Page 42 of Cold Front
I faked a shot, cut left—then fired.
Post.
It clanked off the iron and skidded wide.
Cursing, I spun back on defense. One minute.
The opposing team stormed in again.
Bodies crashed in the crease. A scramble. A shot.
Logan made the save.
Whistle.
Thirty seconds.
Final faceoff in our zone. I crouched low. My opponent stared me down.
The ref dropped the puck.
I tied him up, kicked the puck back. Micah rimmed it around the boards.
Hunter cleared it.
Ten seconds.
The crowd counted down.
Five.
The puck slid harmlessly to the other end.
Three.
I glanced up at the rafters.
Two.
The buzzer blared.
One.
The arena erupted.
CHAPTER16
NIALL
The rink was empty now, the hum of the arena fading as I stepped out of the locker room. The sharp scent of sweat and ice still clung to me, even after a quick shower. My muscles ached in the satisfying way they always did after a hard-fought game.
I rolled my shoulders, exhaling slowly. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a quiet hum in my veins. The first win of the season and the first home game in the books. The guys were probably already at Roman and Hunter’s place, hanging out and grabbing some food. He’d offered up his apartment for a post-game hangout, some downtime after a win. I knew I should head there, but I needed a second.
Just a moment to reset.
The locker room had been full of noise, laughter, and a rush of energy. But now? Now, it was just me and the quiet of the night. I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag as I pushed through the doors leading outside—only to pull up short.
Eli was there.
