Page 4 of Cold Front
Another whistle cut through the air. “Systems drills!” Rookie Coach shouted. “Pair up—let’s see some hustle!”
I ended up with the right defenseman, Nico, as usual. A solid guy, dependable on the ice, even if his chirping could get annoying.
“Still adjusting to the new roommate?” he asked as we ran through the first drill, passing the puck back and forth while weaving around cones.
“Not adjusting,” I muttered, flicking the puck to him. “Just… busy.”
Nico snorted. “Yeah? Your passes say otherwise.”
I clenched my jaw and tightened my grip on my stick, forcing myself to focus. One drill at a time. Get through practice and reset later. But no matter how hard I pushed, my timing was off. I hesitated when I should’ve taken the shot. Over-committed when I should’ve held back. Hunter shoved past me during a line change, muttering something about me being “off my game,” and I nearly shoved him back. Roman missed an easy pass, and I snapped at him before I could stop myself.
“Caldwell!” Coach Rivers—Rookie Coach—called from the bench. His tone was sharp but not unkind. “Lead by example! Dial in!”
I nodded tightly, skating back into position. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing it out loud stung. I wasn’t just another guy on the team—I was the anchor, the one meant to steady the ship. If I cracked, the whole team would feel it. And right now, they were feeling it.Blowing up during practice wasn’t setting the tone—I needed to pull it together.
We finished practice with a series of full-ice scrimmages. I tried to pull it together, and by the end, I was skating better, but the edge was still there, sharp and gnawing. After the final whistle, Rookie Coach called us to the bench for a quick debrief.
“Decent effort today,” he said, scanning the group. “Caldwell, stay after. Everyone else, hit the showers.”
The team shot me curious looks as they shuffled off the ice, but no one said anything. I skated over to our coach, already bracing myself for the lecture.
“You good?” he asked, his tone low.
I hesitated. “Yeah. Just... distracted.”
“Fix it,” he said simply. “The team needs you locked in. You know that.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, the gesture as much encouragement as it was a warning. “See you tomorrow.”
I nodded and skated off, the cold bite of the rink air stinging my skin as I made a wide loop around the ice. The soft, rhythmic hum of my skates on the smooth surface was oddly soothing. I pushed harder, the muscles in my legs burning with each glide, trying to focus on the rhythm of the movement rather than the storm brewing in my head. The chill of the air cut through my gear, a sharp contrast to the heat in my chest.
Lap after lap, I kept moving, letting the steady push and pull of my skates work out the tension coiled in my muscles. The rest of the team had already filtered out, the locker room door swinging open and shut in my periphery as guys headed inside. I barely noticed, too caught up in the repetition, in the need to skate until my thoughts weren’t so damn loud.
By the time I finally coasted to a stop by the boards, the rink was nearly empty, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the lingering scuff marks on the ice. My breath came in slow, controlled exhales as I pulled off my helmet, the sweat cooling instantly in the frigid air. I stayed there for a moment, letting the stillness settle over me, before gliding toward the exit.
The locker room was quiet when I stepped inside. The sharp scent of soap and the lingering heat from the showers were proof the guys had already come and gone. I released a breath of relief. No small talk. No questions. Just quiet. A quick shower, then back to the apartment. Maybe Eli would already be asleep.
By the time I got back to the apartment, my legs ached, and my mood hadn’t improved. Hockey practice usually cleared my head, but tonight, it felt like it’d only added to the mess. All I wanted was to crash and forget the day had ever happened.
The hallway was quiet as I unlocked the door. The faint hope that Eli might already be asleep nudged at the edge of my thoughts, but the second I stepped inside, that hope evaporated.
He was sprawled on the couch, a textbook open on his lap and his feet tucked under him like he owned the place. A half-empty mug of something sat on the coffee table, next to a notebook filled with neat, slanted handwriting. His glasses—glasses?—rested on his nose, giving him a slightly studious vibe that didn’t match the cheerful whirlwind he’d been earlier.
Eli looked up as I walked in, his face lighting up in a way that made my exhaustion feel sharper. “Hey, you’re back. How was practice?”
“Fine.” I dropped my bag by the door and headed toward the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. If I didn’t engage, maybe he’d get the hint.
“No bruises or broken bones? That’s a win, right?” he joked, his tone too chipper for the hour.
I pulled a water bottle from the fridge and twisted the cap off. “Sure.”
The silence stretched for a beat too long, and I could feel his eyes on me like he was trying to decide whether to keep talking or let it go.
“Are you always this talkative, or is it just me?” he finally asked, his tone teasing but not mean.
That caught me off guard enough that I turned to look at him. He was smiling, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—uncertainty, maybe? Like he was testing the water and wasn’t sure if he was about to get burned.
