Chapter 8 Max
EIGHT
MAX
It’s been almost a week since Eli’s offer, and it’s still running laps in my head. Like he planted it there on purpose, knowing it would dig in and stay.
Come home with me. Spare room. No strings.
It’s Thanksgiving in two days. Too damn late to take him up on it now. Not that I would’ve. Pride’s a hell of a thing—keeps you from doing a lot of stupid shit, but it also keeps you from… other things. Things that might’ve been good.
I tell myself it’s fine. I’ve got plans.
Not exciting ones, but plans all the same.
A couple of days in a quiet, empty campus apartment.
My laptop. My notes. The twenty-page paper I’ve been putting off writing.
The kind of solitude I’ve always been good at, because it’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.
But every time I replay that moment in the trainer’s room, his easy smile, the way he meant it, my chest tightens. He wasn’t just making conversation. He was offering… something else. Something I don’t take from people. Kindness.
Because once you take it, you can’t give it back. And if you lose it, it leaves holes you can’t patch over.
I lean against the railing at the edge of the rink, clipboard in hand, but I’m not really watching drills the way I should be. Not when Eli’s out there, skating as though he was born with blades instead of feet, grinning at everybody like he’s already three eggnogs deep.
The team’s supposed to be running shooting practice, but Eli’s got himself on full-volume Christmas carol mode again, belting out “Jingle Bell Rock” loud enough to echo in the rafters.
He doesn’t care that he’s off-key in places, doesn’t care that half the guys are groaning at him to shut up while shooting pucks at the net with no mercy.
Or that he’s just coming back from an injury.
Predictably, they start firing pucks at him instead of the net.
Not hard, just enough to make him flinch and laugh harder.
He dodges one, spins away from another, still singing as though he’s on stage somewhere and not getting used as target practice.
He isn’t moving as if his groin still bothers him; maybe he was never really injured and used it to get closer to me.
If that was his motive, damn if it didn’t work, because the image of him on my examination room table now has fantasies attached to it that definitely shouldn’t be circling my head.
And damn if he isn’t captivating.
It’s not just the easy way he moves or the way his voice carries over the scrape of skates.
It’s that nothing—absolutely nothing—can shake him out of that joy.
Not a puck to the back of the leg. Not his teammates’ chirps.
Not the fact that he’s got an audience, because he doesn’t change a thing whether anyone’s watching or not.
I tell myself I’m here to make sure no one pulls anything stupid before break. But my eyes keep finding him, like they always do, and I know that’s not the whole truth. I need one more hit of his sunshine before he’s gone for five days.
Coach blows the whistle sharp enough to cut through Eli’s singing. “Bring it in!”
The guys coast over, sticks clattering against the ice, helmets pushed back to cool their heads off. Coach crosses his arms over his chest, scanning the lot of them as if he’s deciding whether to be nice or tear them a new one.
“Alright, listen up. Storm’s moving in faster than they said, so we’re calling it here. Get out of here early, beat the weather, and go enjoy your break. Happy holidays, enjoy the bird, and try not to do anything that’ll have me fielding injury reports over Thanksgiving.”
There’s a ripple of relieved laughter, a couple of the guys tapping sticks against the ice in appreciation before everyone scatters toward the tunnel.
I hang back by the boards, tucking my clipboard under my arm. Eli skates past with Daniel, the two of them laughing about something I can’t catch, probably a jab about his carols, knowing him.
But then he glances over.
It’s quick. Just a flick of his eyes to mine as he passes.
Still, it’s enough to send a pulse of heat low in my chest, like the air between us is suddenly charged.
He doesn’t stop smiling, doesn’t miss a beat in whatever joke he’s telling Daniel.
But that spark—yeah, it’s still there. And it hits just as hard as it did the first time I noticed it at the start of the practice season at the beginning of the school year. Only now, it’s harder to ignore.
The locker room is buzzing, the kind of easy, restless energy that comes right before a break. Showers run in quick rotations, steam curling toward the ceiling while guys shout to each other over the water and laugh about whatever stupid thing happened on the ice.
Equipment bags thud against the floor, sticks get racked, and the scent of soap and sweaty gear hangs heavy in the air. Everyone’s moving fast—eager to get on the road, beat the storm, and start their holiday early.
One by one, they filter out with calls of “Happy Thanksgiving!” and “Don’t eat too much pie!” echoing down the hall. The room empties quicker than usual, chatter fading until there’s just the hum of the vents and the sound of someone—Eli—still moving around at his stall.
I’m leaning against the doorframe, not in any hurry myself, and I can feel the pull of his presence even without looking directly at him.
I push off the doorframe, my voice cutting through the quiet. “Where’s home for you, Starling?”
He glances over his shoulder, still toweling off his hair, and there’s that easy grin again. “South Carolina. Little coastal town. Warm, sunny beaches instead of snow. Although, swimming in November is usually too cold.”
Figures. Of course he’d come from somewhere warm, somewhere that matches the way he carries himself, all sun-soaked and easy in his own skin.
“Long way from here,” I say.
“Yeah,” he admits, shrugging as he pulls on a T-shirt. “But I like the cold…for a little while, anyway. And the seasons here are the best part. Where else can you have all four seasons in one day? Makes going home even better.”
I hum, but don’t say the thing that catches in my throat, how home doesn’t sound the same for me.
Eli slings his bag over his shoulder but doesn’t head for the door just yet. “What about you?” he asks, pausing mid-step. “Where’s home for you, Calder?”
“North Dakota,” I say after a beat.
His brows lift. “So…even colder than here.”
“Yeah.” My mouth curves, but it’s not quite a smile. “Lot less to do, too.”
He studies me for a second longer, as though he’s weighing whether to push, then just nods. “Guess that explains why you’d rather stay here for the break.”
I grunt something noncommittal, but the way he’s still looking at me makes it feel like he’s not just talking about the weather.
Eli’s mouth tips into that easy grin again, but there’s something softer under it this time.
“Well…have a nice break, Calder.”
“You too, Starling,” I say, keeping my tone even, but my eyes follow him all the way to the door.
That afternoon, the campus feels hollow. The parking lots are over half-empty, the dorm windows dark. Everyone’s cleared out ahead of the storm, and even the wind sounds softer under the weight of the snow just starting to fall.
I pull my jacket tighter as I cut across to the coffee shop in town, boots crunching over the thin layer of powder. The place is warm when I step inside, humming with low music and the hiss of steaming milk.
I get in line, already tasting the bitter bite of my usual black coffee, until the smell hits me. Peppermint. Sweet, sharp, curling through the air from the cup in the hands of the girl ahead of me.
Eli.
The thought of him is instant, automatic, as if my brain can’t help itself. I picture him with that drink in hand, grinning over the rim, probably humming Christmas music under his breath like he was at practice this morning.
When it’s my turn, I open my mouth to order the black coffee. Instead—
“Peppermint latte,” I hear myself say.
The barista nods, scribbles it down. I tell myself it’s just because I want to try something different. But when they set the cup in front of me, the swirl of whipped cream and peppermint on top hits exactly like I knew it would, like him. Like a small hit of sunshine when the world has gone dark.
I thank the barista and step back out into the cold, the bell above the door giving a soft jingle behind me. The snow’s coming down in slow, lazy flakes now, settling on my hair and the shoulders of my coat.
I take a sip, and it’s like drinking liquid sugar—way too sweet, the peppermint sharp on my tongue—but the smile still finds its way onto my face.
The street is quiet except for the muffled crunch of my boots. Every exhale fogs the air, and for a second, I let myself imagine handing this to him instead. Watching the way his eyes would light up, hearing the way his laugh would break through the cold.
I shake the thought off and keep walking, the heat of the cup seeping through my gloves. It’s stupid. It’s just a drink.
But the damn thing still tastes like him.
The snow’s sticking now, dusting the sidewalks and blanketing the empty quad in white. I’m halfway to my building when movement catches my eye; Eli, climbing out of an Uber at the curb, his duffel slung over one shoulder.
From here, even under his knit beanie, I can see it, the way his shoulders slope, the easy grin gone. He looks…tired. Sad, maybe.
Before I can think better of it, I call out, “Starling!”
His head snaps up, and for a second, there’s surprise in his face before it smooths out into something more neutral. His normal sunshine is missing. Concern threads through me.
“What are you doing back?” I close the distance in a few long strides, cup still warm in my hand. “Thought you were halfway to the sun by now.”
He lets out a breath that curls white in the air. “Yeah, well. Flights are all grounded until the storm clears. Guess Michigan wanted me all to itself a little longer.”
I take in the wet snow clinging to his lashes, the faint pink at the tip of his nose, and the way his voice dips just enough to make me think he’s not exactly thrilled about the change in plans.
“Sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I know what it’s like to want out and get stuck anyway.
He shrugs one shoulder, as though it’s no big deal, but when he steps closer, the steam from my cup drifts between us. His eyes flick down to it, then back up to mine, and a slow, knowing smile blooms across his face—bright, teasing, and entirely too pleased with himself.
“Is that… a peppermint latte?” he asks, voice warm with mock disbelief.
I press my lips together, holding back the smile that wants to creep in.
“Would I be drinking pure sugar?” I ask, keeping my tone flat, daring him to make something of it.
Eli’s grin turns downright wicked. “Sure smells like it,” he says, leaning in just a fraction, enough that the peppermint steam between us is all him now. “Kinda like you’ve been making out with a candy cane.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head, but it’s useless; the corner of my mouth betrays me, tugging upward. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, more gruff than I mean to, because if he keeps looking at me in that way, I’m going to forget how to stand still. And I’m going to kiss him.
“I did…” He shrugs the sadness coming back. I hate it.
I shake my head, but my eyes linger on him. He’s still got that edge of travel fatigue clinging to him, beanie formed to his head, cheeks pink from the cold. And no joy shining in his blue eyes. Every part of me wants to put it back, make them sparkle with happiness.
“You headed back to the dorms?” I ask.
“Yeah. No point hanging around the airport if nothing’s flying out.” He tips his chin toward the path leading across campus. “They said maybe tomorrow if the storm clears. Until then, I guess I’m stuck here.”
“Guess so,” I say, my breath clouding the air between us. “Hope you at least left some heat on before you left.”
He fakes a smile. “I’m not a rookie, Calder. Place’ll be toasty when I get back.”
I shift my cup from one hand to the other, the words out before I can overthink them. “You, uh… want to grab dinner later? Campus is dead, but the little diner on State is still open. No fun eating alone.”
Eli’s grin blooms instantly, real and blinding, and my breath catches in its brilliance. “Are you asking me out on a date, Calder?”
My mouth opens, then closes. “No—I mean, not like that. I just meant—”
He laughs, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as if he’s caught me red-handed. “Relax, I’m joking. Dinner sounds good. Text me when you’re hungry, and we can walk over.”
We fall into step without really planning it, our boots crunching over the fresh snow. The path across campus is quiet except for the wind pushing the flakes sideways. It’s…nice. Not the word I usually throw at Eli Starling, but it fits.
By the time we hit the main quad, the crowd from earlier has thinned to nothing. The only movement is the flicker of the lampposts and Eli swinging his duffel from one shoulder to the other.
When we reach the dorms, he slows, blinking up at the building. “Wait—this is your place?”
“Yeah,” I say, shifting my cup to dig my keycard out. “Been here since I transferred.”
He stares for a beat, then lets out a short laugh. “Huh. Guess we’ve been neighbors this whole time and I never noticed.”
“Guess so,” I murmur, swiping us in.
Inside the lobby, the warm air hits us, carrying that faint scent of whatever the dining hall served for lunch hours ago. Eli shifts his bag higher on his shoulder, glancing toward the stairwell.
“Well…guess I’ll see you later then,” he says, casual, but there’s a flicker in his eyes like he’s not quite ready for the conversation to end.
“Yeah,” I reply, nodding toward the elevators.
“Text me about dinner when you’re ready.”
“Will do.”
We split at the hall’s fork—him heading left, me right—our footsteps fading in opposite directions. I keep my gaze forward, but I’m aware of him until I can’t hear him anymore, the peppermint latte still warm in my hand and the faint ghost of his grin hanging in my head.