Page 86 of Offside for Christmas
He drove. Out of town, onto the dark country roads where the Christmas lights faded and there was nothing but snow and trees and silence. He drove until his phone started buzzing incessantly—Mac calling, then texting, then calling again.
MAC:Dude where are you
MAC:Ellie just called Sophie crying
MAC:What happened
MAC:ANSWER YOUR PHONE
Cole pulled over onto the shoulder and stared at his phone. Seven missed calls. Twelve texts. Everyone wanting to know what happened, if he was okay, where he was.
He turned off his phone.
Then he just sat there in the dark, in his truck, watching the snow fall in his headlights. He pulled out his wallet and found it, tucked behind his license—his grandmother’s medical card that he’d kept.
"I'm fucking this up, aren't I?" he said aloud to the photo. "You'd tell me I'm being an idiot. That I'm running again. That I'm choosing wrong."
The card didn't answer. His grandmother had been dead for four years, and Cole was still asking her for advice he already knew.
He thought about Ellie's face. The way she'd looked at him like he was breaking her heart. The way she'd pushed him away because she was so convinced he was going to leave anyway.
And the worst part? She'd been right. He was leaving.
Cole put the card back in his wallet and sat there, watching snow fall in his headlights.
The smart choice: Take the LA offer. Go back to the NHL. $1.2 million. Everything he'd worked for. Everything his grandmother had sacrificed for.
But when he tried to picture it—the training camp, the hotel rooms, the constant travel—all he felt was empty.
When he pictured staying—coaching kids, waking up next to Ellie, building something real—he felt alive.
Which meant this was never really about what Ellie wanted. It was about what he wanted.
And he wanted her.
Cole started the truck and drove back to town.
He showed up at Ellie's apartment at midnight.
The lights were still on. He could see her silhouette through the window, pacing.
He knocked.
She opened the door, eyes red from crying, and for a moment they just stared at each other.
"We need to talk," Cole said.
"Cole, it's midnight—"
"I don't care. Let me in. Please."
Ellie stepped aside.
Her apartment was a mess—unusual for her. Tissues everywhere, her laptop open on the couch, a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter. The little Christmas tree in the corner looked sad somehow, its lights reflecting off her tear-stained face.
"You hung up on your agent," Ellie said.
"I told him I needed time."
