Page 28 of Cold Front
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Break time gave the kids—and the players—a chance to catch their breath. Most of them crowded around the benches, gulping down water, adjusting gear, or just leaning against the boards while they talked. A couple of the younger kids sprawled out on the ice, making lazy snow angels in the thin layer of shaved ice. A few of my teammates messed around near center ice, flipping pucks back and forth, while some of the older kids tried to copy them with varying degrees of success.
I stayed where I was, rolling my shoulders, watching. That was when Eli skated toward me.
I noticed it before I could stop myself—how easily he moved, his strides confident and smooth, like he’d been doing this his whole life. He wasn’t just decent; he was good. I should’ve looked away, but I didn’t. I tracked his every movement, the way his posture adjusted as he slowed to a stop, the effortless way he balanced.
And I was still watching.
“That was some nice skating,” I said, the words out before I could think better of them. They landed awkwardly between us.
Eli’s lips quirked like he wasn’t sure if I was messing with him. “Thanks?”
I cleared my throat, shifting my weight on my skates. “Didn’t think you’d be this comfortable on the ice.”
His smile widened slightly. “Guess I had a head start. My parents put me and my sister in lessons when we were kids.”
That threw me for a second. “Really?”
Eli nodded. “Yeah. They thought it would help when we traveled for winter holidays.”
I blinked. Winter holidays. Plural. Like it was a thing they just… did.
I looked at him again, really looked. He didn’t carry himself like some rich kid, but it made sense now—the easy way he talked about things I’d never had growing up. Winter holidays. Lessons just because.
“Guess that paid off,” I muttered, nodding at the ice beneath us.
Eli chuckled. “Yeah. I guess so.”
My family never did stuff like that. Our version of a trip was piling into the car to visit relatives a few towns over, my mom complaining about my dad’s driving, my dad pretending not to hear. Me in the backseat, stretched out.
A sharp pang hit me in the chest. I’d give anything to do that again. To sit in that car, listening to my mom hum along to the radio, my dad cracking jokes that only he found funny. Even if it meant a stiff neck from dozing off against the window. It would still be one more moment with them.
“Niall?”
Eli’s voice pulled me back to the present. I blinked, forcing my shoulders to relax.
He tilted his head slightly, watching me like he was trying to figure something out. But instead of pushing, he said, “I took some pictures earlier. Groups, mostly. Got a couple of you with the kids.”
The shift in conversation was a relief. I exhaled and nodded. “Yeah?”
Eli smiled, warmth in his eyes. “Mhm. You wanna see?”
Eli adjusted the lens of his camera before holding it out to me. “Here you go,” he said.
I hesitated for a second, then took the camera from him. Our fingers brushed against each other, and for a brief second, I felt a tiny jolt of something. Something unexpected. I quickly focused on the camera in my hands, not sure what to make of the moment, but not wanting to dwell on it, either.
But I noticed the switch—a couple of weeks ago, he’d been snapping pictures with his phone at the park. Now, he was using a real camera. It felt like a sign that he was getting more serious about his photography.
The first picture that came up was of a group of kids on the ice, grinning wildly with their arms slung around each other. The next one showed a few of the Mavericks mixed in, helping some of the younger skaters keep their balance. I spotted Asher with a kid clinging to his arm and Roman laughing with a couple of little girls, who had clearly roped him into some kind of game.
Then, there were those of me.
I was aware he’d taken the first couple of them, but as I switched from picture to picture, I realized Eli had taken several others. One of them was taken when I was crouched on the ice next to a little kid who looked about seven, their tiny skates barely keeping them upright. My head was tilted down, listening to something they were saying, and even though my expression was serious, there was something… softer about it.
Eli was watching me when I glanced up. “You’re a natural with them,” he said simply.
Heat crawled up the back of my neck. Compliments weren’t new to me—hockey guaranteed plenty, whether from fans, coaches, or reporters. But this? This wasn’t about my game, my stats, or my performance on the ice. It wasn’t something I could brush off with a nod or a thanks. It was real, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
