Chapter 46 OUT OF HER SHELL

Chapter 46 OUT OF HER SHELL
SEAN

The Dugout smells like grease and glory—burgers, onion rings, and the faint scent of spilled beer that never quite leaves the floor. Zach's already halfway through a plate of loaded fries, shoveling them in like he's carb-loading for the Frozen Four.
We've got a study group later, which is hilarious because we both know I'll end up rereading the same stats problem five times while Zach tries to flirt his way into borrowing someone else's notes. For now, though, it's just us, a booth in the corner, and the kind of pre-finals exhaustion that makes everything a little slower.
I'm scrolling through my phone when I see it.
Ryan's username. A new post.
My thumb stills.
I hit play.
"Hey guys," her voice comes through the tiny speaker, a little shaky but clear. My chest tightens immediately. She hasn't posted anything since the whole mess started—the tabloids, the gossip, the flood of strangers picking her apart like they had a right to.
And now here she is.
On screen, she's standing in a gym, neon yellow Achilles shirts glowing in the background. She talks about how this is her first time posting since everything blew up. How she didn't know what to say for so long. How she's trying to figure out who she is without the track.
And then she says it.
"It feels like I'm finding a piece of myself I thought I'd lost. If you want to follow along as I figure this next chapter out—my recovery, my journey, whatever shape it ends up taking—I'd love to share it with you."
Something in me just... swells. Pride, yeah. But more than that. This is her. My girl. Stepping forward. Not because anyone pushed her. Because she decided to.
"Yo," Zach says around a mouthful of fries. "You look like you just saw the light."
I tilt the phone toward him. He watches for a few seconds, then nods. "Damn. She nailed that."
I can't stop watching it. The way her eyes light up when she talks about Achilles. The steadiness in her voice at the end. She looks... sure. More than I've seen in a long time.
For months, she's been carrying the weight of everyone else's noise—critics, strangers, her dad, the media. But this? This is the loudest, clearest way to shut them up: by being exactly who she is.
"She's incredible," I murmur, mostly to myself.
Zach smirks. "Yeah, man. We know. You've only mentioned it a thousand times."
I throw a fry at him, but I can't wipe the stupid grin off my face.
This—this—is the girl I fell for. Not because of track. Not because she fits into anyone's narrative. But because she's strong as hell, even when she doesn't see it.
And the world's about to see it too.
Zach doesn't let my grin slide by unnoticed. He leans back in the booth, arms crossed, a smug look settling on his face like he's been waiting for this moment.
"You're in deep, man," he says.
I scoff, grabbing a fry like I'm unbothered. "I'm just proud of her."
"Uh-huh," he says, dragging it out like a seasoned interrogator. "Proud. Sure. That's what that dopey look on your face says. I've seen guys after hat tricks look less dazed."
I toss the fry at him. He catches it midair, eats it, and keeps going. "Seriously, though. Look at you. Captain Callahan, Mr. Composure, suddenly sitting here looking like you're two seconds away from writing her a sonnet."
I try to roll my eyes, but it comes out more like a laugh. "Shut up."
Zach leans in across the table, lowering his voice like we're plotting a heist. "You've got it bad. And honestly? I kinda love it. You're usually all hockey, hockey, hockey. But her? She's in there," he taps his temple, "rent-free."
He's not wrong.
I glance back at my phone screen, at the paused frame of Ryan smiling—really smiling—for the first time in what feels like forever.
"It's different with her," I admit quietly.
Zach raises a brow. "Different how?"
I take a breath, trying to put it into words. "She's not... just someone I'm with. She fits. Like—when she's around, everything makes sense. And when she's not, it's like I'm waiting for the next period to start and the rink's gone quiet."
Zach lets out a low whistle. "Dude. That's either the most romantic thing you've ever said or the cheesiest. Maybe both."
I laugh, but it's the kind that catches a little in my chest. Because it's true. All of it.
Zach shakes his head, still grinning. "You're so gone for her. I hope she knows."
"She will," I say, almost before I think about it. And the thing is—it doesn't scare me to say it. It feels... solid. Like something that's already set in motion.
Zach slaps the table. "Well, shit. Callahan's in love. Someone alert the media."
I chuck a napkin at him, but I can't even pretend to deny it. Not anymore.
〰️〰️〰️
Finals week has campus buzzing in that weird, half-panicked, half-delirious way—groups huddled under trees with textbooks, someone skateboarding by with a coffee the size of their head, the usual chaos.
Zach shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets as we start the walk back. For once, he's quiet. Which is how I know he's about to say something important. "So," he starts, kicking a stray leaf down the sidewalk, "when you said it's 'different' with her... what did you mean, exactly?"
I shrug, but it's not the kind that hides anything. "I don't know. With other girls, it was easy to keep everything at a distance. I'd show up, have fun, but I was always halfway out the door. Like... it was something happening around my life, not inside it."
Zach nods slowly, like he gets it.
"With Ryan, it's the opposite," I continue. "She's... in it. In everything. She's not a detour—she's part of the map."
We walk in silence for a moment, sneakers scuffing against the pavement. I expect Zach to crack a joke, but he doesn't. Instead, he lets out a quiet laugh, the kind that sounds almost nostalgic.
"Yeah," he says. "When it's real, it stops feeling like a game. You stop thinking about exit strategies and just... want to be all in. Even when it's messy. Fuck it, especially when it's messy."
I glance sideways at him. He's staring straight ahead, hands still buried in his hoodie, jaw tight in that way I've started to recognize.
He doesn't say her name, but he doesn't have to. Rae's all over that sentence.
"You sound like you get it," I say carefully.
He gives a little shrug, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I do."
For a second, neither of us has to pretend to be the loud, joking versions of ourselves. It's just two guys, walking across campus, both tangled up in something bigger than they expected.
I exhale, slow. "Yeah. I didn't think I'd ever be this guy."
Zach bumps my shoulder lightly. "None of us do. Then someone shows up and rewrites the playbook."
I grin at that, because he's right.
Ryan didn't just show up in my life—she rewrote it. And I'm not looking for the old version anymore.
We cut through the quad, the campus starting to glow that late spring gold. A couple of underclassmen are tossing a frisbee near the library steps, and someone's blasting music from a dorm window—something poppy and way too loud for finals week.
Zach slows his pace as we reach the fork in the path that splits between the rink and the apartment blocks. He's got that look on his face—the one he gets right before he says something that sounds like a joke but lands a little deeper.
He nudges my arm with his elbow. "Hey, just don't forget us when you two run off to play house next semester, alright?"
I roll my eyes, but I'm grinning. "Yeah, because you'd definitely let me disappear without comment."
"True," he says with mock solemnity. "I'd send passive-aggressive memes until you came back."
I laugh, shaking my head. "Noted."
He takes a few steps backward, still facing me. "Seriously though, Callahan—don't screw it up. She's good for you. I can see it."
The words aren't heavy. They're said like a friend who means it.
I raise a hand in a mock salute. "Planning on doing the opposite, Hughes."
He flashes that crooked grin of his. "Good. Because if you mess it up, Rae will kill me for not warning you."
I bark out a laugh as he turns and heads toward his building, hands shoved back into his hoodie, shoulders relaxed.
And I keep walking toward the rink, the grin refusing to leave my face.
Because yeah—Zach's right. She is good for me. And I'm not screwing this up.