Page 141 of Uncoachable

“I’m a creative, Scottie! You can’t stifle the process!”

I find myself sinking into the sofa between Cal and Dean, the weight of the blankets and the steam from a mug of tea warming my palms.

Dean nudges my shoulder, handing me a plate of lopsided pancakes.

“You don’t have to be the coach today, Ivy,” he says softly, his voice cutting through the kitchen noise. “You don’t even have to be a St. James. Just eat your breakfast.”

I look at the flour dusted across the floor, the way Cash is trying to teach Scottie a ‘secret’ handshake he clearly just made up, and the way Cal’s hand finds mine under the heavy fleece of the blanket.

For the first time in a lifetime, I don’t feel like I’m holding the sky up.

I’m just a woman in a crowded living room, letting the world hold me for a change.

***

The next day, I’m stretched out on the sofa, sinking into the cushions while Callahan lounges beside me. He’s propped up on one elbow, his rough palm tracing slow, mindless patterns over the back of my hand. He just watches me, his expression so uncharacteristically soft it’s almost heavy to look back at.

The peace lasts exactly two minutes until the doorbell rings.

Then it rings again.

And again, followed by a rhythmic thumping that suggests a heavy boot is being used as a knocker.

“Your circus is here,” Cal groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

“My circus?” I huff, though I’m already smiling. “They’re your teammates.”

“You’re the coach,” he mutters against my skin, his voice thick with a sleepy grin. “Your circus, your monkeys. Tell them the show is canceled.”

I don’t get the chance. The lock clicks—apparently Cal’s “secret” spare key location is common knowledge to the locker room—and the front door hits the stopper with a bang.

Nico leads the charge, balancing three stacked boxes of pastries on one palm like a seasoned waiter. Behind him, Brick and Kovács are arguing loudly about the best route through morning traffic.

But then the apartment truly overflows.

Cash, Scottie, and Dean barrel back in, looking like they never actually left. Cash is still wearing the same ridiculous “culinary domination” energy, carrying a fresh gallon of orange juice like a trophy.

“Morning, lovebirds!” Cash bellows, his voice echoing off the hardwood. “Don’t mind us, we’re just here to provide a protective perimeter and make sure you eat your carbs. Scottie brought the high-protein flour this time because she says the Captain looks ‘catabolic.’”

Scottie rolls her eyes, already heading for the kitchen to reclaim her position at the stove. “He looks like he’s been living on adrenaline and coffee.”

Jenna slips in behind them, looking effortlessly polished in a pink trench coat. Noah is right on her heels, clutching his tablet to his chest like a shield. He looks around the living room, his eyes widening as they land on me, tucked firmly into the curve of Callahan’s side.

“Oh,” Jenna says, her voice a low, dangerous purr. She stops dead, a slow, smug grin spreading across her face. “Oh, I see. The ‘he’s just my player’ defense has officially crumbled into dust. It’s a tragedy for the PR department, but a win for my soul.”

I narrow my eyes at her, even as I sink deeper into Cal’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare, Jenna.”

She points a manicured finger between us, her eyes sparkling. “Remember November? When I said he looked at you like you were the last drop of water in the desert and you told me—and I quote—‘He looks at everyone that way, Jenna’?”

Noah clears his throat, his face turning a light shade of pink as he taps his tablet. “Actually, Iveline, statistically speaking, the probability of this outcome reached a 94.2% certainty after the road trip to Vancouver. The lingering glances alone accounted for a significant margin of the data. I had to create a separate spreadsheet for the non-verbal cues.”

“Even Noah knew?” I groan, burying my face in the fabric of Cal’s hoodie.

“I didn’t know,” Noah adds quickly, his voice jumping an octave. “I just… the data was very insistent. There was a notable correlation between your proximity to the Captain and a 12% increase in your vocal pitch. It was an anomaly I couldn’t ignore.”

Cal lets out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrates through my entire body. “You’re surrounded by traitors, Ivy. Very observant, statistically-minded, pancake-flipping traitors.”

The room is a mess of noise and motion.