Page 86 of Breakaway Daddies

I chase the fire in my lungs like penance.

But there’s no catharsis waiting for me at the end of the sprint. No peace in the muscle ache or the cold.

Just that same blank stretch of glass.

And a silence that feels permanent.

Practice ends, but the numbness doesn’t last. Adrenaline drains out like blood in water, leaving everything aching in its wake.

I’m toweling off in the locker room, trying to ignore the low-simmering argument Thomas and Bruno are having over whose gear stinks more, when an assistant sticks his head through the door.

“Davis. Boyd. Varga. Coach wants to see you. Now.”

Three names. One tone.

Sharp. Unforgiving.

We all freeze.

The air goes thick, too thick to breathe right. There’s a pause where none of us move, like we’re waiting for someone to say it’s a joke.

Then Bruno huffs and yanks a hoodie over his damp shoulders like it’s a shield. Thomas punches the locker beside him, hard enough that his knuckles go red, then grabs his water bottle without a word.

We know what this is about. We don’t need to ask.

The three of us file into Coach’s office like it’s a courtroom. It’s small and too warm and smells like burnt coffee and tension.

Coach doesn’t offer chairs. Doesn’t ask us to sit. He just leans back behind his desk, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes hard.

“You three,” he says slowly, in a low growl, “are the spine of this team.”

Then he leans forward, each word cutting sharper than the last.

“And lately? You’ve been goddamn spineless.”

Bruno flinches like he’s been slapped. Thomas drops his gaze to the floor, jaw ticking. I just bite down on the inside of my cheek and take it.

The words hurt because they’re not wrong.

Coach lets the silence stretch, lets it hurt. Let's squirm in it. Then he mutters, “What the hell is in the water around here?”

More silence. The kind that buzzes in your bones.

Finally, I break. “It’s about Jinx.”

Bruno nods stiffly. “She left. Didn’t explain why.”

“She ghosted us,” Thomas mutters, biting the words off like they taste bad. “Not even a real goodbye. Just… silence.”

Coach sighs and drags a hand down his face. “Goddamn it. I didn’t want this to happen. I wasn’t trying to end anything… just calm the storm before it got bigger.”

“Then maybe you should’ve let us handle it,” I say, my voice sharper than I mean it to be.

Coach’s eyes flash. “You think I wanted to talk to the press about which one of you is in her bed? You think I enjoy putting out fires every time a reporter gets wind of your drama?” He slams a hand on the desk, and we all flinch. “I was trying to protectyou. All of you. Including her.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Bruno mutters. “Damage is done.”

Thomas leans back, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s holding himself together with pressure alone. “She’s not coming back. Not for us. Not for the team. Said she’s going back to school, starting over. Said she’s done.”

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