Page 57 of Cold Front
Eli.
I shouldn’t have kissed him.
The thought sat heavy in my chest, tangled with frustration, confusion, and something sharp that I didn’t want to name. I kept replaying it—Eli’s lips against mine, the way his breath had hitched, the way I had wanted.
I hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t even thought about it. One second, Eli was standing there, and the next, I’d closed the space between us like gravity had yanked me forward.
It wasn’t just the kiss. It was everything that came with it. The uncertainty, the weight of what it meant—not just for him, but for me. I’d never questioned my identity before. In my head, I was just a guy. A cis guy who liked girls. Straight, like most guys. It wasn’t something I ever had to think about. I’d kissed girls before—hell, I’d even liked it—but none of them ever made me feelthis.
This...thing. The way Eli’s body pressed against mine had done something to me I couldn’t explain. I could barely even recall when it started—the odd way he made my stomach twist every time he smiled, the subtle sparks that ran through me when he talked, the moments when his eyes lingered on me longer than they should. But none of that had prepared me for how my body had reacted.
The only thing I knew for sure was that Eli was the only person—besides my own palm—who had gotten me hard. Was that what this meant? Was it as simple as that? I’d never been curious about sex. Honestly, I’d been indifferent to it, even as my teammates talked about it like it was the be-all and end-all. But now? Now, I was questioning everything. Was I gay? Bi? Some label I didn’t even have the words for? What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
I sighed and shifted in my seat, bumping Roman’s shoulder. My teammate shot me a look before pulling his cap lower over his face. “Quit squirming.”
I muttered an apology and stared out the window. The clouds below stretched endlessly, but I felt boxed in.
It had been an impulse. A momentary lapse, a slip-up. That’s what I told myself. But no matter how many times I tried to convince myself it was a mistake, my brain kept dragging me back to it.
The kiss. Eli.
And now, I couldn’t even figure out what it meant for what had been developing between us. I thought we were becoming friends—maybe something more—but now… had I fucked that up? Was everything I’d been building with him tainted by my stupid mistake?
We landed in Colorado just after five. The air was crisp when we stepped outside, and the altitude made my lungs work a little harder. The team loaded onto the bus, silent and focused—except for Micah, who was already vibrating with restless energy.
The first game was tomorrow night, but we had morning skate and meetings before that. By the time I crashed into the hotel bed, exhaustion weighed down my limbs. But sleep didn’t come easy. My brain refused to shut down.
Eli.
I shouldn’t have kissed him.
* * *
Friday’s game was a disaster.
I could feel it unraveling from the first puck drop. My passes were sloppy. My timing was off. My legs felt like concrete. It wasn’t just me—the entire team looked sluggish, like we were skating through mud.
Colorado tore us apart.
Second period, down by three, I slammed my stick against the boards after botching a pass I should’ve made.
“Get your head in the game, Caldwell!” Coach AJ barked from the bench.
I nodded sharply, but focus slipped through my fingers like loose tape. Every time I blinked, I saw Eli—saw the way his lips had parted after the kiss, the flicker of something in his eyes before I’d pulled away like a coward.
Colorado scored again.
By the time the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard was a fucking crime scene. 6-1.
In the locker room, no one spoke. The air was thick with sweat, frustration, and something unspoken.
Micah was the first to explode. He ripped off his helmet, threw it against the wall, and kicked over a water bottle. “This is bullshit!”
“Whitmore!” Coach AJ’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough.”
“Outside. Now,” Rookie Coach ordered, nodding toward the hallway.
Micah was still seething, nostrils flaring, but he stomped past the rows of benches and disappeared through the locker room doors.
