Page 107 of Cold Front
A breath. A beat. Then?—
The puck hit the ice. I lunged forward, trying to tie up my opponent’s stick, but I was a fraction too late. Arizona’s center swept it back cleanly to his defenseman.
“Fuck,” I growled, pushing off hard.
Arizona surged into our zone, their forward ripping a shot at Logan. He kicked it away with his blocker, sending the rebound into the corner.
“Go! Go! Go!” Coach AJ’s voice cut through the noise.
Micah stepped up, drilling an Arizona winger into the boards. The impact rattled through the glass, jarring the puck loose. Nico was there in a flash, scooping it up and wheeling behind the net before launching a clean pass up to Hunter.
We charged into Arizona’s zone, my body moving on instinct, but my mind was still half-stuck in the stands.
Where the hell was Eli?
The play raged on, but my head wasn’t fully in it. My shift was shaky. I fumbled a pass, took a hit I should’ve avoided. I skated back to the bench, cursing under my breath.
“Caldwell!” Coach AJ barked. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
It took until my third shift to see him.Finally.
Sitting between Gigi and Asher in the front row. I didn’t know how I’d missed them before—no one could miss Gigi’s outfit. A bright Michigan U hoodie and glittering blue-and-gold face paint. Asher, arms crossed, looked more invested than I expected. And there was Eli. Watching me.
A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding finally released. I met his gaze, and even from here, I could see the reassurance in his eyes.
I nodded once. He nodded back.
Then I went to work.
I took my next faceoff in the offensive zone and won it clean, snapping the puck to Roman. We stormed into the zone, our passes crisp, our bodies colliding with Arizona’s defense. I fed Nico a pass, and he fired a wrister on net, but their goalie snatched it with a last-second glove save, deflecting it just wide.
We kept pressing. The game turned brutal. Hits came harder. Fights broke out. Micah got into it with one of their forwards, fists flying, sending both to the box. Hunter, our enforcer, leveled a guy along the boards so hard the glass rattled.
Halfway through the second, Nico took a nasty hit against the boards and limped to the bench, cursing in Spanish. Rookie Coach crouched beside him, checking his knee. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Nico gritted out. “Just give me a shift.”
“You’re getting checked out first.” Aaron shot him a look before waving the trainer over.
We played on, pushing through exhaustion, through pain. It all came down to the final minutes in the third. A 2-2 tie, the crowd electric. And then—themoment.
Hunter chipped the puck deep. I chased it down, battling past Arizona’s defense. My stick hooked around the puck, dragging it in tight. A snap of my wrists, a flick of the blade?—
I slapped the shot low, slipping it five-hole before he could close his pads.
Goal.
The arena exploded. The crowd roared, shaking the whole damn place. The noise was deafening, but it wasn’t the reason I was still standing there, frozen for a moment after scoring the winning goal.
The win wasa victory on paper—7 wins to Arizona’s 6, yeah, but it… it wasn’t about the score anymore. It was about Eli.
My teammates swarmed me, shouting, shoving, and celebrating, but it was just a blur in the background. All I heard was the pounding of my heart, thudding in my chest like it was trying to break free.
I looked up.
Eli.
