then the ref held upanotherhand.

Another penalty, this time for tripping.

“Fuck,” Zach said behind them.

And suddenly, they weren’t even on the kill team.

“Andresen. Faulkner. Greene,” Coach B barked out. “Get out there.”

And Elliott could only sit and watch as the Evergreens were forced to go three on five. A recipe for disaster if there ever was one.

“They’re second to last in the league on the power play,” Ivan announced. Elliott reached over Mal, ignoring how he stiffened, ever so slightly, as their bodies collided together even more intently, and whacked him on the knee.

“Fuck your superstitious shit,” Ivan said.

“You’re Russian. You’re supposed to be as superstitious as they come,” Mal said dryly.

“Fuck that noise,” Ivan said.

Most power plays felt like they lasted forever—at least when it was the Evergreens down a man. But this one seemed to practically fly by. Elliott watched, crouched forward on the bench, eyes flicking between the players and the puck and Finn, standing in the goal, every line of his body tense as he anticipated the puck coming his direction.

For five on three, the Evergreens skated well. Ramsey and Brody were dynamite defenders, but the truth was inevitable. Just as it was inevitable with only one forty-seven on the clock,one of the Cyclones’ forwards slipped past Nate Greene’s defense and flicked the puck right past Finn’s shoulder, into the net.

“Fuck,” Mal growled.

It shouldn’t have been hot. Elliott was mad, too. Mad that it had happened. Mad that possibly his aggression had caused the other line to do more than they should. The line changed, the Evergreens gaining another player, and then thirty seconds later, they gained the fifth back.

Elliott wasn’t surprised when Coach B motioned their line back on the ice. He skated hard, looking for an opportunity to grab the puck and take it back down to the other side, to finish off the period on a high note, even after the Cyclones had tied it, but before he could, while the Evergreens were still trying to get their shit together, their center slipped the puck right between Finn’s legs.

This time it was Elliott swearing.

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