Chapter 20 Max
TWENTY
MAX
Morning creeps in through the slats of the blinds, pale gold spilling across tangled blankets and the steady rise and fall of Eli’s chest. He’s curled against me, warm and loose, hair a mess against my shoulder.
I should move. I should get up, start bracing for the day, but I don’t.
I just let myself feel it—the weight of him tucked against me, the quiet hum of contentment that settles in my bones.
The storm’s over. The silence of campus won’t last long. And somehow, that feels worse than it should. I want to stay in this bubble forever.
By the time we shuffle down to the tiny dorm kitchen, it’s just the two of us again, hunched over mismatched mugs of coffee and half-burnt toast as if nothing about the last few days—or last night—shifted the ground between us.
Except it did. I can feel it in the way his knee brushes mine under the table, in the way his hand lingers too long when he slides the butter knife across to me.
“You know,” he says around a mouthful of toast, “if we’d been the January spread instead of December, we could’ve done, like…New Year’s fireworks or champagne flutes or something.”
I grunt, taking a sip of coffee. “And what pose exactly would you have subjected me to?”
His grin is instant, wicked. He sets down his toast and mimes blowing a noisemaker, complete with the little squeak sound effect. “You're shirtless, obviously. Confetti falling, me draped across your lap—perfect start to the year.”
I choke on my coffee, and he laughs so hard he nearly tips over his chair.
It should annoy me. Hell, it does annoy me. But underneath, I feel it—warmth, easy and unguarded. Something I don’t want to let go of. It’s been missing from my life for way too long, and somehow, Eli brings it all out.
I stare into my cup, fingers tight around the handle. I swallow hard. “I don’t want this weekend to be over,” I admit quietly. “I don’t want this thing with you to be over.”
The words hang between us, it’s way more than I should’ve let slip.
Eli stills, toast halfway to his mouth. For a heartbeat, I regret saying anything, but then he sets it down, brushing crumbs from his fingers, and leans forward.
His knee presses more firmly against mine, deliberate now, not accidental.
“It doesn’t have to be over,” he says softly. His eyes are steady, cutting through me, daring me to argue. “We don’t have to make it a thing for everyone else to see. If you want it quiet—if you want it just between us—then it can stay that way.”
Something in my chest tightens, dangerous and tempting all at once. He’s offering me an out and a way forward at the same time, as though he knows exactly how much I want this and exactly how terrified I am of it.
I drag a hand down my face, buying time I don’t need, because the truth is already clawing its way out. “You’d be okay with that? With hiding it from your whole team and your friends?”
Eli’s smile is small but sure. “I’ve been okay with that since the beginning, Max. This? Us? I want it, even if it’s just ours for now. Even if I can’t scream it to the whole world.”
The air in the room shifts, lighter and heavier at the same time. I exhale slowly, a laugh catching in my throat. “Then maybe…I don’t want it to end.”
Eli’s hand slides over mine on the table, his thumb brushing once against my knuckles before he pulls back like he hasn’t just set my pulse hammering.
“Good,” he says simply, and goes back to his toast as if he hasn’t just rewritten the rest of my weekend—maybe the rest of everything.
We finish eating in a silence that isn’t heavy anymore. It’s easy, warm, threaded through with something unspoken that feels steady and real. When I push my plate away, Eli scoops it up before I can stop him, stacking it on top of his own.
“You cooked,” he says, already moving toward the sink. “I’ll clean.”
I snort. “You call burning toast cooking?”
“Artfully singeing it, thank you very much,” he shoots back over his shoulder, running the tap.
I join him anyway, bumping his hip with mine as I drop the mugs into the sink. Water splashes, catching on his sweater, and he yelps as though it’s scalding instead of lukewarm.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, but my mouth twitches with a traitorous smile.
He grins, hair falling into his eyes as he elbows me back.
“And yet you still slept in my bed. I think you enjoy my impossible. And ridiculous. And…” He taps his chin, thinking of more of the half hearted insults I’ve sent his way.
“And insufferable, unbelievable…did I miss any?” Eli’s grin widens, too smug for his own good.
I scoff, shaking my head, and before I can stop myself, I step in behind him, sliding my arms around his waist. He stills for half a beat, surprised, before relaxing into me, warm and solid under my hands.
“I like all of it, Princess,” I murmur against his shoulder. Kissing the side of his head. “The impossible. The ridiculous. The insufferable…” My chest tightens, but the words keep tumbling out, low and certain. “I love all of that about you.”
Eli freezes. His hand, mid–reach for the dish towel, goes slack. The silence stretches, and it takes me a split second too long to realize what I just said.
Shit.
I clear my throat, pressing my forehead between his shoulder blades as though I can hide there. “I mean—I love that you drive me insane. Someone has to, right?” My laugh is forced, shaky. “Keeps me from getting bored.”
Eli sets the plate in the rack, wipes his hands on a dish towel, and leans back against me, just enough to let me know he’s not pulling away. His voice is casual, but there’s a wicked sound to it, and I can picture the look on his face..
“Love, huh?” he drawls. “You’re moving kinda fast for someone who wants to keep this all a secret.”
Heat floods my neck. “That’s not—I didn’t—” I stumble over every word, tightening my arms around his waist like maybe if I hold on he won’t make it worse. “You know what I meant.”
He tilts his head, glancing back at me as I raise my head, eyes sparkling, grin too damn smug. “Oh, I know what you said.”
Bitting back a laugh, I bury my face against the back of his shoulder again. “You’re insufferable.”
“Mm.” He hums, satisfied. “Good thing you love that about me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, because he’s not going to let me live this down. Not today. Probably not ever.
I groan, wishing I could rewind the last two minutes. “You’re never letting me forget this, are you?”
“Not a chance,” he says, smug as ever. But then his hand comes up, fingers brushing mine where they’re locked at his waist. His voice dips. “Still…didn’t exactly hate hearing it.”
My chest stutters, everything inside me tightening. I don’t dare move, don’t dare breathe too loud.
Eli twists just enough to glance back at me, his smile less teasing now, more something else. Warm. “Relax, Max. You don’t have to run from it. I’m not going anywhere.”
By Monday morning, the storm feels as though it never happened.
The sidewalks are salted, students are trickling back in, and the campus hum is starting to return.
What doesn’t feel normal is the quiet buzz under my skin or the echo of a weekend I’m not supposed to think about when anyone else is looking.
Eli and I walk side by side, coffees in hand—mine plain and black, his the normal peppermint-sugar-latte monstrosity that makes him hum under his breath as if it’s nectar from the gods. He bumps my shoulder as we walk the quarter mile toward the rink, the corner of his mouth quirking up teasingly.
“Still not convinced to try a sip?” he teases.
“I’d rather drink motor oil.”
“Wow. Bold words from someone who inhaled my Christmas cookies all weekend.”
I shoot him a look, but he just grins wider, the picture of unbothered. It’s ridiculous how easy it feels between us—like we didn’t just spend four days wrapped up in something no one else can ever know about.
The walk is short, and once we’re inside, the air smells of sweat and rubber and whatever faint trace of pine the staff tried to pump through the vents for holiday spirit. Eli keeps pace with me, sliding into his usual role—loud, obnoxious, impossible to ignore.
He hops up onto the bench, balancing his latte on the rail, and launches into Jingle Bell Rock, pretending he’s auditioning for the most obnoxious Christmas concert of all time.
“God, Eli, shut up,” one of the guys groans, tossing a stray tape roll at his head. “It’s too early.”
“Bah humbug!” Eli crows back, dodging it easily. “Calder, tell them they’re crushing my holiday cheer.”
I roll my eyes, tugging my gloves tighter, forcing my mouth into a flat line even as something warm pushes through my chest. This—him being impossible, ridiculous, insufferable—is exactly what we agreed on. The weekend stays ours. The rest of the world just sees Eli being Eli.
And no one has a clue that underneath all his noise and all my scowls, we’re carrying something fragile and new between us.
Eli drains the last of his peppermint sugar bomb with a loud slurp, hops off the bench, and nudges me with his elbow on the way toward the locker room.
“Try not to miss me while I get dressed for my glorious goalie duties.”
I give him a flat look, tugging out my binder so I can remember which players I need to watch. “Joke around while you can. Soon, you’ll be too busy working off all the sugar you mainlined this weekend.”
He smirks, backing through the door. “Worth it.”
I shake my head, forcing my mouth into something that looks like annoyance instead of the twitch of a smile trying to break through.
By the time I’ve set my bag back down, Todd strolls over, helmet tucked under his arm, easy grin in place. He bumps my shoulder with his like always.
“How was the weekend, man? Snowed in, right? Must’ve been brutal.”
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “Campus was dead. Pretty quiet. Boring, honestly.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like heaven compared to my house. My little cousins turned Thanksgiving vacation into a WWE smackdown. Think I’ve still got bruises.”
I huff out a laugh, grateful for the shift in focus. “Trade you.”
Todd grins wider and wanders off, calling over his shoulder about drills.
I busy myself with the med kit, checking rolls of tape and jotting notes on the injury log, my chest tight with the lie.
Quiet and boring. No mention of warm skin under tangled blankets, of Eli’s laugh echoing in my head, of the way he kissed me slowly as though we had all the time in the world.
Just boring. Like nothing happened at all.
The locker room door swings open, and Eli strides back out in full pads, mask dangling from his fingers, large gloves under his arm. He’s grinning at something Daniel says, jaw loose and easy, pretending we didn’t spend the last four days wrapped around each other.
His gaze flicks across the rink—quick, nothing obvious—and for a breath it hooks into mine. Just long enough for the hum under my skin to flare, before he looks away and snaps his mask into place as if it never happened.
“Alright, boys!” he calls, voice booming across the ice. “Let’s see which one of you has the guts to try and get one past me today!”
The guys jeer and throw jabs his way, and I duck my head over the clipboard, heart hammering in my chest.
Because this is how it has to be—Eli, loud and impossible; me, quiet, grumpy, and forgettable. And the rest of the world never knowing what we leave tangled in the sheets behind closed doors.