I closed the laptop without sending the email. One more session. If Wednesday’s training went the same way, if the awkward distance persisted, then I would know for certain that something fundamental had changed. At that point, I could make the professional decision to step aside.
But as I gathered my things and prepared to leave the arena, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d already lost something important. The easy friendship that had been developing between us, the comfortable conversations that had nothing to do with hockey, the sense that I’d found someone who genuinely enjoyed my company—all of that seemed to have disappeared overnight.
And the worst part was that I wasn’t sure if I was more disappointed as his coach or as someone who’d been starting to care about him far more than was wise.
Either way, it was a reminder that I’d been right to try to maintain professional boundaries from the beginning. Personal relationships in coaching situations were complicated for exactly these reasons. When things went wrong—and they inevitably did—everyone got hurt.
I just hadn’t expected it to hurt quite this much.
As I prepared myself for the rest of the day, I tried to convince myself that this was for the best. That maintaining professional distance would be easier now that Adan seemed to want that too. That I could go back to being simply his coach, nothing more and nothing less. But the empty feeling in my chest suggested that convincing myself wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped.
I had two days before our next session to figure out how to handle this new dynamic professionally. Two days to prepare for the possibility that the most engaging coaching relationship I’d ever had was coming to an end.
Two days to accept that sometimes, doing the right thing felt an awful lot like losing something you’d never really had in the first place.
12
ADAN
The whole day passed in a blur. I had classes, conversations, lunch, but none of it registered, as if I was dreaming. I responded when asked a question, reacted when needed, gave all the appropriate signals and did all the expected actions, even though my mind was racing faster than my heartbeat.
That training session had been a disaster. Every time Nils had gotten close to me, every casual touch during demonstrations, every moment of eye contact had all felt charged in ways that would have made no sense three days ago and were crystal clear now.
I was attracted to him. To a man. To my coach.
I liked women. I’d always liked women. I’d had girlfriends, hookups, crushes on actresses and classmates and that hot bartender at Murphy’s. But none of that seemed to matter now, because I was definitely, undeniably attracted to Nils Anders.
The realization should have been more earth-shattering. Should’ve made me question everything I thought I knew about myself. Instead, it felt like something clicking into place, like finally understanding why I’d been looking forward to our training sessions for reasons that had nothing to do with hockey.
But what was I supposed to do about it?
And Nils had noticed, I was convinced of that. Hehadto have noticed. The way I’d jumped when he’d adjusted my shoulders, how I’d gone rigid during drills that used to feel completely normal. There was no way someone as observant as Nils had missed my weird behavior. And he’d been different too. More distant, awkward.
Team practice was more of the same. Every time I’d skated near Nils during drills, he’d moved away. Every time I’d tried to catch his eye, he’d been focused on his clipboard or talking to Coach Brennan. It was like Friday night’s bus ride had never happened, like the easy friendship we’d been building had been completely erased.
But it wasn’t erased. I could see it in the careful way he avoided looking at me, in the professional distance he was maintaining. He was trying too hard to act normal, which meant something had definitely changed.
The question was what he thought about it. He couldn’t be repulsed. His body language would’ve been different if he had been. Same with angry. That wasn’t it either. He’d mostly been stiff as a board and awkward. Uncomfortable. In other words: same as me.
When I was finally done with classes, I headed back to my dorm. Tank was in our room when I got upstairs, sprawled on his bed with his economics textbook open, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“How was your day?” he asked without looking up.
“It was okay.”
“And your private training this morning?”
“Fine.”
He did look up now. “Fine? Usually, you come back talking about some new technique or whatever.”
“Yeah, well, today was different.”
“Different how?”
I dropped my gear bag and sat down on my bed. How the hell did I answer that question? I didn’t even know where to start. It had been different because I’d spent the entire session hyperaware of every movement my coach made. Different because I’d wanted to touch him back when he’d corrected my positioning. Different because I’d realized I was attracted to him and had no idea what to do about it.
“Just different,” I said finally.
