Cole Whitmore
953 Words
Noelle's PoV :
"What do you want ." I asked, looking at his face closely, but I couldn't see his face properly. Then he took his hoodie cap off , it was Eli .
He came closer and held my hands , " Nothing, i just came by to check up on you," he said
" Why are you dressed like a thief , no a murderer " I asked him
" I just didn't want to be caught ,and I was worried you won't be adjusting well," he said .
" I am good." Go before anyone sees you , let's talk later bye ".
I closed the door before he could say another word .
I walked to my bed, and I looked at maya, but she was still sleeping like a baby .
"Unbelievable," I said and slept
The next day, I returned to the rink, and it was quieter than usual when I arrived for my second shift, no practice yet. Just the hum of the ice machine and the distant echo of someone sharpening skates in the back room. I clocked in, tied my hair back, and started organizing the rental forms.
That's when I heard the door open behind me.
"You actually came back."
I turned. Cole Whitmore stood in the doorway of the equipment room, still in his street clothes. Hoodie. Jeans. That same easy smile. But his eyes weren't laughing. They were watching.
"I work here," I said, turning back to the forms. "It's my job."
"Most freshmen quit after the first week. The cold gets to them."
"I run cold."
He laughed softly. Then he walked closer, leaning against the counter across from me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne — clean, like cedar and something else I couldn't name.
"So, Noelle Mercer from Charlotte," he said. "Pre-law. Works at a hockey rink despite knowing nothing about hockey. What's your story?"
I kept my hands busy. "No story. Just a girl paying for college."
Cole tilted his head. "Everyone has a story."
Not everyone's story could put your father in prison, I thought.
But I said, "Maybe I'm boring."
He smiled at that — not his public smile, but something smaller. Private. "I don't think you're boring at all."
The practice started, and I watched from behind the glass like always. Cole was different on the ice — intense, focused, and nothing like the easy guy from the equipment room.
Then Marcus skated over during a break and leaned against the boards near me.
"So," Marcus said, not looking at me. "You're the textbook girl."
"That's me."
"He asked about you, you know. Cole." Marcus finally glanced my way. "I wanted to know if you were single."
My stomach dropped. "Why would he—"
"Relax. I didn't tell him anything. Because I don't know anything." Marcus paused. "But here's what I do know. Cole doesn't ask about random girls. Ever. So whatever you're doing, it's working."
I opened my mouth to deny it, but Marcus was already skating away.
That was the moment I realized: the plan wasn't just working. It was working too well.
Cole Whitmore was supposed to be a target.
But targets don't ask about you when you're not in the room.
---
After practice, Cole found me again.
The team had cleared out. The rink was empty, cold, and silent except for the distant hum of the refrigeration unit. I was wiping down the rental skates when he appeared at the counter.
"You stayed late," he said.
"So did you."
He shrugged. "I like the quiet. No coaches. No crowd. Just ice."
I didn't know what to say to that. So I kept wiping.
Cole leaned against the counter, watching me. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why did you really take this job?"
My hands paused for half a second. Then I resumed wiping. "I told you. Money for school."
"Lots of jobs on campus pay better than the rink."
I looked up. His eyes were steady. Not accusing. Just curious. And something else — something that looked almost like hope.
"Maybe I like the cold," I said.
Cole held my gaze for a long moment. Then he smiled, slow and warm. "Maybe that's the first true thing you've said to me."
My heart hammered. He didn't know. He couldn't know.
But he was close.
Too close.
He pushed off the counter and walked toward the door. Then he stopped and looked back.
"Hey, Noelle?"
"Yeah?"
"I texted you the other night. About the water bottle."
"I know. I got it."
Cole nodded slowly. "You never texted back."
The silence stretched between us like a wire pulled tight.
"I was busy," I said.
"Sure you were." He smiled again, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. "See you tomorrow, mystery girl."
The door swung shut behind him.
I stood there, frozen, the damp rag still in my hand.
He had noticed I didn't text back.
He was paying attention.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
If Cole Whitmore was paying attention to me really paying attention - then he might start asking the right questions.
And I wasn't ready to answer them.
Not yet.
Maybe not , maybe not ever.
I turned off the rink lights like I always did.
One switch.
Then the second.
Darkness settled across the ice, swallowing everything except the faint reflection of overhead emergency lights.
I locked the equipment room.
Tightened my grip on the keys.
Then I heard it.
A soft scrape against the glass behind me.
I stopped walking.
Slowly… I turned.
And on the other side of the rink glass
someone was still there.
- Writer
