Page 103 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
The office is warm and cluttered—papers stacked on the desk, the faint hum of the mini-fridge in the corner. I stay standing.
“It’s about what happened at the beach,” I say. The words feel heavy in my mouth. “With Max.”
Coach sets his coffee down slowly. His expression doesn’t change much, but his shoulders stiffen. “I was wondering if you’d bring that up.”
“It was my fault,” I blurt out before he can say more. “I pushed him. I crossed lines I shouldn’t have. He told me it wasn’t a good idea, and I didn’t listen.”
He leans back against the desk, folding his arms. “That’s not how I saw it, Starling. You’re both adults. It takes two people to cross that line.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, forcing the words out. “But he’s staff, Coach. It’s his job on the line, not mine. He’s worked too hard for me to screw that up for him.”
Coach sighs through his nose, eyes steady on me. “You understand this isn’t just about rules. It’s about trust. Boundaries. He was responsible for your safety and your health. If this gets out—if someone files a complaint—it could end his career.”
“I know,” I whisper. “That’s why I’m here. If you have to report it, report me. Say I started it. Say he didn’t have a choice.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“I don’t care,” I say, voice shaking now. “He told me it wasn’t a good idea. He was trying to do the right thing, and I—” I stop, exhale. “I kept pushing anyway. So if there’s fallout, it should land on me.”
Coach watches me for a long time. “You’re taking a lot on yourself that doesn’t all belong to you.”
“Maybe,” I admit, “but at least I can carry it.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then pushes off the desk. “When Calder gets here, the three of us will meet. We’ll go over what happened and what needs to be done. Until then, you keep your head down. No talking about this to anyone else. Understood?”
I nod. “Yes, Coach.”
He pauses before sitting back down, his voice lower now. “You care about him, don’t you?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I do.”
Something flickers in his expression—something almost sympathetic—but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. “Then let him face this like a man. Don’t steal that from him.”
I nod again, but the words stick like ice in my throat.
When I step out into the corridor, the air feels colder. My reflection flashes in the glass case of old trophies—small, blurred, cracked around the edges.
I meant what I said. If it comes to it, I’ll take the hit.
If that’s the only way to protect him, I’ll let them bench me, suspend me, whatever it takes.
At least one of us will still have something left when this is over.
THIRTY-NINE
MAX
I’ve been backon campus for a week, and it already feels like I’ve aged a year.
Campus is almost silent this time of year. Most of the guys won’t be back until tomorrow, so the hallways echo when I walk them—just the hum of the lights, the distant drip of melting snow from the rafters, the squeak of my shoes against the concrete.
Every now and then, a random laugh carries from somewhere down the corridor. It hits me like déjà vu—reminds me of that weekend we were snowed-in together, just the two of us and the storm outside. The way he’d looked at me under those awful string lights, the sound of his laugh when I’d agreed to his stupid Christmas movies.
I haven’t heard that sound in a week, and it’s too quiet without it.
I haven’t answered a single text. Not because I don’t want to. Because I don’t know how to answer the kind of pain I caused. Every unread message feels like a live wire in my pocket. I keep reaching for my phone, keep talking myself out of it.
He cried when I left. That part won’t leave me alone. The way he looked confused at first, the sound of his breath catchingwhen he realized and saidplease.I hear it every night when I close my eyes.
