So if you could forgive me (and I know that’s a big “if”), if we could try again, I need you to know what that would mean. There would be some media scrutiny. I’m not expected to ever rule, so outside of Sweden, I’m fairly anonymous, but still. There would be protocols and expectations. Security concerns. Your life would become public in ways that aren’t fair and that you never asked for.
But you’d also have me. Just Nils, who exists alongside Prince Nils but isn’t consumed by him. The man who loves hockey and stars and your laugh. Who wants to make you dinner and argue about movies and watch you achieve every dream you’ve ever had.
I can’t promise a simple life. But I can promise that with me, you’d always have someone who sees you exactly as you are and loves every part of it.
If you’ll have him.
All my love,
Nils
I set down the pen and flexed my aching fingers. Five pages of truth in my own handwriting. Everything I should have said months ago, laid out in black and white.
Dawn was breaking over Buffalo, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. In an hour, I was supposed to meet Adan for training. Would he show up? Would he want this letter? Would it change anything if he read it?
I folded the pages carefully, slipped them into an envelope, wrote his name on it, and tucked it into the pocket of my jacket. Wednesday had arrived, whether I was ready or not. In one hour, I’d know if he was willing to show up, to work with me professionally even if nothing else. And sometime, somehow, I had to find the courage to give him this letter.
To finally, completely, show him who I really was.
Even if it was too late for it to matter.
22
ADAN
The envelope sat in my gear bag like a live grenade.
Practice had been torture. Both of us had been professional and the only good thing I could say about it was that we actually had made progress, that I had learned something. Even if it had required me turning off my feelings in a way that I hadn’t even known I was capable of.
But Nils had not avoided me, had not refrained from touching me—professionally, of course. When needed. It had still burned on my skin, even with all the layers of clothing in between.
After practice, he’d approached me with careful steps in the locker room, checking to make sure no one was around. “Adan, I wrote you something. You don’t have to read it, but?—”
“I’m not making any promises,” I’d said, taking the envelope before he could finish, my hands trembling. The look of desperate hope on his face had made my lungs squeeze painfully, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air for me to draw my next breath.
Now, sitting through International Business, I could feel its weight even though it was in my bag. I had opened it, had noticed he’d written five pages, and had put it away. Professor Marconi was droning on about global market integration, and I hadn’t heard a single word. My notebook page was blank except for where I’d written the date and then traced over it repeatedly until the ink bled through.
“Mr. Rivera?”
I looked up to find the entire class staring at me. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you could explain the primary challenges of entering emerging markets.”
Fuck.“Um, regulatory differences and cultural barriers?”
Professor Marconi looked unimpressed but moved on. I spent the rest of class forcing myself to take notes, to look engaged, to not think about whatever Nils had written that required five pages of explanation.
My second class wasn’t any better. Marketing Strategy should have been interesting—it was actually relevant to what athletes needed to understand—but all I could think about was that envelope. What could he possibly say that would make this okay? What words could undo months of lies?
Team practice was another lesson in denying my feelings, pretending everything was a-okay when nothing could be further from the truth. But apparently, we both played our roles well, interacting with the appropriate amount of normalcy, because no one commented on it. Tank shot me some looks, but nothing too obvious, and as always, I was grateful for his friendship.
By the time practice ended, I was ready to crawl out of my skin. Tank was heading out for dinner with a group, but I’d begged off. I needed to know what was in that letter, and then I needed to figure out what the hell to do about it.
I headed over to my dorm room, knowing Tank wouldn’t be back for at least another half-hour. My hand shook as I took the envelope out of my bag. My name was written on the front in careful script that was way too nice for a normal person. Of course even his handwriting was princely.
The five pages covered in the same precise writing. No crossed-out words, no messy corrections. Like he’d practiced it multiple times before getting it perfect.
Dear Adan…
