Page 148 of Uncoachable

There is a long, heavy pause on the other end of the line.

I wait for the lecture. I wait for the explanation of why I’m being reckless or how I’m throwing away a golden opportunity with the Reign.

“I thought you’d say that one day,” he finally murmurs, his voice sounding uncharacteristically small. “Ivy… whatever it is you’re planning, I know you’ll be brilliant at it. And for what it’s worth… I’m proud of you. I’m proud of the way you stood your ground.”

The words hit harder than a checked hit into the boards. My eyes sting, and I have to swallow hard to keep my voice from failing.

“You… you really mean that?”

“Every word,” he says, and I can hear the sincerity in the roughness of his tone. “You’ve always been capable of more than you let yourself see. You don’t need to live in anyone’s shadow, especially not mine. I’ve been trying to keep you in the shade to protect you, but I forgot that you’re the kind of person who needs the sun to grow.”

My breath catches.

“I’m not leaving the Reign because I’m unhappy,” I clarify, a tear finally slipping down my cheek. “I’m leaving because I’m finally happy with myself. And that means I have to see what I can do when no one is holding the leash.”

“I know,” he says gently. “The Boston Reign were lucky to have you for as long as they did. But you were always meant for something bigger than a single bench. You’re a St. James—we don’t just join teams. We change the game. And you, Ivy… you’re already changing it.”

For the first time in my entire life, his voice doesn’t sound like pressure. It doesn’t sound like a list of expectations I’ll never meet. It sounds like genuine, quiet pride.

“You won’t disappoint anyone by following this path,” he adds. “The only disappointment would be not trying. Go build your thing. Show them what I’ve always known—that my Ivy is unstoppable.”

The word echoes in my mind long after I hang up the phone.

Unstoppable.

I lean back into the cushions, letting the weight of the conversation sink in.

For the first time, choosing myself doesn’t feel like a selfish act of rebellion.

It feels like the only right thing to do.

I hear the soft pad of footsteps behind me.

Callahan emerges from the bedroom, his hair mussed from sleep and his bare shoulders still holding the warmth of the bed. His eyes are soft when they land on me, searching my face for any sign of the midnight breakdown.

He crosses the room without a word and sits beside me, his hand finding mine.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

I nod, a wide, genuine smile breaking across my face. “Better than okay, Cal.”

He studies me for a second, his eyes narrowing as he reads the shift in my expression. “You figured it out. You’ve got that look in your eyes—the one you get right before you draw up a game-winning play.”

“I did,” I say, my breath finally feeling deep and full.

He shifts so his knee is touching mine, giving me his full attention. “Tell me everything.”

So I do.

I tell him about the kids on the ice. I tell him about the foundation, the scholarships, and the bridge I want to build between my two worlds. I tell him about the psychology of the game and the opportunities I want to give to the kids who think they’ll never get a shot. I tell him about the future I see for myself—one where I’m not just an assistant, but a founder.

He listens, truly listens, his eyes brightening with every detail I share. When I finally stop to catch my breath, he exhales slowly, looking at me with something bordering on awe.

“Iveline… that’s incredible. That is exactly who you are.”

“You think so? You don’t think I’m crazy for wanting to walk away from a potential head coaching track?”

“I know so,” he says, his voice firm and unwavering. “And you’re going to do it. You’re going to be the best damn founder this city has ever seen. And I am going to be obnoxiously proud. I’m talking custom t-shirts and annoying social media posts proud.”