Monday morning came too fast and not fast enough. I woke up at the usual time, only to realize there was no private practice, so I’d stayed in bed, unable to fall asleep again. I arrived at the arena exactly on time for team practice, not a minute early like usual. My game face was firmly in place—I’d played through injuries, family stress, academic pressure. I could play through this. At least it wasn’t private coaching where he and I would be alone.
Nils was already on the ice when I entered, and the sight of him made my throat tight. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes visible even from across the rink. Good. At least I wasn’t the only one suffering.
Warm-ups proceeded normally. I fell into the familiar rhythm of skating, trying to ignore Nils’s presence behind the bench. But when we moved into drills that required coach interaction, he approached me with visible caution.
“Adan,” he said quietly, professionally. “Your left shoulder is dropping when you release. It’s affecting your accuracy.”
He reached to correct my position, and I saw him hesitate, waiting to see if I’d pull away. I forced myself to stay still, to let him adjust my stance like he’d done a hundred times before. But his familiar touch burned now, knowing these were the same hands that had signed royal documents, shaken hands with presidents and prime ministers.
“Better,” he said, stepping back quickly. “Try again.”
The correction was perfect. Of course it was. Prince or not, he was still an excellent coach. My body responded to his instruction even as my heart was breaking, muscle memory taking over where emotion wanted to interfere.
I caught his expression when he thought I wasn’t looking. Beyond tired: devastated. Like I’d been the one to betray him instead of the other way around. Part of me was viciously glad to see him suffering. Another part wanted to comfort him, and I hated myself for that weakness.
“You two okay?” Webb asked during a water break. “Seems tense over there.”
“Yeah, just tired,” I lied. “Long weekend.”
“I hear that. The game against HIT is coming up fast. Need everyone at a hundred percent.”
HIT stood for the Harrington Institute of Technology, our biggest rival. We hadn’t beaten them in six years, but for the first time, we actually stood a chance. If the team showed up the way they had over the last few weeks, we could win.
And this game, we’d play at home, with my parents in the audience. Another chance for scouts to watch me play. Hockey would go on, with or without my personal life in shambles.
After practice, I showered quickly and left before anyone could corner me for conversation. Instead of heading to my International Business class, I found myself driving toward my parents’ house. I needed advice from someone who knew me better than anyone, someone who’d always been straight with me. And my dad was off on Mondays, preferring the weekend shift in the plant, which paid better.
Me
Can I come by? Need to talk.
Dad
Of course. Everything okay?
Me
I need your advice
The drive to my childhood home took twenty minutes, every familiar street a reminder of simpler times. When hockey was just a dream and princes only existed in fairy tales.
Dad was in the garage workshop when I pulled up, tinkering with a lawnmower that wouldn’t get used till late spring. He looked up when I entered, taking in my expression with the same perception that had always made it impossible to lie to him.
“Puck,” he said, using the nickname for me he’d give me when I was six. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Most important things are. Grab that stool. Talk to me.”
I sat on the same stool I’d used as a kid, watching him work on endless projects. The familiar smell of motor oil and sawdust made my throat tight with emotion I hadn’t expected. But that wasn’t why it took me a while to find my voice. “I’ve been seeing someone. A man.”
Dad’s hands paused for a moment on the mower engine. “Okay. Is he treating you well?”
“Yes. No. It’s complicated.” I took a breath. “It’s Coach Anders. Nils.”
Now Dad did stop working entirely, turning to face me with concern. “Your coach? Adan, that’s not appropriate. The power dynamic?—”
“It’s not like that. He never pressured me. If anything, he tried to keep distance. I’m the one who pushed for more.”
