Page 109 of Cold Front
“Bullshit,” Micah shot back. “I had that guy seeing stars.”
“Yeah, and then he put you on your ass,” Roman teased, grinning as he unwrapped his tape. “Real warrior move.”
I sat on the bench, peeling off my gear, grinning to myself as I let the noise wash over me. My muscles ached in the way that meant we’d left everything out there on the ice. We’d beaten Arizona. I’d scored the game-winning goal. And more than that—I’d finally stopped running from what I wanted. Who I wanted.
Eli.
The memory of his lips against mine, the way he clung to me in the stands, still sent a thrill through my chest.
But I was waiting. Not for my teammates to say anything, but for the possibility. The what-if. I hadn’t exactly kept my personal life a secret tonight. I’d kissed Eli in front of thousands of people, and the guys weren’t idiots. They knew what that meant.
But nobody said a word about it. Not in a way that mattered.
“Hell of a game, Cap,” Roman said, tossing me a water bottle. “I mean, minus that first shift where you looked like you’d rather be in the stands than on the ice.”
Laughter rippled through the room, and I rolled my eyes, cracking open the bottle. “Just making sure you guys got some ice time before I won the game for you.”
The guys booed, chucking tape balls at me. Logan flipped me off. “Delusional, bro. That’s what you are.”
I ran a towel through my damp hair, shaking my head as I caught Nico smirking at me from across the room.
“What?”
He just laughed, stretching out his bruised leg. “Man, you should’ve seen your face when you jumped those boards. You looked like you were about to drop the gloves with security.”
Micah snorted. “Dude went full NHL highlight reel. And for what? A kiss?”
“Not just a kiss,” Roman chimed in, grinning. “A full-blown, arena-shutting, ESPN-Top-10 kind of moment. We’re never letting you live this down.”
I rolled my eyes, not bothering to fight the smirk tugging at my lips. “Good. I don’t want to forget it.”
A chorus of fake gagging noises rippled through the locker room.
“Jesus, Captain, at least warn us before you go all romance novel in here,” Roman groaned and flopped onto the bench beside me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, tossing my towel at him.
I caught the way Roman glanced around the room, his usual easygoing grin just a little sharper. The unspoken warning was clear—if anyone had anything stupid to say, they could keep it to themselves. But no one did.
Instead, it was all chirps and relentless teasing.
Micah shook his head. “Can’t wait to see that highlight reel. ‘Captain of Michigan U’s Mavericks, Fearless on the Ice, Reckless for Love.’”
Nico gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, we should get that on a banner.”
Laughter erupted again, and I just shook my head, smirking. They were insufferable.
Rookie Coach finally cut through the noise, clapping his hands once. The room settled—mostly. “Hell of a game, boys,” he said, nodding. “We played hard, we fought for every inch, and we got the result we wanted. But,” he continued, and every guy in the room straightened, “we’re not done. We face these assholes again tomorrow, and they’re gonna come at us twice as hard. Enjoy the win tonight, but don’t get comfortable. We have work to do.”
I stood, looking around at my team—my guys. “Coach is right. We played our asses off, and we deserved that win. But we’re not satisfied. Tomorrow, we go out there and take another one. No letting up.”
Shouts of agreement rang through the locker room. The energy was high, adrenaline still pumping.
I glanced at my phone.
10:47.
Eli was outside waiting for me.
