Chapter 37 Eli
THIRTY-SEVEN
ELI
The next morning feels like a continuation of the magic.
The air’s cool and salt-sweet, the kind of coastal winter day that feels like it’s trying to trick you into spring.
Mom packed us a small cooler—leftover ham sandwiches, clementines, and enough cookies to feed a small army—and practically shoved us out the door with a wink.
“Go,” she said. “Make memories.”
So we do.
The drive to Myrtle Beach is easy, sunlight spilling through the windshield, Max’s hand resting on my thigh while I hum along to the radio. He looks content. Relaxed. The kind of relaxed I don’t think I’ve ever seen him have back on campus.
We walk the boardwalk, eat cheap fries drenched in vinegar, and share a funnel cake like we’ve got nowhere else to be. The sky stretches wide and clear, and every time he laughs, it feels like the world bends a little more toward right.
When we reach the quieter part of the beach, far from the crowd, I stop to take it all in. The sound of the waves, the gulls overhead, the warmth of his shoulder brushing mine.
He looks at me, smiling that small, real smile that’s all Max.
“Told you the coast would ruin you for anything else.”
“Guess you were right,” he says, leaning in. “But I think what’s really ruined me is you.”
I met him halfway. The kiss is soft—salt air, sunlight, two weeks of love condensed into one breath. He presses his forehead against mine when we part, both of us grinning like we’ve gotten away with something.
Except we haven’t.
“Starling? Calder?”
The voice hits like a cold wave.
I turn, heart stumbling. Coach stands a few feet away, with a group of people that I quickly realize is his wife and two kids.
His hands in his pockets, expression unreadable but tight around the eyes.
He’s dressed like he always is—plain windbreaker, black joggers—and suddenly I feel like a kid again, caught doing something I’m not supposed to.
What are the odds that he’d be here for a vacation with his family? Did he say he was coming to Myrtle Beach, and I just forgot? This is a nightmare.
“Coach—” I start, but my voice cracks halfway through.
He glances between us, gaze landing on where Max’s hand is still hovering near mine. The silence stretches, sharp as glass.
“I see,” he says finally. “We’ll talk about this when you’re back on campus.”
It’s not anger—it’s disappointment. Somehow, that’s worse. I’m out of the closet. I’ve been out so I have nothing to be ashamed of, but I know the rules as well as Max does. No player-trainer relationships. It’s a line we can’t uncross.
Max steps back first. I can feel it, that slow withdrawal like a tide pulling away. His shoulders square, his voice low and careful. “Understood, Sir.”
“Good.” Coach nods once, then turns and walks off down the beach.
The sound of the waves fills the space he leaves behind. I turn to Max, but he won’t look at me. His jaw’s tight, eyes fixed on the horizon. I step into his line of sight, trying to catch his eyes.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, tell that to the guy who decides if I’m kicked out of school next semester.”
“Max—”
I don’t even know what to say. My heart feels like it’s breaking.
“Don’t,” he says, the word clipped. “Just—don’t right now.”
We walk back to the car in silence. Every step feels heavier, like the sand’s turned to lead. By the time we reach the house, the light’s already fading, and something in him is too. His walls are stacking back up, and he’s becoming the Grinch he’s always been, as if that will protect him.
He heads straight upstairs, starts throwing his things into his bag.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, voice small, stupidly small.
He doesn’t look at me. “I should. It’ll be easier if I go now.”
“Easier for who?”
He exhales, hands gripping the edge of the dresser. “You know what happens if word gets around, Eli. I can’t risk it. Not with my future, not with everything on the line.”
“So we just—what? Pretend none of this happened? Go back to whatever was normal before—this?”
He hesitates. That’s how I know he’s hurting, too. “I’m not pretending,” he says softly. “I just need to fix this before it breaks more than it already has.”
My throat burns. “Please don’t go. The damage is done. He saw us. We can’t undo that. But we can still have the rest of the week—just us. Please. I love you, Max.”
For a second, I think he might say yes. His hand twitches at his side, his eyes flick up to mine—and then he looks away.
So many emotions flying over his face: fear, regret, longing, but I can’t name them all.
Tears cloud my vision as he shoves more of his things into the duffel bag.
I try to swallow them back, but one slips out and down my cheek.
Maybe if I don’t wipe it away, he won’t notice how much he’s breaking me right now.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
The sound cracks something open in my chest. I want to grab him. To make him stay. My body moves before my brain catches up—one step closer, then another—until I’m standing so near I can see the pulse in his throat.
“Max, please,” I manage. The words scrape on the way out. “Don’t do this. We can fix it. We can talk to him, or—”
He shakes his head, slow, pained.
Every part of me wants to drop to my knees, to hold on to him until he understands that leaving doesn’t protect either of us. That it only breaks what’s still whole. But I don’t move. My legs won’t let me. How can I love someone that won’t let me love them?
“Eli.” His voice is steady again, practiced. The one he uses in the locker room when he needs to shut everything out. “Don’t make this harder.”
Even more tears blur my vision, and I bite down hard, trying to stop the sound clawing its way up my throat. “You’re not even giving me a chance. Us a chance. You said you loved me.”
God, I hate how I sound so fucking needy, how broken my voice sounds as it cracks over the words and emotions tumbling unbidden from my lips. I knew this was a possibility, and still, I fell hard and fast. I’m such an idiot.
He swallows, jaw tight. “If I stay, I ruin this for both of us.”
“You already did,” I whisper.
That’s what finally makes him look at me—really look. There’s regret there, deep and raw, but not enough to stop him.
He reaches out, like he might touch me and wipe my tears away, but his hand falls away before it lands. The silence that follows is heavier than any goodbye I’ve ever heard.
And then he turns and walks out.
The door shuts softly behind him, and I sink to the floor, palms pressed to my eyes, breathing in the ghost of him that still lingers in the air.
I don’t know how long I stay there, on my knees on the floor, my heart shattered around me. The room still smells like him—coffee and soap and the faintest trace of ocean salt from our walk earlier. His duffel’s gone, but the air feels heavy with everything he left behind.
I can’t seem to move. The carpet’s rough under my palms, my chest tight and hollow at the same time. Every breath feels too loud in the quiet.
At some point, there’s a soft knock. Then my mom’s voice, low through the door. “Eli? Honey?”
The door creaks open before I can answer. She steps inside slowly, eyes searching the room until they find me on the floor.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Then she’s there, kneeling beside me. Her hands hover for a second, like she isn’t sure where to touch, and then she pulls me in, wraps me up. I fold into her like I’m five again, like maybe if she holds me tight enough, the pieces will stop falling apart.
She rubs my back, quiet, steady. “It’s alright. Just breathe.”
The sound of footsteps behind her—Dad. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, worry written all over his face. “What happened?”
Mom glances up at him, then back to me. “You don’t have to talk yet if you can’t.”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “He left.”
I hate those two words, and I swipe at the stupid tears that won’t stop falling.
Mom frowns softly. “Max?”
I nod, blinking against the burn in my eyes. “Coach saw us. On the beach.” The words stumble out between shaky breaths. “He saw us kiss. And then he said we’d ‘talk when we got back.’ Max—he just…shut down. Packed his bag. Said he couldn’t stay.”
Mom’s hand stills for a second on my shoulder before she exhales, smoothing my hair back. “Oh, Eli.”
Dad pushes off the doorframe, coming closer. He crouches beside us, voice even and calm. “That’s rough, kiddo. I’m sorry.”
Mom gives me a soft squeeze. “You listen to me,” she says quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Fear makes people run. Especially when they’ve got something to lose. But that boy loves you. It will all work out.”
“He looked at me like he’d already decided,” I whisper. “Like it was over.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not over. It’s just—hard right now. Give him time to breathe. Give yourself time to breathe.”
Dad rests a hand on my back. “You’ve got us, okay? We’ll be here for you.”
I nod, but it barely feels real. Mom helps me up, guides me to sit on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t say anything else, just sits beside me and keeps one arm around my shoulders. Dad stays for a moment longer, then quietly closes the door behind him.
Outside, I can hear the distant sound of Jules in the kitchen, laughing at something on TV. The normalcy of it hurts.
Mom presses a kiss to the side of my head. “You love him,” she says softly. “That’s never something to be ashamed of.”
My throat tightens again, but I manage a nod. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I do.”
She stays there with me until the room grows dark, her hand tracing slow circles on my back, grounding me in the only thing that hasn’t changed—home.