Page 38 of Cold Front
My fingers stilled on the strap as my mind drifted, unbidden, to two nights ago. The grocery store. Eli.
The way his nose scrunched when he read prices, the way he muttered under his breath as if personally offended by inflation. The way his teeth worried at his lower lip when he was focused. The way his smile—when he turned it on me, sharp and teasing—had hit me like a body check I wasn’t braced for.
I’d tried not to react. Kept my expression even, my responses short. But I wasn’t indifferent. Not even close.
And when he shivered in the store, his hoodie nowhere near warm enough for the cold, something in me had twisted. I’d wanted to ignore it. But the pull was stronger than my own excuses. Before I could think better of it, I’d shrugged off my jacket and rested it on him despite him saying he wasn’t cold.
I knew he was lying.
Eli had hesitated, lips parting to tell me he was all right, that he didn’t need the jacket, but I ignored him. I’d just literally put the jacket on him and stepped back before I could do something even dumber—like admit that having him close, seeing him wrapped in something of mine, had done something to me.
Something I didn’t understand.
So, the best thing I could do was chalk it up to basic human decency.
Goddamn!
The first time I saw Eli, I thought he was trouble. Turns out I was right. Just not in the way I expected.
“Caldwell!” Coach’s voice snapped me back to the present.
I blinked, jolted out of my thoughts. The locker room was still buzzing, filled with the steady thud of tape and pre-game chatter, but I felt off balance, like I’d just taken a hit and wasn’t sure which way was up.
“Yeah, Coach,” I answered, rolling my shoulders back.Focus. Game first.
Whatever was happening with Eli—whatever was happening to me—I couldn’t afford to think about it now.
“You got something for them?”
I didn’t need to think about it. I pushed up from the bench, glancing at each of my teammates before speaking.
“First game of the season. First home game. We’ve put in the work. We know how to win. Now, it’s about proving it.” My gaze flicked to Hunter. “And not racking up penalty minutes in the process.”
A few chuckles. Hunter smirked.
I continued. “Keep your shifts tight. Play smart. Nobody tries to win this on their own. We’re a unit out there. We play for each other. We play for this team.”
I paused, letting it settle before adding, “And when that puck drops, we show them exactly who the hell we are.”
Someone smacked a stick against the floor. More voices followed, overlapping in agreement.
Coach AJ nodded, satisfied. “All right. Gear up. Warm-ups in five.”
Chatter picked up again as guys finished lacing up skates, taping sticks, and shrugging into their jerseys. Our warm-up gear had a small logo supporting LGBTQ+ athletes—nothing flashy, just a subtle nod to Coming Out Week. No one on the team was openly queer, but no one had an issue with it, either. Love was love. End of discussion.
Micah flexed his fingers, giving his taped stick one last look. “Not bad,” he muttered.
Nico smirked. “What, the tape or your hands?”
Micah rolled his eyes. “Both.”
We finished gearing up and filed out of the locker room, the sound of skates against rubber flooring blending with the distant roar of the arena.
First game of the season. Time to get to work.
The tunnel leading to the ice was alive with sound—sticks knocking against shin guards, the low murmur of voices, the rhythmic clatter of skates against rubber flooring.
The closer we got to the entrance, the louder the arena grew. A steady roar, vibrating through the walls, through the floor. First game of the season, first home game—sounded like the whole damn school showed up for this.
