Page 87 of Uncoachable

I’m angry at her for pushing herself so hard. I’m angry at myself for not noticing sooner. I’m angry at the fact that she thinks strength has to mean isolation. I’m angry that she would rather burn herself out completely than let anyone see her falter for a single second.

And under that anger is fear.

The kind of fear that doesn’t make any noise. The kind that sits heavy in your gut and refuses to leave.

I straighten up, forcing myself to take a slow, deep breath, and then another.

Get it together, Moore.

She needs calm right now, not whatever the hell this is.

When I look back toward the bed, she is still asleep. She is still here. Something in my chest eases at the sight of her breathing.

I don’t sit back down on the bed, though. I stand watch by the counter.

She is curled on her side now, a small shadow under the heavy wool blanket. She looks so much younger when she is asleep. She looks less like a coach and more like the girl in the photograph.

I realize then that I’m not just staying because she is sick.

I’m staying because I’ve spent my whole life looking for something that finally made sense, and for the first time, in this quiet, fever-scented apartment, it finally does.

23

Callahan Eli

“She asleep?” Dean’s voice crackles through the line, sounding just as weary as I feel.

“Yeah,” I say, glancing at the stovetop clock. The digital numbers glow 6:53 AM in the dim kitchen light. I haven’t slept, but the adrenaline is still holding me upright. “She finally went down for real about a couple of hours ago.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. I can hear the distant, muffled sound of a car door closing on his end of the call. “How bad is it, Moore? Give it to me straight.”

“Bad enough,” I answer honestly, leaning my head against the cool drywall. “Fever, dizziness, and she’s stubborn as hell. She was talking in her sleep around three. It wasn’t about hockey, Dean. It was… it was deep.”

I hear him exhale, a long, weary sound that tells me he’s heard those fever dreams before. “That tracks. She’s always been like that. When the walls go down, the ghosts come out.”

“I’m heading back to the rink,” I add, glancing toward the bed. “I don’t want her waking up alone, but I have morning skate in an hour. If I’m not there, the rumors will start a fire even Jenna can’t put out.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Dean says immediately. “Scottie’s already at the 24-hour place grabbing more supplies. We’ve got the next shift.”

Relief hits me harder than I expect.

“Thank you,” I say.

There’s a beat of silence. “You okay, Callahan?”

I look at her again.

From this distance, she looks so pale. Too still. The fierce, untouchable General Manager’s daughter is gone, replaced by a woman who looks like she’s been fighting a war by herself for way too long.

“No,” I admit. “But I will be.”

“Go,” Dean says, his tone softening. “We’ve got her.”

I hang up and move back into the room. I grab my jacket from the back of her single kitchen chair and pause by the bed.

For a second, I consider leaving a note. I want to say something safe, something professional. But there’s nothing I can write that won’t feel like a lie.

Instead, I reach down and tuck the wool blanket a little higher around her shoulders, shielding her from the draft coming off the floor.