Chapter 40 Eli
FORTY
ELI
Coach’s office feels smaller than I remember. Maybe because Max is sitting next to me. Maybe because the air feels too thick to breathe.
I sit on my hands so I don’t reach for him. If I don’t, I know I’ll fidget—or worse, I’ll reach for his sleeve just to remind myself he’s still here.
He hasn’t looked at me once since we walked in. Not directly, anyway. But I can feel him—like gravity, like static—close enough that the heat of him leaks through the space between us.
Every word from earlier keeps looping through my head. The rink. The silence. The things we didn’t say. It feels like if I blink, I’ll lose my grip on all of it.
Coach leans forward at his desk, hands clasped together, expression unreadable. “You both know why you’re here,” he says finally.
We nod. There’s nothing to argue.
“You also know the rule,” he continues, his tone even but firm. “Staff and players. No fraternization. It’s there for a reason—to protect the team, to protect both of you, to keep boundaries clear.”
The word boundaries makes my heart twist.
“This program has never had a problem with that rule before,” Coach says. “You two changed that.”
I swallow. My throat’s dry. “I’m sorry, Coach. It was my fault. I pushed. Max—”
He lifts a hand. “Already heard that version, Starling. From both of you.”
I go still. My stomach drops. From both of you. He told him that it’s my fault too. The pang in my chest hurts, and I resist rubbing the spot.
I risk a look sideways. Max’s jaw is tight, a muscle ticking there, but his eyes stay down. He doesn’t correct Coach. Doesn’t look at me either.
Coach sighs, leans back. “You’re both adults. I get it. Feelings happen. But you can’t expect me to pretend it doesn’t matter.”
The silence stretches until I can hear the faint hum of the mini-fridge in the corner.
“If this were any other school,” Coach says finally, “I’d have to report it straight to the board. Both of you would be done. Him for crossing staff boundaries, you for breaking code of conduct.”
My stomach flips. I stare at the floor, the scuff marks near my shoes. “So that’s it?” I manage.
He shakes his head. “No. That’s not what I said.”
Max looks up, just barely—just long enough for our eyes to meet before he drops his gaze again.
“I’m not losing either of you,” Coach says, his tone softer now.
“You’re both too damn good at what you do.
So here’s what happens: for the rest of the season, Calder’s reassigned.
No direct contact with you, Starling. He’ll work with the women’s team and the juniors.
You’ll report to our assistant trainer. That keeps us technically compliant. ”
Technically compliant. The phrase hits like a pulse under my skin. Does that mean—
I can’t help it—I look at Max again. He’s staring at the desk, unreadable, but I swear I see the smallest flicker of relief cross his face.
I force my voice steady. “And after the season?”
Coach studies me, long enough that I start to sweat. Then, finally: “We’ll re-evaluate after Nationals.”
I nod, trying not to let hope grow inside of me. This doesn’t change the fact that Max left. That he walked away from the love he said he had for me.
He looks between us, making sure the message lands. “You two figure yourselves out in the meantime. Quietly. And if I hear about this from anyone else, we won’t be having another talk. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Max says first.
I echo it, softer. “Yes, Sir.”
Coach stands, straightening his jacket. “Good. Now go get some rest. You both look like you haven’t slept in days.”
He waves toward the door, and we stand. The sound of the chairs scraping across the floor makes me flinch.
Max moves first, stepping forward to open the door. His sleeve brushes mine, just for a second. It’s nothing—barely contact—but every nerve in my body fires at once.
He holds the door, waits for me to pass. I glance up, just a flicker, and his eyes meet mine before he looks away.
We walk out together, neither of us speaking. The hallway feels smaller somehow, too bright. The door clicks shut behind us, final and soft.
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets so I don’t reach for him again.
“Technically compliant, huh?” I say, trying to sound casual, but it comes out thin, shaky and unsure.
He huffs out something close to a laugh. “Coach has a way with loopholes.”
It’s almost a smile, and for half a second, the ache in my chest eases. Just barely.
I want to ask what he means. What technically compliant really means for us. If it’s a line Coach pretends not to see, or if it’s something else—an opening.
But I don’t.
Because asking makes it real, and I don’t think I can survive hearing him say we can’t.
So I just nod, like I understand, and focus on the way his voice still sounds—quiet, rough, too careful and controlled.
We start walking. The hall feels too long, our footsteps too loud. Every so often, our arms brush, accidental and electric, and I hate how my body still reacts like it remembers everything we were.
At the end of the hall, he stops first.
“Guess this is… the part where we stay out of trouble,” he says, his mouth twitching like he’s trying for a smile that doesn’t make it past his eyes.
“Yeah,” I say. “Guess so.”
The silence between us isn’t empty this time. It’s full—of everything I can’t say, of the question sitting on the tip of my tongue: Are we still us? Whatever us we were.
But I don’t ask.
He shifts on his heels and looks like he wants to say something, too. Then he just nods once, small and final.
“See you around, Starling.”
The way he says it—the smallest edge of affection still tucked inside the word—nearly undoes me.
“Yeah,” I manage, my throat too tight. “See you, Calder.”
He turns down the corridor before I can lose my nerve and reach for him. I watch until the sound of his boots fades.
Then I let out a breath I’d been holding, lean against the wall, and stare at the floor tiles until the blur behind my eyes clears.
Technically compliant.
Maybe that’s all we can be right now. But somewhere under the ache, a tiny, dangerous part of me hopes it’s not all we’ll ever be.
I make it as far as the stairwell in the dorm before I realize I’ve been walking in circles.
The hum of the heater and the faint echo of voices somewhere down the hall blur together, distant and dull.
My head’s still stuck in that office—in Coach’s tone, in Max’s silence, in the sound of the door clicking shut behind us.
I’m halfway through convincing myself to go skate it off when a familiar voice calls out from the second-floor landing.
“Starling!”
I look up. Luke’s leaning over the railing, grinning like an idiot. Daniel’s a step behind him, coffee cup in hand, eyebrows raised, waiting for my response.
“Hey,” I say, trying for casual. “What’s up? How was your holiday?”
“Same old shit.” Luke’s grin widens. “We’re heading to my room. Mario Kart, bad pizza, and Daniel pretending he’s not terrible at Rainbow Road. You in?”
Daniel deadpans, “He’s in. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Luke’s already coming down the stairs, looping an arm around my shoulders. “C’mon, Starling. We need a third to even out the chaos. Will and Ty don’t get back until Sunday. And Micah is busy with Colt.”
I let him lead me toward his room, Daniel trailing behind us. It’s easier than going back to my own room—and the silence waiting there.
Luke’s dorm room smells like pepperoni, old popcorn, and the faint burn of someone’s long-forgotten candle. The string lights along the window blink unevenly, and the TV hums with the familiar chime of the game loading screen.
They hand me a controller before I can even sit down on one of his bean bags.
“Loser buys dessert,” Luke declares.
I groan. “You’re assuming I’m losing?”
“You always lose,” Daniel says dryly, setting his coffee aside.
“Yeah, because you two team up against me!”
“That’s strategy,” Luke says, bumping my shoulder with his.
For the first few rounds, it actually works. I laugh when Daniel throws a shell right as I cross the finish line; Luke smacks him with a pillow and declares himself the “moral victor.” For a little while, I almost forgot the weight sitting behind my ribs.
Almost.
Somewhere around the third round, I realize I’ve stopped talking. My controller’s still in my hands, but my mind’s not really here anymore.
Daniel notices first. “Hey,” he says softly. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I lie, staring at the screen. “Just distracted.”
Luke pauses the game, which he never does. “Distracted by what?”
I should make a joke—something easy, something flirty or dumb—but my throat won’t cooperate. The silence stretches too long, and that’s all it takes for both of them to trade a look.
Luke leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to tell us, but... you look like someone kicked your puppy. Last time I saw someone looking like you was Colt after he thought he fucked it all up with Micah.”
That gets a small laugh out of me, even if it sounds rough. “Feels about right.”
Daniel’s quieter. “This about Calder?”
The name hits like a bruise, fresh and deep. I don’t even ask how he knows. I just nod.
“Thought so,” Daniel says.
Luke doesn’t look smug or surprised—just worried. “What happened?”
The question breaks whatever’s left of my composure.
I tell them everything. About the trip, the snowstorm, the kiss. The way it felt easy and right until it wasn’t. The look on Coach’s face when he caught us. The silence since. The meeting this afternoon.
By the time I finish, my voice feels shredded.
Luke exhales slowly, running both hands through his hair. “Damn, Starling.” His voice isn’t teasing this time—it’s low and careful. “When you told me he was coming home with you, I thought maybe—hell, I hoped—I was wrong.”
I blink at him. “About what?”
“That he was the kind of guy who could break a soft boy without meaning to,” Luke says quietly. “Didn’t think he’d prove me right this fast.”
Daniel shoots him a look. “Easy, man.”
Luke sighs. “Yeah, I know. Sorry, Eli. Just…I’m mad that you got hurt.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Me too.”
Daniel leans back. “That’s… a lot, dude.”
Luke tosses a pillow at me, gentler this time. “Okay, first of all? None of this makes you a villain. You didn’t break some sacred vow—you fell for someone. It happens. Especially when they make it easy to.”
Daniel nods. “And for what it’s worth, Coach likes you both. He’ll find a way to keep you here.”
“I don’t care about here,” I say. “I just—” I stop, pressing my palms over my face. “I love him. And he left like it didn’t mean anything.”
Neither of them says he didn’t mean it. They don’t feed me false hope. They just... stay there.
Daniel nudges a soda toward me. “You’re allowed to be wrecked for a while.”
Luke rests his forearms on his knees, staring at the floor. “Yeah. But for what it’s worth? I don’t think he’s done. Guys like that—they panic, they pull back. But if he really felt it, he’ll circle back. They always do.”
Something inside me cracks, but it doesn’t break all the way through.
I nod, staring at the flickering screen, the game still paused mid-race. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Maybe he will.”
Luke bumps my shoulder again, and Daniel unpauses the game.
It’s stupid, but as the music picks back up and Luke starts trash-talking again, the world feels just a little less heavy.