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Chapter forty-seven

Elliot

The night had already been a mix of the chaotic, hilarious, and surprisingly emotional.

But nothing prepared me for what came next.

It happened right as things were starting to wind down—most of the kids were either talking in little groups or finishing cookies, and the parents had already said their goodbyes.

The door creaked open.

I didn’t think much of it at first, just another nervous kid showing up late. But then—

Mateo froze.

He didn’t just pause—he locked up, his shoulders tensing, jaw tightening, hands gripping the edge of the snack table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

I followed his gaze, frowning.

A kid—probably seventeen, maybe even eighteen—hovered at the door, looking like he was about to bolt. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and very athletic—the kind of kid who moved like he was used to a court beneath his feet, like his body knew how to take up space but was suddenly trying to make itself small.

I watched his eyes flicker across the room, scanning the banners, the faces, the context—and then, finally, they landed on Mateo.

And shit.

I had never seen a look like that before.

Like someone had been caught somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. Like they had tripped over a truth they hadn’t meant to admit.

And Mateo?

He looked the exact same way.

For a second, it was silent. No one—not even Jason and his posse—said a word.

Then the kid’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Mateo’s jaw flexed.

It felt like I was watching the most tension-filled, painful tennis match in all of history.

The air felt too tight, like something was about to snap.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the kid cleared his throat.

“Coach?”

Mateo’s lips parted slightly, his throat working around the words he couldn’t seem to find.

“Uh,” was all he managed.

Oh, shit.

I glanced at Mike, who looked equally stunned.

This was new.

According to Mike, Mateo never lost his cool.

Not on the court, not in the classroom, not ever.

But here he was, standing completely blindsided by a kid who had probably spent the last four years running drills under his watch.

“Gabe?” Mateo finally breathed, like he had to confirm what he was seeing.

The kid—Gabe—shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He still stood in the doorway, miles from the front of the room where Mateo stood immobile. The rest of us stood or sat in utter silence between them.

“I, uh . . . I didn’t know you were . . . I mean . . . well . . . that you’d be here . . . tonight . . . at school,” Gabe muttered.

“Me either.” Mateo huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “I mean, I knew I’d be here, but, I didn’t . . . shit—”

“Coach cursed!” one of the other kids whispered, igniting snickers that rippled like waves on a pond.

Then more silence.

Jesus, this was painful.

“Hey, Gabe. Welcome.” Mike, ever the teacher, cleared his throat and took a step forward, trying to gently defuse the tension. “We were just wrapping up, but there’s still a few snacks left if you’re hungry. Come meet the group.”

Gabe barely looked at him, still locked in some kind of silent stare-off with Mateo.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching.

Mateo was usually the calm one. The guy who had a joke ready before things could get too heavy, the guy who handled nerves like a pro.

But then?

In that moment, he looked like a deer in high beams.

And Gabe?

Gabe looked like he wanted to disappear.

Finally, Mateo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face and stepping past all the others to stand before Gabe.

“You wanna go outside and talk for a minute?”

Gabe swallowed. Then nodded.

I didn’t follow.

Neither did Mike.

This wasn’t for us.

But through the open doorway, I could see them standing in the dimly lit hallway, facing each other, their body language so tense it made my chest ache.

Mateo said something first.

Gabe’s head dipped.

Mateo sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Then, for a second, he just looked at Gabe—long and careful, like he was seeing something he’d never noticed before.

When he spoke again, it was softer.

Gabe nodded.

Then rubbed his face.

Then—finally—his shoulders unlocked.

And Mateo?

He did what Mateo rarely did.

He reached out, squeezed Gabe’s shoulder, and left it there.

Not just a coach’s pat, not just a “Keep your head up, kid” moment.

A real, solid connection.

Like he was saying, “I’ve got you. I see you.”

Gabe exhaled, nodding once.

And when they walked back inside, neither of them looked scared anymore.