“Adan—”
“I’ll be back later.”
During the drive to his apartment, my anger only intensified. Every missed correction from the past week, every moment he’d kept his distance when he should’ve been helping me improve, every careful avoidance of eye contact—it all fueled the rage burning in my chest.
I didn’t knock when I reached his door. I pounded on it, hard enough that the sound echoed through the hallway.
“Adan?” Nils’s voice came through the door, surprise clear even through the wood. “What are you doing here?”
“Open the door.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea?—”
“Open the fucking door, Nils.”
A pause, then the sound of locks being undone. The door opened to reveal Nils looking exactly as shocked as he’d sounded, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt like he’d been settling in for a quiet evening at home.
“We need to talk.” I pushed past him into the apartment.
“Adan, this really isn’t appropriate?—”
“Don’t.” I spun around to face him. “Don’t give me that professional-boundaries bullshit. Not after what happened last week.”
He closed the door but stayed near it, like he was ready to flee at the first opportunity. “What happened last week was a mistake.”
“Was it? Because it didn’t feel like a mistake when you kissed me back.”
“It was a momentary lapse in judgment?—”
“Stop lying.” The words came out louder than I’d intended, my frustration boiling over. “Stop pretending like you didn’t want it as much as I did.”
“What I wanted is irrelevant. I’m your coach, you’re my student, and I crossed a line that should never have been crossed.”
“Fine. You crossed a line. But that doesn’t give you the right to completely ignore me for a week.”
“I haven’t been ignoring you?—”
“Bullshit!” I was shouting now, all the anger I’d been holding back for seven days exploding out of me. “You’ve been treating me like I have the plague. You won’t get within ten feet of me during training, you won’t correct my positioning, you won’t even look at me during team practices.”
“I’ve been maintaining appropriate professional dist?—”
“You’ve been acting like a coward!”
That got a reaction. His face flushed, and something flashed in his eyes that looked like anger. “I am trying to protect both of our careers,” he said, his voice tight with control. “I am trying to ensure that one moment of poor judgment doesn’t destroy everything we’ve both worked for.”
“Well, congratulations. Your protecting is destroying my game anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been playing like shit all week because my coach suddenly decided he’s too good to actually coach me.” I stepped closer to him, close enough to see the guilt that flickered across his expression. “Do you have any idea how much my technique has suffered without your corrections? How many mistakes I’m making that you used to help me fix?”
“I’ve been providing verbal instruction?—”
“Verbal instruction is garbage compared to hands-on coaching, and you know it. You’ve spent all these weeks teaching me that positioning is everything, that tiny adjustments make huge differences. And now you’re too afraid to touch me to make those adjustments.”
“Adan—”
“I’m regressing. Every day, I’m getting worse instead of better. And for what? Because you kissed me back and now you feel guilty about it?”
