Page 109 of Uncoachable

I think about the locker room just a few hallways away, the guys who look to me to set the tone for the entire organization. If they knew what I was thinking about right now—if they knew I wasn’t thinking about the power play or the playoff bracket, but the way the light catches the stray hairs on Iveline’s neck—I’d be a hypocrite.

I’ve told them for years that nothing comes before the logo on the front of the jersey. And here I am, ready to put everything at risk for the woman who wears the whistle.

She’s been avoiding me.

It isn’t subtle, and it certainly isn’t accidental.

She doesn’t meet my eyes during drills anymore. She doesn’t hover behind the bench during scrimmages, and she doesn’t linger with that quiet, magnetic intensity she used to bring into every room.

Now, she positions herself exactly two steps farther away than necessary.

Her voice is clipped, her tone so professionally neutral it borders on cruelty. Every word is correct. Every instruction is precise. Every interaction is clean.

I’ve seen her guarded before; I’ve seen her shut doors with elegance and leave people standing on the other side wondering what the hell they did wrong. But this is different. This is armor built overnight, hammered into place by fear and headlines and the kind of scrutiny that never really washes off.

The heavy door creaks open.

Iveline steps in, her tablet tucked under her arm, her posture already composed into that rigid, unbreakable line.

She stops short when she sees me.

For half a second, I see something flicker across her face—surprise, calculation, and a flash of something entirely unguarded. Then, the resolve snaps back into place like a visor.

“Callahan,” she says evenly.

“I need five minutes,” I reply. I don’t move from my spot near the table.

Her jaw tightens. “I’m busy.”

“So am I,” I say, my voice dropping an octave. “And you’re avoiding me.”

She exhales sharply through her nose and sets the tablet down on the table with deliberate care. “This isn’t the place for this.”

“This is the only place,” I counter. “You’ve made sure of that by making it impossible for us to be alone anywhere else.”

She folds her arms across her chest. “What do you want, Callahan?”

There is no softness in her voice. There is no warmth. There is no Ivy. There is only distance sharpened into a blade meant to keep me at bay.

I take a step closer, lowering my voice so it doesn’t carry into the hall.

“I want to know why you won’t look at me.”

She lets out a short, humorless laugh that sounds like breaking glass. “You don’t get to ask that.”

“Like hell I don’t.”

Her eyes flash with a sudden, brilliant anger. “You don’t get to question my professionalism because you are uncomfortable with the silence.”

“This isn’t about discomfort,” I snap, my own frustration bubbling to the surface. “This is about you freezing me out like I did something wrong.”

“You did.”

The words land hard.

I go still, my heart thudding against my ribs.

“What did I do wrong, Iveline? Tell me.”