“You should get some sleep,” I said. “You look beat.”
“I’m tired, but I don’t want to be rude.”
“It’s not rude. Sleep. I’ll make sure you don’t miss our stop.”
He smiled at that, a soft expression that made something warm spread through my chest. “Thank you.”
He adjusted his position in the seat, turning slightly toward the window and closing his eyes. Within minutes, his breathing had evened out, and he’d fallen asleep.
I settled back in my own seat, content to sit quietly and let him rest. Outside the windows, dark countryside rolled past, the endless boring nothing along I-90. Inside the bus, the only sounds were the engine, the tires, and the quiet breathing—or not so quiet, as Webb was putting a sawmill to shame with his snoring—of sleeping hockey players.
But I wasn’t sleepy. I was too comfortable, too content with this moment of peace. There was something soothing about sitting next to Nils while he slept, something that felt right in a way I couldn’t quite explain.
I glanced over at him, taking in the way sleep had softened his features. The careful composure he always maintained was gone, replaced by something more vulnerable, more human. His blond hair had fallen across his forehead, and his face was completely relaxed.
He looked younger like this. Peaceful. The stress lines around his eyes had smoothed out, and there was something almost gentle about the way his lips were slightly parted.
Beautiful.
The thought hit me like a physical blow, sudden and undeniable and completely unexpected.
He was beautiful.
Not handsome in the way I might notice another guy was good-looking. Not attractive in some distant, objective way.
Beautiful in a way that made my belly flutter and my pulse quicken and my breath catch in my throat.
Beautiful in a way that made me want to reach out and brush that fallen hair away from his forehead.
Beautiful in a way that made me realize, with crystal clarity and growing panic, that I was attracted to him.
Oh.
Oh.
11
NILS
Monday morning arrived with a clear blue sky and frost on the ground. The leaves were beginning to turn, painting the Buffalo landscape in shades of gold and red that weren’t so different from Swedish autumns. As I drove to the arena, I tried to focus on that similarity, on the comfort of familiar seasons and predictable change.
I needed something predictable this morning.
The weekend had been an exercise in overthinking. Every moment from the bus ride home replayed in my mind with uncomfortable clarity—the way Adan had sought out my company, how I had tried so hard to keep him at bay only to cave when he’d clearly been hurt, and then the easy conversation that had developed between us. The memory of waking up briefly to find him still there, quietly watching the dark countryside roll past, had made something warm and dangerous flutter in my chest.
That warmth was exactly the problem.
I’d spent the whole of Sunday reminding myself of all the reasons why Friday night’s bus ride couldn’t happen again. Professional boundaries. The trust Coach Brennan had placed in me. The potential consequences for both Adan’s career and my position at Millard. The fundamental fact that I was supposed to be his coach, not his friend.
Certainly not whatever I was slowly becoming instead.
Today’s session would be strictly professional. Technical instruction, skill development, measurable improvement. No personal conversation, no casual touches during demonstrations, no moments of comfortable intimacy that had nothing to do with hockey. I had to retreat into professionalism, or I would respond in a way I’d come to regret. There was only so much a man could take, after all, including me.
I could do this. I was a professional coach, focused on fostering appropriate relationships with players. The fact that Adan was different—smarter, more engaging, more genuinely kind than anyone I’d worked with before—didn’t change my responsibilities. Nor did the fact that his smile made my belly go all weak.
The arena was quiet when I used my key card to enter through the staff entrance and made my way to the equipment room, mentally reviewing the session I’d planned. Shooting accuracy drills. Defensive positioning. Tactical awareness exercises that required minimal physical contact.
Safe territory.
