Page 99 of Cold Front
He shot me a flat look as he adjusted his gear. “I’d rather they stick to the script, but I’ll be ready when they don’t.”
A small ripple of laughter passed through the group, and something in my chest loosened. This—this was what I’d been missing. Not just the game, not just the wins, but the team. The connection. I’d been here all along, but now, for the first time in a long time, I was really part of it.
I caught Roman watching me again, his expression thoughtful. He didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly, like he understood something I wasn’t ready to put into words. Maybe he did. Maybe he saw the way I lingered, the way I let myself be part of the team instead of just leading it.
The weight of everything—grief, pressure, the loneliness I never let myself admit—hadn’t disappeared. But for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like I was carrying it alone.
CHAPTER38
ELI
Afrobeats pulsed through the apartment, steady and rhythmic, the bass thrumming beneath my skin. I had chosen the playlist myself, craving the comfort of music while I cooked. The scent of garlic, butter, and Parmesan filled the air, mingling with the warmth from the stove. I stirred the creamy sauce, swaying slightly to the beat, letting the rhythm settle into my bones.
The front door swung open, and I turned instinctively. Niall stepped inside, his duffel bag sliding from his shoulder and landing with a soft thud. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and the flushed pink of exertion still clung to his cheekbones. His Michigan Mavericks hoodie stretched taut across his broad shoulders, and when he rolled them back, exhaling, something in my chest tightened.
I’d missed this—missed him. And that was on me.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice casual.
Niall’s gaze flicked from me to the stove, nostrils flaring slightly as he took in the scent. “Hey.” A beat of hesitation, then, “Smells good.”
I lifted a brow, smirking. “You sound surprised.”
His lips twitched. “Didn’t say that.”
“Sure, but your face says otherwise,” I teased.
His smirk deepened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, I grabbed a spoon, dipped it into the sauce, and held it out. “Here. Taste.”
Niall stepped closer, and my breath caught. The kitchen wasn’t small, but his presence filled the space, his heat sinking into mine. He reached for the spoon, but at the last second, his lips parted, and he took the bite directly from it. His eyes held mine as he hummed, the sound low, approving.
“Not bad,” he admitted.
I exhaled a quiet laugh, ignoring the way my stomach clenched. “High praise coming from you.”
His smirk softened, and I tilted my head toward the cutting board.
“You wanna help? You can chop some parsley.”
For a second, I thought he’d decline. But then, without a word, he stepped around me, washed his hands, and reached for the knife. He didn’t hesitate.
The music shifted, the smooth intro of ‘Calm Down’ by Rema featuring Selena Gomez filling the space. I moved instinctively, shifting my hips as I stirred, letting the music take me.
A quiet snort came from beside me. “You always dance while you cook, whether there’s music or not.” It wasn’t a question—he’d seen it before.
I shot back, spinning the spoon between my fingers. “Food tastes better when you make it with good vibes.”
Niall huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he scraped the chopped parsley into a bowl. “That a scientific fact?”
“Absolutely.”
I turned, grinning, and without thinking, I reached for his hand. His brows shot up, but he didn’t pull away as I tugged him toward me.
“C’mon,” I coaxed, voice playful. “You know you want to.”
For a beat, he hesitated, and then his fingers curled around mine. He spun me, the movement smooth but firm, and I let out a startled laugh. When I came back around, I found him grinning—really grinning, wide and unguarded. The sound of his laughter, deep and rich, wrapped around me, sending warmth curling through my chest.
He twirled me again, and this time, when I landed against him, I was close enough to feel his breath on my cheek. The scent of him—clean sweat, faint traces of aftershave, and something inherently Niall—flooded my senses. My pulse stumbled.
