Page 113 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
My eyes find him immediately. Eli’s crouched in the crease, locked in that perfect goalie stillness that looks effortless until you know what it costs. Every muscle is wired. Every breath timed. He tracks the puck across the ice, glove flashing out to snag a shot that would’ve sailed top-right.
When he lowers his hand, I spot it—the bright peppermint stripes circling the top of his stick. The one I left for him.
“Holy shit,” Peter says from the other end of the bench, loud enough to carry. “Somebody get this on camera—the Grinch actually smiled!”
I roll my eyes, trying to play it off, but when I glance back toward the net, Eli’s already looking at me.
Just a flicker of his gaze through the mask, steady and unreadable—but I feel it. Like the air thickens between us for a second before he taps his stick once against the net and turns back to the next shot.
The grin’s still tugging at my mouth, no matter how hard I fight it.
A few drills later, Todd skates past the crease and taps Eli’s pad. “You’re up, Mac!” he yells to the backup. Eli nods, coasting toward the bench while the other goalie takes his spot.
At the end of practice, Coach blows his whistle, dismissing the team. Eli takes his time coming off the rink, skating slower than usual, as if hoping to make it to the tunnel without me stopping him.
He’s almost past when he pauses at the bench, helmet tucked under one arm, gloves dangling from his fingers. He reaches for the vitamin water sitting beside me, eyes fixed anywhere but on mine. The sharp scent of cold air and sweat clings to him, completelyhimand one hundred percent distracting.
“No peppermint latte this morning?” I ask, my voice breaking the quiet between us.
He takes a long drink and then sets it on the rail, wiping his face with a towel, eyes flicking toward me. “Didn’t feel like it.”
“Big change for a sugar addict.”
A faint smirk tugs at his mouth. “Guess we’re both trying new things.”
He drops onto the bench next to me and leans back against the boards, attention sliding to the empty ice, but the corner of his lip doesn’t fall.
We sit there for a while, not saying much. The rink is quiet now—just the hum of the overhead lights and the soft creak of the boards as the chill settles back in. The air feels heavier without the rest of the team, every sound sharper, every breath between us louder.
Eli leans forward, forearms resting on his knees, mask dangling from one hand. The usual bounce of his knee is gone. He looks… steady. Focused in a different way now.
“You teaching Clark full-time?” he asks without looking at me, voice low enough to barely carry in the empty rink.
“Yeah,” I say. “He’ll be running things after the next game.”
He nods slowly, eyes fixed on the scratched glass in front of him. “Didn’t think you’d actually be the one to train him.”
“Are you okay with it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He glances over, our eyes meet, and then he pulls his attention away before I can read the truth in his gaze.
“Eli.” I lower my voice, leaning a little closer. He stiffens and takes another drink of his water, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he looks away. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”
“Except you’re not smiling, singing, or annoying your teammates.”
He snorts. “Maybe I’m taking a page out of your book.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and draw in a rough breath through my nose. I don’t want to push him—but I never meant to hurt him so much that he changed who he was.
“I think everyone loves you exactly how you were.”
“Including you?” He lifts a brow.
My pulse stutters. There are a dozen ways I could sidestep it—make a joke, steer us back to safe ground—but I don’t. Not this time.
“Especially me,” I say.
