Page 64 of Cold Front
By the time we made it back to the apartment, the air between us was light but also charged. The silence wasn’t awkward, just full of something that made my skin hum.
Eli kicked off his shoes and stretched, rolling his shoulders like he was settling in. “All right, Cap. Since I’ve apparently appointed myself in charge of your survival, what are we making?”
I shot him a look. “We?”
“Yes,we,” he said, already striding toward the kitchen. “You’re not getting out of this.”
I huffed but followed, watching as he yanked open the fridge and surveyed the options. “Not much in here,” he mused. “Unless you’re in the mood for expired yogurt and regret.”
I snorted. “Sounds appetizing.”
“All right, how about something simple?” He started pulling things out without waiting for my answer. “Grilled cheese? Pasta? Breakfast for dinner?”
I leaned against the counter, watching him move. “Breakfast for dinner?”
“Yeah, why not? Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast—it’s a classic.” He shot me a grin. “Or are you one of those ‘eggs only belong in the morning’ people?”
I shook my head, smirking. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, you’re on egg duty.”
“Deal.”
It wasn’t about the food, really. It was about the way Eli made it fun—flicking water at me when I turned my back, dodging my half-hearted swats with a smug grin. It was easy. Comfortable. And maybe that was what caught me off guard the most.
After we’d eaten and cleaned up, I excused myself to my room.
I wasn’t planning on staying there long—I just needed a minute. But as I sat on the edge of my bed, my gaze drifted, skimming over my room like I was seeing it differently. LikeIfelt different.
My eyes caught on the closet. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for a sliver of the inside to be visible. I didn’t know what made me get up, but I did, stepping over and pulling the door open all the way. My shelves were stacked with the usual—extra sheets, a duffel bag, a pair of hockey skates I hadn’t touched in a while. But it was the floor that drew my attention.
I crouched down, pushing aside an old sweatshirt.
The box was right where I’d shoved it years ago, tucked into the back corner. A thin layer of dust coated the top, undisturbed. I crouched down, dragging it toward me, my fingers brushing over the faded cardboard. It felt heavier than I remembered—not in weight, but in everything it carried.
Lifting the lid, I half expected everything inside to be ruined, but the console, controllers, and tangled cords were still there, mostly clean, just smelling faintly of old plastic and time. I ran a hand over the smooth surface, then grabbed the sweatshirt I’d tossed aside and wiped it down, like I could erase the years I’d let it sit untouched.
Why now?
I wasn’t sure. But something had shifted.
A lump formed in my throat as I traced the edges, remembering how my dad and I used to sit side by side, controllers in hand, his laughter filling the room every time he absolutely destroyed me in a match. My mom pretended not to know which one of us was whining about losing. Those nights had felt endless, like we had all the time in the world.
And then we didn’t.
After the accident, I’d shoved the box in here, letting dust collect, letting the weight of loss bury it. Like if I didn’t see it, I wouldn’t have to feel it. Like denying myself the things that once made me happy would somehow make up for the fact Mom and Dad were gone.
But now, with my fingers curled around it, I felt somethingelse—a pull, a shift, like maybe I was ready to stop running from the things that once made me happy.
Maybe it was the way Eli made things feel easy, how he pulled me into moments without demanding anything from me. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like I wasn’t just a guy holding himself together with duct tape and stubbornness.
Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, I wanted to have fun.
Reallywanted to.
And I wanted to share that with him—wanted to let himin.
I ran my thumb over the buttons, feeling the familiar grooves beneath my touch. A slow breath escaped me as I sat with the weight of the moment, then, finally, I made up my mind.
When I stepped back into the living room, Eli was sprawled out on the couch, looking half-asleep. But when he saw what was in my hands, his brows lifted. “Oh? What’s this?”
