Chapter 231 Coach Morrison's Office Smelled Like Old Leather and Disappointment

Chapter 231 Coach Morrison's Office Smelled Like Old Leather and Disappointment
POV: Silver Preston
I stand outside the door at 2:58 PM, trying to steady my breathing. Through the frosted glass, I can see the coach's silhouette at his desk. Broad shoulders. Head bent over paperwork.
I knock at exactly 3:00.
"Come in."
The office is smaller than I expected. Cramped, even. One wall covered in team photos going back decades. Another wall dedicated to a whiteboard filled with plays and statistics. The desk is cluttered with folders, coffee cups, and a hockey puck being used as a paperweight.
Coach Morrison looks up. He is older than I realized up close, gray at the temples, lines etched deep around his eyes. He gestures to the chair across from his desk.
"Sit."
I sit. Keep my hands folded in my lap. Try to look calm even though my heart is hammering.
He studies me for a long moment. Not hostile. Just assessing.
"Do you know why you're here?" he asks finally.
"Because the team is losing. And people think it's my fault."
"People think a lot of things. Most of them are stupid." He leans back in his chair. It creaks under his weight. "I asked you here because I'm worried about my captain. And I think you might be able to help."
That is not what I expected.
"Help how?"
"By telling me what the hell happened between you two." His voice is gruff but not unkind. "Three weeks ago, Hayes was the best player on my roster. Focused. Driven. Leader of men. Then something changed. He started showing up late to practice. Missing team meetings. Making sloppy plays. And Saturday's game?" He shakes his head. "That wasn't the same kid I've been coaching for three years."
"We broke up," I say quietly. "Friday night."
"I figured. Whole campus knows by now." He pulls out a file, opens it. "But it's more than just a breakup, isn't it? This has been building for weeks. The distraction. The divided focus. Whatever's going on with you two has been eating at him since before you even got together officially."
I do not know what to say to that.
"I'm not here to lecture you about relationships," he continues. "That's not my job. My job is to make sure my players are mentally and physically ready to compete. And right now, Hayes is neither." He looks at me directly. "So I need to know. Is this fixable? Or do I need to prepare for the fact that my captain is going to tank the rest of the season?"
"I don't know."
"That's not good enough." His voice is harder now. "I've got scouts backing out of games. I've got a team that's lost confidence in their leader. I've got a kid who's throwing away a professional career because he can't get his personal life under control. So I'm asking you again. Is this fixable?"
I feel something crack in my chest.
"I don't know," I repeat. "We both said things. Did things. I don't know if we can come back from it."
He is quiet for a moment. Then he closes the file.
"Let me tell you something about Hayes," he says. "Kid came to Yale on a partial scholarship. Not a full ride like most recruits. Know why? Because he turned down better offers from bigger programs. Wanted to prove he could make it on his own merit, not just his talent. That's the kind of stubborn he is."
I listen.
"First year, he barely made the roster. Spent most of his time on the bench. Second year, worked his ass off and became a starter. Third year, I made him captain because he'd earned the respect of every player on that team. Not because he was the best skater or the hardest shot. Because he showed up every day and did the work. Never complained. Never gave up." Coach Morrison leans forward. "That's the Eli Hayes I know. The one who doesn't quit, even when things are hard."
"Then why is he quitting now?" My voice comes out smaller than I intended.
"Because whatever's happening with you matters more than hockey. And for a kid who's made hockey his entire life, that's terrifying." His expression softens slightly. "He's not quitting on the team. He's falling apart because he doesn't know how to be the guy who cares about something more than the game."
I feel tears burning behind my eyes. Blink them back.
"I can't fix him," I say. "That's not my job."
"No. But you can be honest with him. And with yourself." He stands up, walks to the window. Looks out at the campus. "I've seen a lot of players come through this program. Most of them prioritize hockey above everything else. Relationships. Family. Their own wellbeing. They sacrifice it all for the game. And you know what? Most of them burn out before they ever make it pro."
He turns back to face me.
"The ones who make it? The ones who have long careers? They're the ones who figure out how to be whole people. Who have something outside of hockey that matters. Someone who reminds them they're more than just a player." He crosses his arms. "Hayes could be one of the greats. But not if he can't figure out how to balance his life. And right now, you're the only thing that's ever made him try."
"He lied to me," I say. "About important things. About his future."
"I know. He told me." His voice is matter-of-fact. "Told me he met with an agent. Told me about the European offers. Told me he handled it all wrong and pushed you away." He pauses. "Also told me he turned down a guaranteed contract worth more money than most kids see in a lifetime because he wanted to stay here. Near you."
My breath catches.
"He didn't tell you that part, did he?" His expression is knowing. "That the Swedish team offered him a three-year deal. Guaranteed money. No draft uncertainty. And he said no because leaving meant losing you."
"He said he turned them down for the draft--"
"He said that because he's an idiot who doesn't know how to be vulnerable." He returns to his desk, sits down. "But I've known that kid for three years. And I've never seen him turn down a hockey opportunity for anything. Until you."
I feel like the floor is tilting.
"So here's what's going to happen," he says. "You two are going to figure out your situation. I don't care if you get back together or break up permanently. But you're going to communicate like adults and resolve this mess. Because right now, it's affecting my team. And I can't have my captain self-destructing in the middle of the season."
"You can't just order us to fix our relationship."
"Watch me." His voice is firm. "I'm not asking you to date him. I'm asking you to talk to him. Really talk. Not through texts or screaming matches. Sit down. Be honest. Figure out what you both actually want. And then make a decision and stick with it."
"What if we decide we're done?"
"Then you're done. But at least Hayes will have closure. Right now, he's stuck in limbo. Hoping you'll come back. Terrified you won't. And that uncertainty is killing him." His expression is serious. "I need my captain back. The team needs their leader. Whether that happens with you in his life or out of it, it needs to happen soon."
I stare at my hands. At the way my fingers twist together without my conscious thought.
"I don't know if I can do this," I whisper.
"Can't? Or won't?" His voice is gentler now. "Because there's a difference."
"Both. I don't know." I look up. "Every time I trust someone, they leave. Or lie. Or prove that I was stupid for believing in them. And Eli--" My voice cracks. "He was supposed to be different."
"He is different. That's why this hurts so much." He pulls out a tissue box from his desk drawer, slides it toward me. "But being different doesn't mean being perfect. It means being willing to work through the hard parts instead of running away."
"He ran away first. To Boston. To meetings with agents. To making plans without me."
"And you ran away by assuming the worst. By ending things before he could end them first." His voice is matter-of-fact. Not cruel. Just honest. "You both ran. Now the question is whether you're going to keep running or turn around and face each other."
I pull a tissue from the box. Hold it without using it.
"What did he say?" I ask quietly. "When he told you about us. What did he actually say?"
He considers. Then sighs.
"He said you were the best thing that ever happened to him. And that he'd destroyed it by being too scared to be honest. Said he didn't know how to be the guy who needed someone, so he pretended he didn't. And by the time he realized what he was doing, it was too late." His expression is sympathetic. "Kid was practically in tears in my office. Haven't seen him like that since his father passed sophomore year."
My breath hitches.
I did not know Eli's father had died. He never mentioned it.
"He doesn't talk about his dad much," Morrison says, reading my expression. "Happened right before playoffs. Car accident. Eli found out two hours before a game. Still played. Scored two goals. Then went home and didn't come back to campus for a week." He pauses. "That's who Eli Hayes is. He compartmentalizes. Pushes down the pain. Focuses on hockey because it's the one thing he can control. Until you came along and made him feel things he couldn't compartmentalize."
"I didn't mean to--"
"I know you didn't. But that doesn't change the fact that you did." His voice is firm but kind. "And now you both have to decide what you're going to do about it."
I wipe my eyes with the tissue. It comes away black with mascara.
"I don't know how to trust him again," I admit.
"Then start small. One conversation. One honest exchange. See if you can get through that without running away or shutting down." He stands up, signaling the meeting is ending. "You don't have to fix everything today. But you do have to start."
I stand too. Feel unsteady on my feet.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For not blaming me."
"I don't blame you. I blame both of you for being stubborn idiots who don't know how to communicate." But his voice is almost fond. "Now get out of my office. I've got practice to run. And tell Hayes if he's late again, he's running laps until he pukes."
I manage a weak smile.
"I'll tell him."
"No you won't. You two aren't talking." He walks me to the door. "But maybe you will be. Soon."
I step into the hallway. The door closes behind me with a soft click.
I stand there for a moment, processing everything he said. About Eli turning down guaranteed money. About his father. About being too scared to need someone.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out.
Eli: How did it go with Coach?
Of course he knows about the meeting.
Silver: he didn't yell at me.
Eli: That's good. He yelled at me for twenty minutes this morning.
Silver: he said you turned down the Swedish contract. the guaranteed one.
The dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Eli: Yeah.
Silver: why didn't you tell me?
Eli: Because I didn't want you to feel obligated to stay with me because I made a sacrifice. I wanted you to choose me because you wanted to. Not because you felt guilty.
I lean against the wall. Close my eyes.
Silver: i don't know what to do with that information.
Eli: You don't have to do anything. I made my choice. You make yours.
Silver: coach says we need to talk. really talk.
Eli: I'd like that. When you're ready.
Silver: i don't know if i'm ready.
Eli: Then I'll wait.
I shove my phone in my pocket. Start walking back toward my dorm.
My mind is spinning. Eli's father. The contract. The coach's words about being whole people.
Everything I thought I knew keeps shifting. Rearranging. Becoming something different.
I do not know what the truth is anymore. Do not know what I want. Do not know how to move forward.
But I know I cannot keep standing still.
Back at the dorm, Americus is waiting. Sitting on my bed, arms crossed, expression determined.
"We need to talk," she says.
"Not now--"
"Yes now." She stands up. "You've been avoiding this conversation for days. Maybe weeks. And I'm done watching you torture yourself."
"I'm not--"
"You are. You're spiraling. Pushing everyone away. Convincing yourself you're better off alone." Her voice is sharp. Cutting. "And I love you, but I'm not going to sit here and watch you sabotage the best thing that's ever happened to you."
"You don't understand--"
"I understand perfectly. You're scared. You've been hurt before. Everyone leaves. I get it. Your trauma is real. But you know what else is real? Eli Hayes, who turned down a professional contract to stay near you. Who's been in love with you since day one. Who's currently falling apart because you walked away."
"He lied to me."
"He was scared and stupid and handled things badly. Welcome to being human." Americus steps closer. "But he didn't cheat. Didn't betray you. Didn't choose hockey over you. He chose you. And you're throwing that away because it's easier to be alone than to risk being hurt."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Her expression is knowing. "I've watched you for months. Watched you fall for him. Watched you fight it every step of the way. Watched you find excuses to keep him at arm's length. And now that he's proven he's serious? Now that he's made the grand gesture and chosen you over his career? You're running away faster than ever."
"I'm not running--"
"You ended things before he could. You convinced yourself he was leaving so you wouldn't have to deal with the fact that he was staying. You built walls so high that even when he's standing outside them, trying to get through, you're telling yourself you're safer alone." Her voice cracks slightly. "And I'm watching my best friend destroy her own happiness because she's too scared to admit she needs someone."
"I don't need him."
"Bullshit." Her eyes are bright. Fierce. "You need him like you need air. Like you need skating. Like you need to prove to yourself that you're more than your mother's broken dreams. He sees you, Silver. Really sees you. The good and the bad and the messy parts you try to hide. And he loves all of it. And you're throwing that away because loving him back is too terrifying."
"Stop."
"No. I'm done stopping. I'm done letting you pretend you're fine. You're not fine. You're miserable. You miss him. You love him. And you're breaking both your hearts because you're too stubborn to admit it." Americus grabs my shoulders. "So I'm going to ask you one question, and I want you to answer honestly. Just once, be honest with me and with yourself."
I cannot speak. Can barely breathe.
"Do you love him?" Her voice is softer now. Gentle. "Not do you trust him. Not are you scared. Not any of the other excuses you use to protect yourself. Just this: do you love Eli Hayes?"
I open my mouth. Close it.
The truth sits in my chest like a stone. Heavy. Undeniable.
"Yes," I whisper.
And then I am crying. Really crying. The kind of tears that have been building for days, weeks, maybe my entire life. The kind that come from somewhere deep and locked away.
Americus pulls me into a hug. Holds me while I sob.
"I know," she murmurs. "I know, sweetie. I know."
I cry until there is nothing left. Until all that remains is emptiness and exhaustion and the terrible truth I have been running from.
I love him.
I love Eli Hayes.
And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.