Page 66 of Uncoachable

Cash gasps dramatically, clutching his heart. “Penne? That is cruel! Penne is so boring!”

Marcus only smirks. “I’ll take it. It’s functional.”

“Wait, wait,” Nico interrupts, waving his index cards like a madman. “If we’re pasta, what is Callahan? You can’t leave the captain out of the pantry, Coach. That is a major locker room violation.”

The mention of his name is like a spark in a dry forest. My heart does a quick, traitorous skip against my ribs. I try to keep my face neutral, but I can feel the heat rising in my neck.

“Callahan?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. “He’s… he’s spicy arrabbiata. He looks simple enough from a distance, but the second you get close, he has enough heat to ruin your life.”

Cash howls with laughter, slapping the table with his palm. “Ruin your life! Oh, I am definitely telling him that. I’m texting him right now.”

“Don’t you dare, Cash,” I warn, though the real edge is gone from my voice.

“Too late! ‘Callahan, Ivy says you’re a spicy noodle who ruins lives.’ Sent!”

I groan, burying my face in my hands.

I should be mortified. I should be worried about the professional fallout of comparing the team captain to a spicy sauce. But the sound of their laughter is infectious.

It is impossible to stay embarrassed when the room is this full of light.

The rest of the “press conference” devolves into complete nonsense. We create award categories like “most dramatic ice fall” and “best hockey hair flip.”

I’m laughing—the kind of laugh that has been missing from my life since I moved back to Boston.

Eventually, the room empties out, leaving only the hum of the projector and the faint scent of old popcorn from some forgotten snack in the corner. I slide open the blinds and look out over the empty rink. The ice gleams under the overhead lights, perfectly smooth and waiting for the team to return.

I realize something important.

Maybe I don’t have to face this storm alone. Maybe this team, with all its chaos and ridiculousness, is my anchor.

And maybe, just maybe, I can finally let myself belong here.

The rink hums softly behind the glass, cold and steady, and for once, the silence doesn’t feel like a threat to my peace.

I lean against the glass, just watching the light hit the ice. It’s weirdly quiet for noon, the whole rink just glowing in that sharp, bright overhead glare.

This is my world.

The cold, the lines, and the strategy.

But Callahan Moore has introduced a variable I simply didn’t account for. He isn’t a play I can draw up on a whiteboard and solve with a different rotation.

I touch the glass, the cold seeping into my skin.

I am not just the GM’s daughter anymore. I am the woman who called the captain ‘spicy arrabbiata’ in front of his teammates. I am the woman who touched his shoulder and let the wall crumble for a second.

I am a mess.

And as I turn to leave, catching my reflection in the dark glass of the door, I realize I don’t mind the mess as much as I used to.

18

Callahan Eli

Cash changed the name to “PASTA PANTRY”

Cash: @Callahan Ivy says you’re a spicy noodle who ruins lives.