2. Niall
CHAPTER 2
NIALL
Roommates were a hassle. Always had been, always would be. It wasn’t that they were bad people, just... a lot. Too much noise, too many expectations, too many chances for things to get complicated. I’d spent the better part of the summer enjoying the rare peace of having this apartment to myself—no drama, no distractions, no one to get used to only for them to leave. Just me, my routine, and the constant grind of fixing the mess I’d made of my junior year.
Now, that quiet was gone. Replaced by Eli’s energy—filling the space, pressing in, unsettling something in me I couldn’t put a name to. It wasn’t bad, exactly, just… different. And I didn’t like different.
I didn’t ask for a roommate. Hell, I didn’t even want one. But here he was, cheerful as a damn golden retriever, like he hadn’t just bulldozed into my carefully curated solitude. He’d barely been here an hour, and I already knew he was going to be a problem. Not intentionally, maybe. But problems rarely announce themselves with bad intentions.
He was… a lot. Too much energy, too much curiosity, too much of that nervous friendliness that seemed to demand a response I wasn’t in the mood to give. He asked questions like he thought we were going to bond over late-night beer runs or shared Spotify playlists. As if I had the bandwidth for that.
I didn’t.
Not with everything on my plate. Not with hockey breathing down my neck and my grades hanging on by a thread. Last semester was a mess—I tanked a couple classes and barely passed another. Honestly, if it weren’t for my therapist, I probably wouldn’t even still be at MU. She’d pulled strings, calling in favors to make sure I got this apartment and a shot at salvaging my GPA while on academic probation.
“I’m going to bat for you, Niall,” she’d said in one of those no-nonsense tones that made it impossible to argue. “Don’t let me down. But more importantly, don’t let yourself down.”
I owed her. And myself. Which meant staying focused. Hockey. Grades. Nothing else. Especially not a roommate who probably thought left-wing and right-wing were players who preferred different parts of a barbecue chicken.
I sat back on the couch, scrolling through my phone aimlessly, pretending Eli wasn’t fumbling around in the other room, unpacking or… whatever he was doing. I heard drawers opening and the faint rustle of clothes being shoved into place. He’d been polite, even self-deprecating, asking dumb questions earlier like his nervous smile would win me over. It wouldn’t. I couldn’t let it.
Eli was a distraction I couldn’t afford.
Still, I’d caught myself watching him out of the corner of my eye when he wasn’t looking. Something about him made it hard not to. He moved like he was still figuring out how to fit into this new space, but there was nothing small about him. He wasn’t loud, but he tried to be friendly, offering a smile that was a little too bright for someone who’d just left the familiarity of L.A. People weren’t that cheerful without a reason.
Whatever his deal was, I wasn’t getting involved.
I’d learned the hard way that letting people in was a mistake. Friends, girlfriends, teammates—it didn’t matter. At some point, they wanted more than I could give. They wanted to know why I was so distant, so closed off. They wanted explanations I didn’t owe them, so I’d stopped trying. Kept everyone at arm’s length where they couldn’t expect anything from me.
Eli wasn’t going to be any different.
The sound of his door opening pulled me from my thoughts. He stuck his head out, hesitating like he wasn’t sure if I’d bite his head off for speaking. “Uh, hey. Do we, like, share stuff in the kitchen? Or should I… get my own?”
“Your own,” I said without looking up. Short. To the point. Maybe he’d get the hint.
“Cool. Thanks.”
I waited for the door to click shut again, but it didn’t. Instead, he lingered. I could feel his gaze on me, almost like he was trying to figure me out.
“Anything else?” I asked, finally glancing up.
He shook his head quickly, his cheeks turning pink. “Nope. Just… yeah. Thanks.”
The door shut, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. This was going to be a long year.
But I’d dealt with worse. I could deal with him, too.
* * *
The sound of skates slicing across the ice hit my ears the second I stepped into the rink. Familiar. Grounding. It was one of the few places where things made sense. Out here, it was all about focus—something I could usually manage. Today, though? My head wasn’t in it. Too many distractions, and not enough time to deal with them.
“Caldwell!”
Assistant Coach Jared Rivers—better known as Rookie Coach since this was his first season with us—shouted from across the rink, snapping me out of my thoughts. He stood by the bench, clipboard in hand, his sharp gaze cutting through the morning fog like a slap to the back of the head. Even the cockiest rookie wouldn’t dare ignore that tone.
“Warm-ups! Let’s go!”
I nodded sharply, adjusting my gloves and stepping onto the ice. The chill hit me instantly, seeping through my gear and waking me up. Logan, our starting goalie, was already in the crease, tapping his stick against the posts in some kind of pregame ritual. Roman and Hunter, two of our forwards, were at the other end, firing pucks at the net with more aggression than necessary.
Micah, our left defenseman, skated by, his helmet tilted just enough to give me a smirk. “You look like you swallowed a puck, Cap. Long day already?”
I exhaled. “Just thinking.”
He let out a low laugh and skated off, leaving me to line up for drills. The guys knew better than to press when I wasn’t in the mood to talk. Most of the time, anyway.
Coach blew his whistle, and we started with laps, everyone settling into a rhythm. It should’ve been easy to tune out everything else—just skate, just focus—but my mind kept drifting. Back to Eli and his too-easy smile. Back to the suffocating pressure of needing to pull my grades out of the gutter. Back to my therapist’s voice, steady and firm: Don’t let yourself down, Niall.
Another whistle cut through the air. “Systems drills!” Rookie Coach shouted. “Pair up—let’s see some hustle!”
I ended up with the right defenseman, Nico, as usual. A solid guy, dependable on the ice, even if his chirping could get annoying.
“Still adjusting to the new roommate?” he asked as we ran through the first drill, passing the puck back and forth while weaving around cones.
“Not adjusting,” I muttered, flicking the puck to him. “Just… busy.”
Nico snorted. “Yeah? Your passes say otherwise.”
I clenched my jaw and tightened my grip on my stick, forcing myself to focus. One drill at a time. Get through practice and reset later. But no matter how hard I pushed, my timing was off. I hesitated when I should’ve taken the shot. Over-committed when I should’ve held back. Hunter shoved past me during a line change, muttering something about me being “ off my game ,” and I nearly shoved him back. Roman missed an easy pass, and I snapped at him before I could stop myself.
“Caldwell!” Coach Rivers—Rookie Coach—called from the bench. His tone was sharp but not unkind. “Lead by example! Dial in!”
I nodded tightly, skating back into position. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing it out loud stung. I wasn’t just another guy on the team—I was the anchor, the one meant to steady the ship. If I cracked, the whole team would feel it. And right now, they were feeling it. Blowing up during practice wasn’t setting the tone—I needed to pull it together.
We finished practice with a series of full-ice scrimmages. I tried to pull it together, and by the end, I was skating better, but the edge was still there, sharp and gnawing. After the final whistle, Rookie Coach called us to the bench for a quick debrief.
“Decent effort today,” he said, scanning the group. “Caldwell, stay after. Everyone else, hit the showers.”
The team shot me curious looks as they shuffled off the ice, but no one said anything. I skated over to our coach, already bracing myself for the lecture.
“You good?” he asked, his tone low.
I hesitated. “Yeah. Just... distracted.”
“Fix it,” he said simply. “The team needs you locked in. You know that.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, the gesture as much encouragement as it was a warning. “See you tomorrow.”
I nodded and skated off, the cold bite of the rink air stinging my skin as I made a wide loop around the ice. The soft, rhythmic hum of my skates on the smooth surface was oddly soothing. I pushed harder, the muscles in my legs burning with each glide, trying to focus on the rhythm of the movement rather than the storm brewing in my head. The chill of the air cut through my gear, a sharp contrast to the heat in my chest.
Lap after lap, I kept moving, letting the steady push and pull of my skates work out the tension coiled in my muscles. The rest of the team had already filtered out, the locker room door swinging open and shut in my periphery as guys headed inside. I barely noticed, too caught up in the repetition, in the need to skate until my thoughts weren’t so damn loud.
By the time I finally coasted to a stop by the boards, the rink was nearly empty, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the lingering scuff marks on the ice. My breath came in slow, controlled exhales as I pulled off my helmet, the sweat cooling instantly in the frigid air. I stayed there for a moment, letting the stillness settle over me, before gliding toward the exit.
The locker room was quiet when I stepped inside. The sharp scent of soap and the lingering heat from the showers were proof the guys had already come and gone. I released a breath of relief. No small talk. No questions. Just quiet. A quick shower, then back to the apartment. Maybe Eli would already be asleep.
By the time I got back to the apartment, my legs ached, and my mood hadn’t improved. Hockey practice usually cleared my head, but tonight, it felt like it’d only added to the mess. All I wanted was to crash and forget the day had ever happened.
The hallway was quiet as I unlocked the door. The faint hope that Eli might already be asleep nudged at the edge of my thoughts, but the second I stepped inside, that hope evaporated.
He was sprawled on the couch, a textbook open on his lap and his feet tucked under him like he owned the place. A half-empty mug of something sat on the coffee table, next to a notebook filled with neat, slanted handwriting. His glasses—glasses?—rested on his nose, giving him a slightly studious vibe that didn’t match the cheerful whirlwind he’d been earlier.
Eli looked up as I walked in, his face lighting up in a way that made my exhaustion feel sharper. “Hey, you’re back. How was practice?”
“Fine.” I dropped my bag by the door and headed toward the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. If I didn’t engage, maybe he’d get the hint.
“No bruises or broken bones? That’s a win, right?” he joked, his tone too chipper for the hour.
I pulled a water bottle from the fridge and twisted the cap off. “Sure.”
The silence stretched for a beat too long, and I could feel his eyes on me like he was trying to decide whether to keep talking or let it go.
“Are you always this talkative, or is it just me?” he finally asked, his tone teasing but not mean.
That caught me off guard enough that I turned to look at him. He was smiling, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—uncertainty, maybe? Like he was testing the water and wasn’t sure if he was about to get burned.
“I’m tired,” I said, my voice flat.
His smile dimmed a little, but he didn’t back down. “Tired, huh? Rough day?”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Look, it’s late. Can we skip the small talk?”
Eli blinked, his smile fading entirely. “Sure. Didn’t realize asking about your day was such a crime.”
“It’s not—” I cut myself off, irritation flaring. I didn’t want to snap at him, but I was too wound up to stop myself. “I just don’t have the energy for this right now, okay?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t look angry. More... curious. “You know, you’re kind of a mystery, Niall. Most people at least fake being friendly. But you? You don’t even bother.”
I stared at him, not sure how to respond. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing it out loud made my chest tighten.
“Look,” he said, softer now, “I’m not trying to make your life harder. I get it—you didn’t ask for a roommate, and I’m probably the last person you wanted moving in. But we’re stuck with each other, so maybe we could try not to make this miserable?”
His words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. Part of me wanted to push back, to tell him to mind his own business and stop trying to figure me out. But another part—the quieter, more tired part—knew he had a point.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, my voice clipped. It wasn’t exactly an olive branch, but it was all I could manage.
Eli sighed, shaking his head. “You’re exhausting, you know that?”
I didn’t answer, just grabbed my bag and headed for my room. As I closed the door behind me, his words replayed in my head, over and over.
You’re exhausting.
Maybe he was right.