Page 62 of Offside for Christmas
"Right. Work. Professional. Got it."
But when she moved to check his range of motion, when her hands touched his shoulder, both of them felt the electricity arc between them.
"Raise your arm," Ellie said, trying to keep her voice clinical. "Slowly."
Cole complied, watching her face. "Like this?"
"Good. Now rotate—" Her hands guided him through the movement, and she felt him suppress a reaction to her touch."Your mobility is excellent. Another week, maybe less, and you'll be cleared for ice."
"Yeah?" Something shifted in his expression—excitement mixed with something else she couldn't quite read.
"Yeah. Just in time for the home game on Saturday. The one with the kids' skating event beforehand." She smiled. "The whole town's talking about the winter festival next week. It's a big deal around here."
"Let me guess—more Christmas decorations?"
"So many decorations. And ice sculptures. And a skating competition. You'll love it." Her tone was teasing.
"I'm sure I'll hate every second," he said, but his eyes were warm.
"This is torture," he said quietly.
"It's PT."
"You know what I mean." His voice dropped lower. "All I can think about is how you looked this morning, how you felt, how you said my—"
"Cole. Please." Ellie stepped back, putting professional distance between them. "Focus."
He backed off immediately. "Sorry. You're right. Professional."
But his eyes said everything his mouth couldn't, and Ellie had to look away before she did something monumentally stupid like kiss him in the middle of the training room.
The door burst open and a small figure barreled in, all energy and excitement.
"Excuse me, is this where the—" The boy stopped short, eyes going wide. "Wait. Are you—you're Cole Hansen!" He couldn't have been more than eight, wearing a too-big Eagles jersey and clutching a worn hockey stick.
Cole's expression shifted to his default scowl. "Kid, this is a private—"
"You're him! You're Cole Hansen!" The boy's face lit up like Christmas morning. "I watched all your games on YouTube! That goal you scored against the Rangers was so cool! Can I have your autograph? Please?"
Cole looked like he wanted to say no, to send the kid away, but something in the boy's eager expression made him pause. He glanced at Ellie, who was trying not to smile.
"What's your name?" Cole asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
"Finn! Finn Anderson! I'm here for youth practice. I’m new here—it starts in ten minutes. I was looking for the bathroom and I thought maybe that's where it is but then I saw you and—" He took a breath. "I play hockey too! Well, I'm learning. I'm not very good yet but I'm getting better!"
“Really?”
"Yeah! I mean, I fall a lot, but my previous coach says I'm improving, so now I’m starting here!" Finn held up his hand to demonstrate something, and Cole's eyes caught on it—two fingers on the boy's left hand were missing, ending at the first knuckle.
Cole's expression shifted. "What happened there?"
Finn looked down at his hand, completely matter-of-fact. "Born like this. The doctors said it's called symbrachydactyly or something big like that. But it's okay! I can still hold my stick and skate and everything. I'm gonna be a star player like you someday!"
Something in Cole's chest cracked open. This kid—this brave little kid who didn't let anything stop him—reminded him of why he'd fallen in love with hockey in the first place.
Cole's mouth almost curved into a smile. Almost. He reached out and patted Finn's shoulder. "You know what, Finn? If you're determined enough, nothing can stop you. Not missing fingers,not coaches who doubt you, nothing. You keep working hard, you hear me?"
"I will! I promise!"
