Page 68 of Offside for Christmas
11
COLE
Thursday morning practice felt like a special kind of torture.
Ellie stood by the boards, arms crossed tight, knuckles white. Out on the ice, Cole was skating easy, powerful laps, his movements fluid and strong. He wasn't holding a stick, exactly as she'd instructed—no shoulder use until the final assessment tomorrow. The frustration was visible in the hard set of her jaw.
He noticed her eyes drifted to the source of that frustration: Derek Matthews. He was lounging on the players' bench, dressed in expensive, perfectly fitted team gear, looking bored. He wasn't watching the drills. He was scrolling through his phone, only occasionally looking up to lazily change his skate laces as if the whole process was an inconvenience.
Everyone was at practice. Mac was shooting slap shots at Jamie, who kept making exaggerated diving catches and yelling "GOALIEEE!" even though he was a winger.
Luke was at the bench, notebook out, frantically scribbling notes about the play. He'd filled three notebooks this season already. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up and squinted at the ice, analyzing angles.
Tyler skated past, phone tucked in his gear bag but visible, the screen lit up with a text notification. He touched the braided bracelet on his wrist—red and gold threads worn soft—and smiled. Jamie had somehow taped Derek's water bottle to the bench. The grin on his face said he was already planning his next move.
Cole completed a lap, and his eyes met Ellie’s across the rink. The look they exchanged was a silent broadcast of shared fury Matthews was too self-absorbed to notice.
"I want to punch him," Ellie said through her teeth as Cole skated over to the boards, grabbing his water bottle.
"Get in line," Cole said, his back to Matthews. "But don't. That's what guys like him want. A reaction they can twist to fit their story."
Ellie watched Matthews finally stand. "He's just so smug. Like he’s never been wrong about anything in his life."
"Guys like that are never wrong," Cole said. "They just control the narrative, no matter who gets hurt." His gaze hardened.
"I know," she said. “He’s a jerk.”
He looked away. "Let's talk about something else. Anything else."
"Okay." Ellie leaned against the glass. "The Winter Festival. It’s still happening Saturday, right before the game. You're still up for helping with the kids' skate clinic?"
He let out an exaggerated sigh. "An hour of tripping over six-year-olds on skates. Sounds thrilling." His mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. "Yeah. I'll be there."
"You're looking forward to it, aren't you?" she teased.
He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Matthews was out of earshot before leaning closer to the glass. "I'm... almost excited," he said. "Just don't tell Mac. My reputation can't take the hit."
He reached through the gap in the glass, his gloved fingers finding hers.
"Tomorrow morning," he said. "The assessment. We go in there as a team. He has no idea who he's messing with."
"No," Ellie agreed, squeezing his fingers. "He really doesn't."
Later that afternoon, the rink was quieter. Ellie was gone—out treating Jamie’s knee. Cole sat on the bench, water bottle in hand, feeling the weight of the practice settle in his muscles.
Cole had been secretly dating Ellie Winters for one week now, and he was pretty sure it was the best and most terrifying week of his life. They'd gotten good at sneaking around. His apartment after late practices, Ellie showing up with takeout and ending up pressed against his kitchen counter. Her car in the facility parking lot after everyone had left, windows steaming up as she climbed into his lap. Quick stolen moments behind the diner.
His phone buzzed.
ELLIE:Missing you
COLE:You saw me 2 hours ago
ELLIE:Too long
He was grinning at his phone like an idiot when Mac skated up beside him.
"You're smiling at your phone again," Mac observed. "That's the third time today."
