Page 100 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
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. Somany 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.
