Page 38 of Offside for Christmas
"Because I'm thinking very un-Hallmark thoughts right now," he admitted.
The air between them changed. Charged. Electric.
Ellie's breath caught audibly. "Cole..."
"I can go sleep in the bathtub," he offered, though the idea of moving felt impossible.
"No. Just..." She took a breath. "We can do this. We can sleep in the same bed without..."
"Without what?"
"Without making a mistake."
The word landed like a punch. Cole felt something in his chest tighten. "Is that what this would be? A mistake?"
Ellie looked away, staring back at the ceiling. "Yes. Because you're my patient. And you're leaving. And I don't do temporary."
"What if I don't want it to be temporary?"
She turned back to him, and in the shadows, he could see vulnerability written across her face. Raw and honest and terrifying.
"You say that now," she said quietly. "But in five weeks, when you get your NHL offer, you'll leave. And I'll be here. And I can't... I can't be that girl again."
"What girl?"
She told him everything.
About Marcus. About being twenty-four, falling for a hockey player who was so sure he was destined for greatness. About believing him when he said they had a future together. Aboutquitting her job, giving notice on her apartment, telling her parents she was moving away.
"I had everything packed," Ellie said, her voice steady but her eyes distant, seeing something Cole couldn't. "My whole life in boxes. I'd even found a few PT clinics in the cities where he might get drafted. I had backup plans for the backup plans. I was so ready to follow him anywhere."
"What happened?" Cole asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew. Already hated the guy on principle.
"Two days before he left for training camp, he ended it." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "He said, 'I can't be what you need. I have to focus on my career.' And I realized I'd given up everything—my job, my independence, my plans, my entire future—for someone who saw me as an option, not a priority."
"He was an idiot," Cole said, and meant it with every fiber of his being.
"He was a hockey player," Ellie corrected. "They're all the same."
"I'm not him."
"Aren't you?" She turned to face him fully now, propping herself up on one elbow. "Cole, you're here counting down the days until you can leave. You haven't unpacked. You won't engage with the team beyond the bare minimum. You look at this place like it's a prison sentence."
Cole sat up, frustration building in his chest. "That's not fair."
Ellie sat up too, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "Isn't it? Tell me I'm wrong."
"It's not that simple—"
"Then explain it to me. Make me understand."
Cole ran both hands through his hair, words tangling in his throat. How could he explain something he barely understood himself?
"I don't know how to stay," he finally said, the admission costing him more than he'd expected. "I've never stayed anywhere, Ellie. Every place I've lived, every team I've played for—I get comfortable, I start to care, and then I get traded. It's been like that since I was nineteen. Moving, packing, starting over. Over and over again."
"So you don't try," Ellie said softly. "You keep everything temporary so it hurts less when you leave."
"Exactly." He looked at her, wishing he could make her understand. "It's easier to not try. Easier to not care. Because caring just means it'll hurt more when it ends."
