I pulled out my coaching notebook and flipped to the pages I’d prepared over the weekend, detailed diagrams and progression sequences that would keep us focused on measurable hockey skills. Nothing personal, nothing that could be misinterpreted.
My phone buzzed with a text from Floris.
Floris
How’s the coaching going? Still enjoying your “normal life” experiment?
Me
Going well. Learning a lot about American hockey culture.
Floris
And nothing else? No interesting developments?
The question felt loaded somehow, like he was fishing for information about the conversation we’d had during our last video call. The one where I’d admitted to being attracted to someone I couldn’t pursue.
Me
Nothing worth reporting.
This was technically true. Attraction wasn’t worth reporting if you were planning to handle it professionally and move past it.
Floris
If you say so. But remember, life is short. Don’t let opportunities pass you by.
I turned off my phone without responding. Floris meant well, but he didn’t understand the complexities of my situation. The power dynamics, the professional obligations, the fact that pursuing those feelings could destroy everything I’d built here.
The arena doors opened with their familiar echo, and I heard the sound of someone’s gear bag hitting the floor near the benches. Early, as always.
“Morning, Coach,” Adan called out, but something in his voice sounded different. Less confident than usual, maybe. More tentative.
“Good morning, Adan,” I replied, keeping my tone carefully professional as he approached the coaching area.
Something was off about his usual pre-session energy. Instead of the focused confidence I’d come to expect, he seemed nervous, almost fidgety.
“How was the rest of your weekend?” I asked, the question automatic before I remembered my resolution to keep things strictly hockey-focused.
“Fine. Good. You know, just relaxing and stuff.” He wasn’t meeting my eyes, which was unusual. Adan was typically direct in his communication, comfortable with eye contact.
“Excellent. Ready to work on some shooting accuracy today?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you think is best.”
Whatever I thought was best? That didn’t sound like the Adan I’d been working with for the past month. He usually had opinions about training, questions about techniques, pushback when he didn’t immediately understand the purpose of a drill.
He quickly changed into his practice gear, and then we stepped onto the ice together. He was keeping more distance between us than usual. Not dramatically, but enough that I registered the change. Maybe he’d spent the weekend thinking about our growing friendship and decided it was inappropriate too.
The thought should have been reassuring. After all, it would make maintaining professional boundaries much easier if we were both committed to the same goal. Instead, it left me with an unexpected sense of loss.
“We’ll start with some shooting-accuracy work.” I set up cones to mark target areas in the net. “I want to focus on shot placement under pressure.”
“Sounds good.” He was still avoiding eye contact, focusing instead on the equipment set-up with unusual intensity.
I demonstrated the first drill, showing him the proper body positioning and follow-through technique. “The key is maintaining your accuracy even when you’re moving at game speed. Ready to try it?”
“Yeah.”
