Page 104 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
So, this morning, I stop pretending I can do this job like nothing happened.
The rink is silent when I get there, and Coach’s office door is open a crack, warm light spilling into the dim hallway. He’s inside, sorting papers, coffee steaming beside him. I knock once.
He looks up, surprised. “Calder. You’re back early.”
“Can we talk?”
He gestures to the chair. “Of course.”
I take a breath and remain standing. “I think I should step down.”
He lowers the clipboard slowly. “You’re resigning?”
“Yes, sir.” My voice feels foreign in my throat. “After what happened over break… with Starling. It’s against the rules, and I shouldn’t be here. I know what it looks like. What it is.”
Coach leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “You’re right—it is against the rules. But walking away doesn’t make it disappear.”
“I just don’t want this to hurt the program,” I say. “Or him. If I quit, it ends here.”
He studies me, expression unreadable. “You’re not the first to think quitting fixes everything.”
“I’m not trying to fix it,” I say, quieter now. “I’m trying to take responsibility.”
He exhales slowly, setting his glasses aside. “You know Starling was in here at the ass crack of dawn this morning saying the same thing?”
The words hit me like a punch. My stomach drops. “He was?”
Coach nods once. “Tried to tell me it was all his fault. Said he pushed you into it. Sound familiar?”
My heart slams against my ribs. He’s back. He’s here. For the first time in days, the fog in my head cracks open, and something sharp slips through—relief, panic, both.
Coach keeps talking, but it’s hard to hear him over the pounding in my ears. “Neither of you gets to make this decision alone. You both crossed a line, and there’ll be consequences. But I’m not accepting any resignations. Not until we meet together and talk this through properly.”
I manage to swallow, voice hoarse. “Understood.”
“Good,” he says, pushing his chair back. “You’ll both be in my office this afternoon. Three o’clock sharp. We’re doing this the right way.”
I nod because I can’t find words.
When I leave Coach’s office, my pulse is still racing. The air feels colder than before, the echo of my heartbeat filling the quiet hallway. I try to breathe, to steady myself, but the thought of seeing Eli again—after everything I said, everything I didn’t—makes it impossible.
I start toward the exit, head down, when a faint noise stops me. A soft, steady scrape. The sound of a skate blade cutting across ice.
That shouldn’t be possible. The team isn’t scheduled until tomorrow, and the arena’s supposed to be locked. Still, the sound comes again: long, even, patient.
Curiosity. Or maybe something worse—hope—pushes me forward. I follow the echo through the empty corridor until I reach the heavy double doors leading into the rink.
Cold air hits the second I push them open. The space beyond glows faint blue under half-lit bulbs. The bleachers are empty, the ice pristine except for a single set of fresh lines carved through it.
Someone’s skating.
For a heartbeat, I just stand there, trying to make sense of it. The figure moves easily, slow loops near center ice, gliding like he’s thinking more than practicing. I can’t see his face yet, only the slope of his shoulders beneath a dark jacket.
Then he turns toward me, and the air leaves my lungs.
Eli.
It feels like the floor drops out from under me. His curls spill from under a beanie, cheeks pink from the cold, mouth parted just slightly as he coasts to a stop.
