Page 26 of Cold Front
I tapped my fingers against the table, trying to think of something to break the silence. “This your first time helping out with the clinic?”
“No.” He stretched his arm along the back of the booth, watching the bar with an unreadable expression. “Been doing it since my freshman year. It’s good for the kids.”
I studied him for a second, curious despite myself. “You like coaching?”
He shrugged. “I like hockey.”
Not exactly an answer, but I got the sense it was the only one he was offering.
I smirked. “I wouldn’t know. I was never much of a sports guy.”
That got his attention. His eyes flicked back to me, blue and sharp under the dim lighting. “Seriously? Not even as a kid?”
“Oh, I tried,” I admitted, leaning forward. “Soccer. Basketball. I even did swimming lessons for a summer.” I grinned, shaking my head. “Turns out, I suck at anything competitive.”
Something like amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Hard to believe.”
“Why?”
His gaze flickered over me, fast but deliberate. “You’ve got a good body for sports.” Niall stiffened, his ears turning pink as he realized what he’d just said.
The words hung between us, unexpected.
“I mean—” He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “You look… like you keep in shape.”
I bit back a laugh. “Uh-huh.”
His jaw worked like he wanted to backtrack but couldn’t find the words. He settled for looking irritated with himself, scowling at the tabletop.
“You can just say I have a great body, Captain Broody,” I teased, enjoying the rare moment of him being flustered. “I won’t hold it against you.”
He made a sound that was probably supposed to be a scoff but came out more like a choke. “I just meant… you’re not, you know, out of shape. And you’re jumping into the clinic, which I… respect.”
My grin softened. He wasn’t just covering for himself—he meant it.
“Well,” I said, dragging my fingers along the edge of my laptop, “I figured I should pull my weight. Plus, photography aside, I’m looking forward to seeing how you guys do things.”
He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Kids get a lot out of it. A few of them stick with hockey, play through high school, even college.” He hesitated, then added, “A couple of them remind me of myself when I was their age.”
That was the most I’d heard him say at once.
“Yeah?” I prompted.
He exhaled, gaze going distant for a second. “I was all in, even when I was little. Spent every free second on the ice.” A small, almost self-conscious shrug. “Guess I just want ’em to have that same shot.”
It wasn’t much, but it was a window—just wide enough to see something past the usual gruffness.
I didn’t push.
Instead, I just nodded, letting the moment settle between us, warm and unexpected.
The ice between us? Maybe it was starting to thaw.
CHAPTER12
NIALL
Excitement pulsed through the rink, an undercurrent of chatter and movement as kids laced up skates, parents sipped from steaming cups, and Mavericks players checked their gear. The scents of ice, rubber, and hot chocolate mingled in the air. Energy thrummed beneath it all—the kind that came with anticipation and nerves.
