Page 99 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
Brett nods, amused. “Better behaved than mostHallmarkcouples.”
Eli tips his head back with an exaggerated groan, cheeks pink. “You all done narrating our love life, or should I go make popcorn first?”
“Popcorn sounds good,” his dad says, completely serious, which just makes Jules lose it again.
I’m laughing too, trying to hide it, and Eli shoots me a look that’s equal parts fond and exasperated. “You’re supposed to be onmyside.”
“I am,” I say, still grinning. “But I also really want popcorn now.”
That earns me another groan, but he’s laughing when he leans back into me. I slide my arm around his waist, and his family—thankfully—turns their attention back to the tree and the soft hum of the Christmas playlist.
He looks up at me, voice low enough that only I can hear. “You fit here too easily.”
“Guess I’m adaptable,” I say.
He smiles, threading our fingers together. “Guess you are.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
ELI
The next morningfeels like a continuation of the magic. The air’s cool and salt-sweet, the kind of coastal winter day that feels like it’s trying to trick you into spring. Mom packed us a small cooler—leftover ham sandwiches, clementines, and enough cookies to feed a small army—and practically shoved us out the door with a wink.
“Go,” she said. “Make memories.”
So we do.
The drive to Myrtle Beach is easy, sunlight spilling through the windshield, Max’s hand resting on my thigh while I hum along to the radio. He looks content. Relaxed. The kind of relaxed I don’t think I’ve ever seen him have back on campus.
We walk the boardwalk, eat cheap fries drenched in vinegar, and share a funnel cake like we’ve got nowhere else to be. The sky stretches wide and clear, and every time he laughs, it feels like the world bends a little more toward right.
When we reach the quieter part of the beach, far from the crowd, I stop to take it all in. The sound of the waves, the gulls overhead, the warmth of his shoulder brushing mine.
He looks at me, smiling that small, real smile that’s all Max.
“Told you the coast would ruin you for anything else.”
“Guess you were right,” he says, leaning in. “But I think what’s really ruined me is you.”
I met him halfway. The kiss is soft—salt air, sunlight, two weeks of love condensed into one breath. He presses his forehead against mine when we part, both of us grinning like we’ve gotten away with something.
Except we haven’t.
“Starling? Calder?”
The voice hits like a cold wave.
I turn, heart stumbling. Coach stands a few feet away, with a group of people that I quickly realize is his wife and two kids. His hands in his pockets, expression unreadable but tight around the eyes. He’s dressed like he always is—plain windbreaker, black joggers—and suddenly I feel like a kid again, caught doing something I’m not supposed to.
What are the odds that he’d be here for a vacation with his family? Did he say he was coming to Myrtle Beach, and I just forgot? This is a nightmare.
“Coach—” I start, but my voice cracks halfway through.
He glances between us, gaze landing on where Max’s hand is still hovering near mine. The silence stretches, sharp as glass.
“I see,” he says finally. “We’ll talk about this when you’re back on campus.”
It’s not anger—it’s disappointment. Somehow, that’s worse. I’m out of the closet. I’ve been out so I have nothing to be ashamed of, but I know the rules as well as Max does. No player-trainer relationships. It’s a line we can’t uncross.
