11. Eli
CHAPTER 11
ELI
The Rusty Rink Bar & Grill was bustling with noise as I walked in, the low hum of chatter mixing with the clink of glasses and the sound of a hockey game playing on the TV above the bar. It was packed tonight, mostly with a mix of locals and students who looked like they’d been there since the first period started. Not exactly my crowd, but I wasn’t going to let that bother me.
I was here to work, so that’s what I was going to do. I headed for a corner booth, a little away from the louder groups but still close enough to the action that I wasn’t totally cut off. I’d considered sitting at the bar, but I was pretty sure Niall would have an aneurysm if I put him in a situation where he could barely hear me over the noise.
The booth gave me space to spread out my things—laptop, notebook, camera—and get set up. Asher would probably tease me for going ‘ full work mode ,’ but that was just how I rolled. I was good at multitasking, and right then, that meant getting the social media posts and photos sorted out while the others worked on the branding stuff.
Yeah, I’d gone ahead and bought a camera. I figured it was time to upgrade. Nothing fancy—no high-end, pro-level gear like what career photographers used—but a solid camera that could handle more than just quick snapshots. Something good enough for this Marketing Principles assignment and whatever else I decided to explore.
I ran my fingers over the camera body, adjusting the settings. It was still new enough that I was figuring things out, but I liked the feel of it, the weight of it in my hands. Made everything I shot feel more intentional.
I was still trying to figure some things out when I heard Asher’s voice, unmistakable, cutting through the noise. He had that grin plastered on his face, and his energy filled the room.
“Yo, Eli!” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Bet you’re already working. You seriously need to chill, man.”
I chuckled and pushed my laptop aside. “I’m getting there. You know, just getting everything ready. No big deal.”
Asher slid into the booth next to me, completely at ease. His eyes were dancing as he surveyed the place. “We should come here more often.”
I smiled, setting my camera down. “Maybe?” I shrugged. “Don’t know if Niall would like it here, honestly.”
“Speaking of Niall,” Asher said, glancing toward the door just as Niall walked in, scanning the room. The second he spotted me, his features went carefully neutral, but there was a flicker of something guarded in his eyes. It wasn’t exactly unfriendly, it was more like a ‘ you’re here, fine, whatever ’ kind of look.
Niall made his way over to the booth, pushing past a couple of people without much effort. He moved like someone who was used to people making space for him—not in an entitled way, just like it was a fact.
His gaze flicked to me, then Asher, before he dropped onto the seat across from me, his broad shoulders eating up space. “Hey.” His voice was low, and the nod he gave was brief.
Asher shot him an easy grin. “Long day?”
Niall exhaled through his nose. “Something like that.”
I closed my notebook, tilting my head. “Practice?”
Niall’s eyes flicked to me, unreadable. “Yeah.” His tone wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t cold either—just matter-of-fact.
We all got burgers and fries and ate in relative silence—a silence that was comfortable, even though Niall and I weren’t on the best of terms. When we were done, Asher pulled a sketchbook and pencil from his bag, flipping to a blank page.
“All right, let’s get into it.” He started sketching as he spoke, his strokes quick but purposeful. “I’m thinking high energy—bold colors, sharp angles, maybe some motion blur to make it feel dynamic. A design that screams, ‘ Hockey is badass, and you don’t want to miss this clinic .’”
Niall exhaled, leaning back. “Bit dramatic.”
“Yeah, but dramatic sells,” I said, tapping my pen against my notebook. “We want people to actually show up, right?”
Niall didn’t argue, just shrugged. “As long as it gets the right people.”
Asher grinned. “See? He gets it.” He tilted the sketchbook so we could see the rough outlines of his idea—a stylized hockey player mid-shot, bold lettering slashing across the top. He gestured between us. “Eli’s handling the photos, I’ll refine the layout, and you—” He pointed at Niall. “You can give us the hockey player’s perspective so we don’t sound like clueless amateurs.”
Niall folded his arms. “Right. Because that’s my specialty.”
“You’re the team captain, aren’t you?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure that comes with the job.”
Niall’s expression twitched, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t.
Asher’s phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. “I’ll get started on the flyers, but I promised Gigi we’d finish our art pieces tonight, so I gotta head out.” He slid out of the booth, pointing between us. “You guys can keep brainstorming without me.”
Niall gave him a barely-there nod. Asher gave me a side hug, grinning. “Catch you later, man.”
Asher was out the door in a heartbeat, and just like that, it was just me and Niall.
I tapped my fingers against the table, trying to think of something to break the silence. “This your first time helping out with the clinic?”
“No.” He stretched his arm along the back of the booth, watching the bar with an unreadable expression. “Been doing it since my freshman year. It’s good for the kids.”
I studied him for a second, curious despite myself. “You like coaching?”
He shrugged. “I like hockey.”
Not exactly an answer, but I got the sense it was the only one he was offering.
I smirked. “I wouldn’t know. I was never much of a sports guy.”
That got his attention. His eyes flicked back to me, blue and sharp under the dim lighting. “Seriously? Not even as a kid?”
“Oh, I tried,” I admitted, leaning forward. “Soccer. Basketball. I even did swimming lessons for a summer.” I grinned, shaking my head. “Turns out, I suck at anything competitive.”
Something like amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Hard to believe.”
“Why?”
His gaze flickered over me, fast but deliberate. “You’ve got a good body for sports.” Niall stiffened, his ears turning pink as he realized what he’d just said.
The words hung between us, unexpected.
“I mean—” He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “You look… like you keep in shape.”
I bit back a laugh. “Uh-huh.”
His jaw worked like he wanted to backtrack but couldn’t find the words. He settled for looking irritated with himself, scowling at the tabletop.
“You can just say I have a great body, Captain Broody,” I teased, enjoying the rare moment of him being flustered. “I won’t hold it against you.”
He made a sound that was probably supposed to be a scoff but came out more like a choke. “I just meant… you’re not, you know, out of shape. And you’re jumping into the clinic, which I… respect.”
My grin softened. He wasn’t just covering for himself—he meant it.
“Well,” I said, dragging my fingers along the edge of my laptop, “I figured I should pull my weight. Plus, photography aside, I’m looking forward to seeing how you guys do things.”
He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Kids get a lot out of it. A few of them stick with hockey, play through high school, even college.” He hesitated, then added, “A couple of them remind me of myself when I was their age.”
That was the most I’d heard him say at once.
“Yeah?” I prompted.
He exhaled, gaze going distant for a second. “I was all in, even when I was little. Spent every free second on the ice.” A small, almost self-conscious shrug. “Guess I just want ’em to have that same shot.”
It wasn’t much, but it was a window—just wide enough to see something past the usual gruffness.
I didn’t push.
Instead, I just nodded, letting the moment settle between us, warm and unexpected.
The ice between us? Maybe it was starting to thaw.