I made my way down the aisle, nodding at teammates who were already getting comfortable. Tank had claimed a window seat and was already putting on his headphones. Martinez and Webb were sharing a row, probably planning to stay up the entire trip talking about the game.
“Mind if I sit?” I asked when I reached Nils’s row.
He looked up from his notebook and something flickered across his expression, something I couldn’t quite read.
“I…” He paused, glancing around the bus like he was looking for an excuse. “Wouldn’t you prefer to sit with your teammates?”
The suggestion hit me wrong. After all we’d shared by now, all the time we’d spent together, I’d thought we’d moved past the formal coach-student distance. “Not really,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “They’re either gonna sleep or talk about the game for the next two hours. I was hoping for actual conversation.”
“I see.” But he still looked uncomfortable, like my presence was a problem he needed to solve.
Heat flashed in my chest with the sharp sting of rejection. “Never mind. I can sit somewhere else.”
I started to turn away, already scanning the bus for another empty seat, when his hand caught my wrist.
“No, you misunderstood,” he said quickly. “Please. Sit.”
I studied his face, trying to figure out what was going on. He looked tired, maybe a little stressed, but there was something else there too. Something that looked almost like conflict. “You sure? Because you made it seem like you’d rather I’d not.”
“I’m sure. I apologize for giving a different impression.”
I settled into the seat next to him, still confused by his initial reaction but willing to let it go. Maybe he’d been focused on his coaching notes, caught off guard by the interruption. Or maybe it was because English wasn’t his first language. He did have a tendency for more formal language than most people I knew.
“Good game tonight,” he said as the bus pulled out of the parking lot.
“Thanks. Those positioning techniques you taught me are really becoming automatic.”
“I noticed. Both goals came from excellent decision-making.”
“The wraparound especially. I never would’ve seen that opening before.”
“You’re learning to read the game at a higher level. It shows in your play.”
“And those skates are freaking amazing.”
His face lit up with a smile. “I’m glad to hear that. You can use them for as long as you want to.”
We fell into easier conversation as the bus hit the highway, the initial awkwardness fading as we talked about the game, about specific plays and techniques. But there was still something different about Nils tonight, a careful distance that hadn’t been there before.
As the trip wore on and the bus grew quieter, our conversation shifted to other topics. I told him about Professor Henley’s latest boring economics lecture, and he shared a story about a statistics professor who’d once put his entire class to sleep during a final exam.
“The proctor had to wake people up to remind them they were supposed to be taking a test,” he said, and I laughed harder than the story probably deserved.
“That’s amazing. Did anyone actually pass?”
“I have no idea. I suspect the professor curved the grades heavily to avoid explaining to the department why his entire class failed.”
“Smart. Cover your ass and hope no one asks questions.”
“Precisely.”
The lights had been dimmed now, and most of the team was either asleep or quiet with their devices. The steady hum of the engine and the rhythm of tires on asphalt created a sort of cocoon around our conversation.
Nils had closed his notebook and leaned back in his seat, looking more relaxed than he had when I’d first sat down. Whatever had been bothering him earlier seemed to have faded, replaced by the easy comfort we usually had between us.
We kept talking as the miles rolled by, our voices getting quieter as the bus grew more still. Nils told me about some of the places he’d traveled to, and I shared more stories about growing up in Buffalo, about the neighborhood rink where I’d learned to play.
Gradually, his responses got shorter, and I could see his eyelids getting heavy. The long day was catching up with him—coaching, the stress of the game, probably still recovering from being sick.
