Page 107 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
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. Whattechnically compliantreally 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 saywe can’t.
