I pulled back, confused. “Thanks?”
“You kept your distance, respected the rules,” he continued, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You both put the team and your career first. That took character.”
My heart stopped. He could only refer to one thing. “Coach, you knew?”
“I’ve been coaching longer than you’ve been alive. I see things.” He clapped my shoulder. “Saw how you two looked at each other when no one else was watching, but I also saw it stopped there. Respected the hell out of both of you for it.”
“I… We…”
“Now go. You’ve waited long enough.”
He walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing there in shock. Coach Brennan knew. Had known all along.
11:48p.m.
I drove through Buffalo’s streets like a man possessed. The radio was playing highlights from the game, replaying my game-winning goal in the second period, but I wasn’t listening. All I could think about was the countdown running in my head.
Eight minutes.
Seven.
Six.
I pulled up outside Nils’s building at 11:56 and sat in my car, watching the clock on the dashboard. My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel it in my throat. We’d counted on seven months, and it had been almost five. Two months less than we had prepared ourselves for, so four more minutes couldn’t kill me.
But they might.
11:57.
11:58.
11:59.
At exactly midnight, I was out of the car and at his door, the trophy in my hands. I knocked once, twice, my whole body vibrating with anticipation.
The door opened and there he was. Sweatpants and the championship T-shirt, hair messed up like he’d been running his hands through it continuously, eyes wide and dark and fixed on me like I was everything. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“Is it?—?”
“Midnight. I’m not your player anymore.”
The words were barely out before he yanked me inside, the door slamming behind us. I sat the trophy down on the floor, and then his mouth crashed into mine, five months of want and frustration and love pouring into that first kiss. I grabbed his face, his hair, anything I could reach, trying to get closer even though there was no space between us.
“Missed you so fucking much,” I gasped between kisses.
“Never again,” he said against my mouth. “Never keeping distance again.”
We stumbled toward his bedroom, hands everywhere. My championship shirt disappeared somewhere in the hallway. His T-shirt followed. By the time we hit his bedroom door, I was working on his sweatpants while he dragged mine down.
“Five months, Nils,” I said, finally getting it off. “Five fucking months.”
“I know. I counted every day.”
The rest of our clothes disappeared in a frantic rush. Then we were on his bed, skin against skin for the first time since November, and I thought I might die from how good it felt.
“Adan,” he breathed, hands running over my chest, my arms, my face like he was trying to memorize me by touch. “Let me… I need to taste you.”
