Page 75 of Uncoachable

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Callahan Eli

I didn’t plan to corner her like this.

I told myself I was simply heading to the locker room to grab my bag after the community event, but my feet had other ideas.

Lately, they have developed an internal compass that only points north, and north is wherever she’s standing.

The hallway is quiet, isolated from the lingering noise of the families heading toward the parking lot.

I watch her shoulders drop an inch when she hears my voice. It is the only sign of weakness she gives, but it is enough to make my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I’ve seen her face down the most aggressive, hot-headed players in the league without blinking, but here, under the harsh yellow lights of the back corridor, she looks like she is bracing for a storm.

And I am the storm.

She stops and turns slowly, like she already knows exactly what is coming. She doesn’t look surprised; she just looks tired.

“Yes?”

“What was that out there?” I ask, my voice echoing slightly against the concrete walls.

Her jaw tightens, just barely.

“That isn’t your concern, Callahan,” she says, her words clipped and controlled.

“Like hell it isn’t,” I snap, stepping closer into her personal space.

“You changed. Instantly. You were—” I falter, searching my brain for words that don’t sound like a confession. “You were glowing out there, Ivy.”

The second the words leave my mouth, panic flares because I’ve just admitted how closely I was watching her. It’s out now; the secret I’ve been keeping since the first whistle blew this morning is laid bare in the hallway.

But I saw her with those kids.

I saw the way she knelt in the slush and didn’t care about her expensive pants or her reputation. I saw her touch that little girl’s shoulder with a tenderness that felt like a physical punch to my gut.

“You were different,” I say, my voice sounding like it has been dragged over gravel. “You weren’t calculating your next move or worrying about the standings. You were just there. You were human. And then your father walked in, and you vanished. You stepped behind a door so fast I could practically hear it slam shut.”

I step closer, invading the space she usually guards so fiercely.

She lets out a short, sharp laugh, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

The sound stings more than if she had snapped at me or told me to go to hell.

“That’s ridiculous, Callahan. I was doing my job.”

“And then he walked in,” I continue, my voice dropping lower, more intimate. “And you shut down. Tell me why you’re so afraid of him seeing you happy.”

“You don’t get to interrogate me. You are a player on this team, not my therapist.”

Anger and want are tangling tight in my chest, a knot I can’t seem to unbind. I force myself to stand my ground instead of crossing another line, but the proximity is making it impossible to think straight.

“I get to notice,” I counter. “And I noticed. The whole team noticed, even if they’re too scared to say it.”

Silence stretches between us.

I can feel her just a fraction of an inch from me. Her warmth is bleeding across the small gap, her scent sharp and crisp—faint traces of citrus and winter pine that always seem to cling to her skin. My chest tightens as if my body has been waiting for this exact moment.