Page 110 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
Something inside me cracks, but it doesn’t break all the way through.
I nod, staring at the flickering screen, the game still paused mid-race. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Maybe he will.”
Luke bumps my shoulder again, and Daniel unpauses the game.
It’s stupid, but as the music picks back up and Luke starts trash-talking again, the world feels just a little less heavy.
FORTY-ONE
MAX
I should beasleep by now. Instead, I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours, replaying every second of that meeting until it’s all one blur of words I can’t escape.
Technically compliant.Coach’s version of mercy. His way of saying,You’re not off the hook, but I won’t cut the rope either.
I’ve told myself to leave it alone—that I’ll see Eli soon enough, that space is what we both need—but the longer I sit here, the worse it gets.
The guilt. The silence. The way he looked at me in that office—as if he was there, but something inside him wasn’t anymore.
By the time I give up pretending I can sleep, it’s past midnight. The dorms are quiet except for the low hum of the heater and the occasional door creak down the hall.
I don’t even remember making the decision. One minute, I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, and the next, I’m outside his door, heartbeat too loud, knuckles hovering like I might still change my mind.
I don’t.
I knock once. Twice.
It takes a few seconds before the lock clicks.
When the door opens, I forget how to breathe.
Eli’s standing there in the glow of the hallway light—hair a mess, eyes heavy with sleep, flannel pajama pants hanging low on his hips. His chest is bare, warm skin flushed from bed.
“Max?” he murmurs, voice rough, still half-asleep.
That’s all it takes. The sound of my name coming from his lips. The way it feels like everything I’ve been missing.
Before I can stop myself, I step forward, pressing him gently back into the room. My hands find his face, his mouth, and then I’m kissing him—hard, hungry, desperate. With every bit of longing I’ve held in since I left him crying in his room.
He stumbles back a step, but his hands come up anyway, sliding over my chest, gripping my shirt like he’s been waiting for this too. His mouth opens under mine, and for one perfect, unbearable second, it’s like the world rights itself again.
Then he breaks the kiss.
“Max—” I try to catch his lips again, softer this time, but he pushes at my chest, breath uneven. “We can’t,” he says, his voice shaking. “We can’t do this.”
“Eli—”
“No.” He steps back another pace, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t get to just show up and—andkissme like that. Not after everything.”
I swallow hard, the words lodged in my throat. “I know. I just—that’s not why I’m here. It’s not why I came. I just?—”
He shakes his head, eyes glassy. “You left. You didn’t call, you didn’t text, and now you think this fixes it?”
The hurt in his voice hits like a sledgehammer. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You disappeared.” He stares at me. “You told me you loved me and did the opposite of what someone who loves you would do.”
The silence that follows is brutal. I can hear the hum of the light above us and his soft inhales. The faint smell of his shampoo, familiar and sharp enough to make my chest ache.
