21. Niall
CHAPTER 21
NIALL
Sunlight bled through the airplane window, painting the cabin in shades of orange and gold. I slumped deeper into my seat, hoodie pulled over my head, earbuds in, but music off. The steady hum of the plane should’ve been soothing, but my brain wouldn’t shut up.
Eli.
I shouldn’t have kissed him.
The thought sat heavy in my chest, tangled with frustration, confusion, and something sharp that I didn’t want to name. I kept replaying it—Eli’s lips against mine, the way his breath had hitched, the way I had wanted.
I hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t even thought about it. One second, Eli was standing there, and the next, I’d closed the space between us like gravity had yanked me forward.
It wasn’t just the kiss. It was everything that came with it. The uncertainty, the weight of what it meant—not just for him, but for me. I’d never questioned my identity before. In my head, I was just a guy. A cis guy who liked girls. Straight, like most guys. It wasn’t something I ever had to think about. I’d kissed girls before—hell, I’d even liked it—but none of them ever made me feel this .
This... thing . The way Eli’s body pressed against mine had done something to me I couldn’t explain. I could barely even recall when it started—the odd way he made my stomach twist every time he smiled, the subtle sparks that ran through me when he talked, the moments when his eyes lingered on me longer than they should. But none of that had prepared me for how my body had reacted.
The only thing I knew for sure was that Eli was the only person—besides my own palm—who had gotten me hard. Was that what this meant? Was it as simple as that? I’d never been curious about sex. Honestly, I’d been indifferent to it, even as my teammates talked about it like it was the be-all and end-all. But now? Now, I was questioning everything. Was I gay? Bi? Some label I didn’t even have the words for? What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
I sighed and shifted in my seat, bumping Roman’s shoulder. My teammate shot me a look before pulling his cap lower over his face. “Quit squirming.”
I muttered an apology and stared out the window. The clouds below stretched endlessly, but I felt boxed in.
It had been an impulse. A momentary lapse, a slip-up. That’s what I told myself. But no matter how many times I tried to convince myself it was a mistake, my brain kept dragging me back to it.
The kiss. Eli.
And now, I couldn’t even figure out what it meant for what had been developing between us. I thought we were becoming friends—maybe something more—but now… had I fucked that up? Was everything I’d been building with him tainted by my stupid mistake?
We landed in Colorado just after five. The air was crisp when we stepped outside, and the altitude made my lungs work a little harder. The team loaded onto the bus, silent and focused—except for Micah, who was already vibrating with restless energy.
The first game was tomorrow night, but we had morning skate and meetings before that. By the time I crashed into the hotel bed, exhaustion weighed down my limbs. But sleep didn’t come easy. My brain refused to shut down.
Eli.
I shouldn’t have kissed him.
* * *
Friday’s game was a disaster.
I could feel it unraveling from the first puck drop. My passes were sloppy. My timing was off. My legs felt like concrete. It wasn’t just me—the entire team looked sluggish, like we were skating through mud.
Colorado tore us apart.
Second period, down by three, I slammed my stick against the boards after botching a pass I should’ve made.
“Get your head in the game, Caldwell!” Coach AJ barked from the bench.
I nodded sharply, but focus slipped through my fingers like loose tape. Every time I blinked, I saw Eli—saw the way his lips had parted after the kiss, the flicker of something in his eyes before I’d pulled away like a coward.
Colorado scored again.
By the time the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard was a fucking crime scene. 6-1.
In the locker room, no one spoke. The air was thick with sweat, frustration, and something unspoken.
Micah was the first to explode. He ripped off his helmet, threw it against the wall, and kicked over a water bottle. “This is bullshit!”
“Whitmore!” Coach AJ’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough.”
“Outside. Now,” Rookie Coach ordered, nodding toward the hallway.
Micah was still seething, nostrils flaring, but he stomped past the rows of benches and disappeared through the locker room doors.
Coach AJ and Rookie Coach followed, leaving the rest of us in thick, uncomfortable silence.
I barely paid attention. My mind was a mess of static.
Roman dropped onto the bench beside me, the old wood creaking under his weight. His gaze slid over me, studying my face like he was looking for something hidden. I shifted slightly, trying to keep my posture casual, but my shoulders felt tight, like I was holding onto something I couldn’t quite let go of.
“You were off tonight,” Roman said, his voice low but not quiet.
“Yeah. I know.”
I clenched my fists in my lap, nails digging into my palms. I couldn’t shake the feeling that his eyes were boring into me, digging beneath the surface. The air between us seemed to hum with unspoken questions.
Roman didn’t look away. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” My jaw tensed. I didn’t meet his eyes.
“Bullshit.”
I gritted my teeth, the muscles in my jaw locked tight. I felt my body tense up, my spine straightening, but I forced myself to breathe, trying to maintain control. My eyes flicked toward the locker room doors, then back to Roman, who was still watching me.
“Just a bad game,” I muttered, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be.
Roman hummed, unconvinced. But he let it go. His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back against the lockers, still too aware of me for my liking.
* * *
Saturday night, we scraped out a win.
Logan was unbelievable in net, making save after save like he was everywhere at once. Nico threw himself in front of the puck, taking it straight to the face, but somehow kept it out of the net. Hunter managed to get a stick on the puck, and it ricocheted off a few players before landing in the net. It wasn’t pretty, but somehow, we scraped out a 3-2 victory. A win’s a win, even when it feels like the game was more luck than skill.
I showered quickly, the sting of hot water barely registering. My mind wouldn’t stop racing—kept circling back to Eli. His laugh. The way he’d looked at me. That damn kiss. It felt like I couldn’t escape the image of him, no matter how hard I tried.
I could call him. Text him. Say something.
But what the hell would I even say?
Instead, I sat on my bed in the hotel room, scrolling through Eli’s Instagram, letting his photos pull me in. His feed was full of moments most people would overlook: a single leaf caught in the sunlight, its edges frayed by the early fall chill; a lone acorn resting on a patch of moss, the color of the earth rich and deep against its tan shell.
There was something about those photos. Something I couldn’t quite put into words. They made me feel like Eli saw the world in a way I hadn’t in years. The way he noticed things—things I’d forgotten how to see. Like he’d found beauty in the quiet, the small, and the fleeting.
I kept scrolling, my finger moving absentmindedly through his pictures, but the further I went, the more I couldn’t look away. I found myself tracing each image, letting it pull me deeper into his world. And then I stopped.
One photo—just a simple trail in the woods, the one we’d walked together—stopped me cold. It was from early September, the leaves just starting to hint at change. The light in that photo was soft, warm.
In the corner, a squirrel clung to a tree, its little paws gripping the bark. I could almost hear Eli’s laugh from that day. His face had lit up when he saw the squirrel. It wasn’t just the photo—it was everything about the moment. The way Eli had laughed so freely, so honestly. The way he looked at the world as though everything in it mattered. He’d snapped a ton of photos, most of which I hadn’t seen, but I couldn’t remember a single moment feeling more real.
I let my finger hover over the picture, the weight of my realization sinking in. A slow, sinking feeling settled in my chest.
I hadn’t realized it back then—not fully—but looking at this now it was so damn clear. I’d been heading down this path for days. Maybe even longer. At first, I thought I was just trying to get through practice, trying to avoid him, trying not to notice the way he smiled too brightly or the way his eyes seemed to always find mine. But now... now I saw it. I had been falling for Eli in ways I hadn’t been ready to face.
I hadn’t even given myself the chance to process it, to think it through, but there it was. His photos, his moments—they made me feel something. Something I hadn’t expected. I wasn’t just falling for his smile or the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he cared about. I was falling for everything about him. His way of seeing the world. The way he made me see it, too.
Eli had somehow made it past my walls until he was standing next to me inside the fortress I’d built and exiled myself in… And I hadn’t even realized I was the one who’d opened the door to let him walk right in.
I exhaled slowly, trying to push the knot forming in my stomach. I couldn’t keep pretending I felt nothing. But admitting it—actually acknowledging it—felt like stepping into something I wasn’t sure I could handle.
Just as the weight of it all started to sink in, I heard the creak of the door and saw Roman flop down on his bed, towel still draped around his neck. His eyes—usually glued to his phone—were fixed on me now, sharp with curiosity.
“You gonna tell me what’s up?” he asked, voice laced with that familiar, easy-going tone.
I could feel the tension in my chest tighten again. How the hell was I supposed to explain any of this to him?
I tossed my phone onto the nightstand, the soft thud of it landing breaking the silence. “Nothing’s up.”
Roman sighed, loud and dramatic. He leaned back against the headboard, twisting the towel in his hands. “Is it school? A girl… or a guy? Your roommate?” He gave me a sideways glance, then smirked. “FYI, Eli seems like a cool guy. But something’s definitely up.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“Caldwell, I’m not an idiot.” Roman stretched, cracking his neck. “You’ve been off since we got here. Your game these two nights? Absolute dogshit.”
I gritted my teeth, jaw tight. “Thanks. Last I checked, we all fucked up.”
Roman didn’t flinch. “Yeah, but I know that look. You’ve been carrying something, but it’s more than just hockey. And when you’re like this—holding everything in? You get even more grumpy than usual.”
I shifted in my seat, avoiding his eyes. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
Roman’s eyes softened for a split second, then sharpened again. “No, it’s not nothing. And it’s messing with your game. You’re not the kind of guy who lets shit get in the way of hockey, but whatever’s going on? It’s got you distracted.”
I swallowed hard, feeling exposed. Roman was right.