He grinned as he sat down.
I grabbed my skates from my bag and handed them to him. “Here.”
He took them with something that looked a lot like reverence. “Are you sure about this? What happens if they get damaged?”
I patted his shoulder. “Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry about it. Just test them and see if they’re a good fit for you.”
It took him a little longer to lace up as my skates had a slightly different system, but then he was ready to go. I’d put on my reserve skates in the meantime.
“What’s on the agenda?” he asked, pulling his helmet on. “More corner positioning? Shot selection? Please tell me it’s not defensive zone coverage, because my brain’s still not awake enough for that level of strategy.”
“Core strength and balance today. Foundation work that will make everything else more effective.”
“Sounds fun. By fun, I mean it’s probably going to suck.”
“It will be challenging. But you’ll understand the value once you feel the difference it makes in your stability during board battles. Think of it as an enhanced, hockey-specific exercise in not falling flat on your backside.”
Adan snorted. “I never fall.”
“You’re wearing skates you’ve never used before. Trust me, you’ll struggle.”
We stepped onto the ice together, and I tried to ignore the way the morning light from the arena windows highlighted the confident set of his shoulders.
“Oh,” he said slowly as he took his first strides on the ice. “They are different.”
“Take a few minutes to get used to them.”
He did, speeding up and slowing down, taking sharp corners and doing one-eighties.
“How do they feel?” I asked when he came back after a few minutes.
“Good. Still a little strange, but in a good way. They’re lighter. Sharper.”
“Alright,” I said, skating over to where I’d set up the training equipment. “The exercises we’re working on today focus on core stability and balance. When you’re fighting for position in the corners, especially against larger defensemen, your ability to maintain balance while generating power comes from your core strength.”
“Makes sense. I’ve definitely been knocked off the puck by guys who were better balanced than me.”
“Exactly. Raw strength only takes you so far. But if you can maintain your center of gravity while applying force, you become much more difficult to dislodge.”
I demonstrated the first exercise, a basic balance challenge that required maintaining position on an unstable surface while handling a puck. Adan watched intently, asking questions about foot positioning and weight distribution. His focus was complete, professional, exactly what I’d come to expect from our sessions.
“Your turn,” I said, stepping aside so he could attempt the drill.
His first attempt was hesitant, him still finding his balance on the new skates. But then his natural athleticism took over, compensating for areas where his technique could be refined. But it was easy to identify several adjustments that would improve his effectiveness.
“Good start,” I said. “But let me show you some modifications.”
I skated behind him, placing my hands on his hips to adjust his stance. “Your weight distribution is slightly off. If you shift it back a few inches?—”
The moment my hands made contact, something shifted. Not his position, but something in the air between us. Feeling his body through his practice jersey, the solid muscle of his core beneath my palms, the way he went perfectly still under my touch—all of it registered with an intensity that had nothing to do with coaching.
“Like this?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly breathless. Or was that my imagination?
I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my professional composure. “Yes, exactly. Feel how much more stable you are now?”
My hands were still on his hips, ostensibly to ensure he maintained the correct position. But I was acutely aware of every point of contact, the slight shift of his breathing beneath my palms.
“Much better,” he said, and there was something in his tone that made my pulse quicken.
