She let out a dry snort. “Where else would I be headed?”
We walked together toward the parking lot.
“Maybe a twenty-four-hour bar to keep the party going,” I joked, but heard the edge of my voice too late.
She stopped walking, and so did I. The air between us held its breath. Her silence wasn’t simply an answer—it was a shift, making me wonder if I’d stumbled into something raw.
“Are you okay to drive?” I asked. She didn’t answer. I nodded toward the back of the lot. “There’s one way to find out.”
She blinked, confused. I offered my hand, and she let me guide her to a less crowded strip of the parking lot. Physical contact, not that I was counting, but damn, the feel of her skin—soft, warm—was a new thing.
“Alright,” I said, “straight line. One foot in front of the other.”
This was going to be either a sobriety test or an impromptu dance lesson.
Her face went still. Her eyes shone in the parking lot light; she was trying to blink something back. Her chest lifted once, sharply, then again, smaller, tighter. A tear slipped, and then another, and she was suddenly shaking, shoulders curling in as if she could hide from it. No sound at first, then an uneven hitch of her breath broke through.
Crap.
“Mel,” I said, hands half lifted. “I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything. I didn’t know if you’d had too much—”
She was already nodding, face wet, breath catching.
“So…you did drink too much?”
Another slow nod, and the admission seemed to cost her.
“Coach.” A voice behind me.
Before I could react, Mel buried her face in my chest, trying to vanish there. My arms instinctively wrapped around her. I turned and watched Asher walking off with Sadie.
Damn it. Of all the people to witness my impromptu hug…it had to be the team’s captain. Not the worst guy to witness it, but still. Mel had clearly panicked, trying to hide her tears, maybe her entire existence, in that moment. Still holding her, I rubbed my other hand down my face.
“Let’s go sit in my car,” I murmured.
She climbed in without argument. I handed her the glove box tissues; she blew her nose and stared straight ahead.
“I wasn’t going to drive,” she said eventually. “I was gonna sit in my car, wait till everyone left, then call a cab.”
That wasn’t what I expected. Partial crisis averted—she wasn’t driving drunk.
“You didn’t want anyone to see you leave in a taxi?” She gave a small nod. “Didn’t want them thinking you have trouble handling alcohol? I don’t know… maybe a drinking problem?”
Her head whipped toward me. “Excuse me?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quickly. “I happened to notice things. If you’re dealing with—”
“WHAT?” She let out a watery, startled, joyless laugh. “Coach Murphy—”
“Sean,” I cut in. “Call me Sean.”
“I’m not dealing with anything. I had two drinks, and I didn’t want to look like the wild card who can’t handle her night out. That’s it.”
She no longer resembled her usual polished self. The composure, once tailored to fit, was now slipping at the seams. Eyes puffy, nose red, shoulders curled in. She’d been holding it together all night, and now it was unraveling.
“If appearances mattered that much,” I said gently, “why not skip the drinks altogether?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Because you don’t get to pick my choices outside the rink.”
