Chapter 7
ADAN
The team meeting Monday morning started like any other with twenty guys sprawled across the locker room benches while Coach Brennan stood in front with his clipboard and that expression that meant business.
“Alright, boys,” he said, his voice carrying the authority that could silence a room full of hockey players in seconds. “Community service day is this Saturday. Non-negotiable, mandatory, and it counts toward your eligibility requirements.”
A few groans echoed around the room, but most of us had been expecting this. Millard College required all athletic teams to do one day of community service, and hockey was no exception.
“I’ve got the sign-up sheet here with different projects around the city,” Coach continued. “Food bank, elementary school reading program, habitat restoration, youth center maintenance work. Pick something that speaks to you, but remember that you’re representing this program and this college.”
The clipboard started making its way around the room, guys claiming spots at various volunteer locations.
When it got to me, I scanned the options quickly.
Most of my teammates were going for the easy stuff: reading to kids, sorting donations at the food bank, basic manual labor that didn’t require much thought.
But one entry caught my attention: handyman work at the Buffalo Queer Youth Center. They’d listed painting, minor repairs, and general maintenance, all the kind of practical work I enjoyed. Plus it was helping kids who probably needed it more than most. I signed my name next to that project.
“Good choices, everyone,” Brennan said when the clipboard made its way back to him. “You’ll be working in pairs, and I’ll match you up based on your selections.”
He started reading off the pairings, and I half-listened while mentally preparing for a day of manual labor with whatever teammate had also chosen the youth center project.
“Rivera, you’ll be with Coach Anders,” Brennan announced. “Queer Youth Center maintenance.”
I looked up, surprised. I hadn’t seen Nils’s name on the sign-up sheet, and I was pretty sure none of my teammates had picked the same project.
“You can’t go by yourself and no one else signed up, so a staff member has to accompany you,” Brennan explained, catching my confused expression.
Nils was standing near the back of the room, looking apologetic about the arbitrary assignment. But when our eyes met, he nodded in a way that suggested he was okay with the pairing.
I was more than okay with it. The prospect of spending a full day working alongside Nils, away from the formal structure of practice and training, made something warm spread through my chest. We’d been building this easy friendship over the past few weeks, and the idea of having uninterrupted time to hang out and talk sounded great.
“Any questions?” Brennan asked.
Webb raised his hand. “What time do we need to be there?”
“Eight a.m. sharp. You’re representing Millard hockey, so show up on time, work hard, and make us proud. Dismissed.”
As the team dispersed, Nils approached my area of the locker room. “I hope you don’t mind the company. I didn’t know Coach Brennan would assign me to you.”
“Why would I mind? We work well together.”
“I thought you might be sick and tired of me since we spend so much time together during the week.”
I’d better not tell him that I was happy about it, or I’d truly shock his socks off. “It’s fine. Coach is right that I can’t go by myself… even though we both know you won’t be much help.”
He grinned with that wide open smile he so rarely displayed. Made me proud I’d coaxed that out of him.
“What made you choose the youth center?” he asked.
I thought about it as I packed up my gear. “It seemed like something useful. I’m decent with tools, and it’s probably not a place that attracts a lot of volunteers.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“Don’t make it sound like I’m some kind of saint. I figured painting walls would be more interesting than reading picture books to six-year-olds.”
“Still, it says good things about your character.”
“We’ll see if you still think that after you’ve spent eight hours listening to me bitch and moan about volunteering all day on my day off.”
Nils quirked an eyebrow. “It’s my day off too.”
Point taken.
* * *
Saturday morning came with the kind of crisp October air that made Buffalo feel like a place people might voluntarily choose to live.
I met Nils in the parking lot outside the youth center, a converted house in a neighborhood that had seen better days but still maintained a sense of community pride.
The building was smaller than I’d expected, painted a cheerful yellow that couldn’t quite hide the fact that it needed significant maintenance. The front steps were slightly uneven, the porch railing had a few loose boards, and paint peeled around some of the window frames.
A woman in her forties opened the front door before we could knock, her face lighting up when she saw us. “You must be the volunteers from Millard College. I’m Sarah Chen, the center director.”
“Nils Anders, assistant coach,” Nils said, shaking her hand. “And this is Adan Rivera, our team’s top scorer.”
His obvious pride flashed warmth through me. Also, when had I started thinking of him as Nils rather than Coach Anders? Somehow, something had shifted in my brain, but I couldn’t pinpoint why or when. As long as I didn’t say it out loud, it would be fine, right?
“Thank you so much for coming. We really appreciate college students taking time to help out.” She gestured for us to follow her inside. “Let me show you what we’re hoping to accomplish today.”
The interior was warm and welcoming despite the obvious budget constraints.
Mismatched furniture filled a large common room where a few teenagers were hanging out, playing video games and messing with their phones.
Colorful posters covered the walls, some motivational, some educational, but all clearly chosen to make this feel like a safe space.
“The main project is painting the common room,” Sarah explained, leading us through the space. “We’ve got the supplies, but we haven’t had the manpower. And if you’re up for it, there’s a bathroom faucet that’s been dripping for months, plus some general repairs around the building.”
“We can handle all of that,” I said, already mentally cataloging what needed to be done.
“Wonderful. The paint and brushes are in the storage closet, and I’ll get you some drop cloths. Please let me know if you need anything.”
As Sarah headed off to gather supplies, I looked around the room more carefully.
There were probably a dozen kids scattered around, ranging from maybe fourteen to eighteen, all clearly comfortable in this space.
Some were doing homework, others were hanging out, but everyone seemed relaxed in a way that suggested this place was important to them.
“Nice space,” Nils said quietly.
“Yeah. You can tell they really care about making it welcoming.”
“That matters more than fancy furniture or new paint.”
We spent the next hour moving furniture and laying down drop cloths, falling into the same easy teamwork that had made the IKEA assembly so successful.
“You’ve never done this before,” I observed as he clumsily put tape around the window trim.
“Am I doing it wrong?” he asked.
“Nah, just slow,” I teased him.
Was that a blush staining his cheeks? Okay, that was adorable.
“I never had much opportunity to do these kinds of things.”
“That’s okay. Trust me, it’s not rocket science, and practice makes perfect.” I dipped my brush in the paint, a warm sage green that would make the room feel more spacious. “What does your dad do?”
Nils was quiet for a moment, focused on his taping with fierce concentration. “He works in… government administration. Very bureaucratic, lots of red tape and paperwork.”
“Sounds boring.”
“It can be. But he’s good at it, and he genuinely cares about serving the public.”
We started painting, working our way around the room in comfortable rhythm. The work was meditative in a way, requiring enough attention to keep your hands busy while leaving your mind free to wander. And apparently, my mind wanted to wander toward getting to know Nils better.
“How did you become interested in astronomy?”
He smiled. “When I was nine, we did a school trip to a planetarium. That was it. I was hooked. For my tenth birthday, I got my first telescope.”
For my tenth birthday, I’d gotten what my parents had given me for the previous two ones as well: new skates.
They were too expensive not to combine with a birthday, and I had never minded.
Still, it had to be nice to have that kind of money.
It probably wasn’t polite to ask, but fuck that. “Your family… They have money, right?”
He grew very still, slowly turning to meet my eyes. “Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “Just curious. I don’t know anyone who’s gotten a telescope for their birthday.”
He stiffened as he looked away, his cheeks staining. “I didn’t realize… My apologies. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“It wasn’t. I asked a question and you answered it. You weren’t bragging. But it sounds like you’re used to these kind of things, is all. That’s not criticism but a statement of fact.”
He blew out a long breath. “I suppose I am, yes. My family does have money. Quite a bit, in fact.”
“Yeah, I figured. Your skates… Tank said they’re hella expensive.”
Another long sigh. “They are, yes. I didn’t… I didn’t even think of that.”
“It’s okay.”
He finally met my eyes again. “You don’t think it’s bragging.”
“It would’ve been if you’d drawn attention to them. But you didn’t. You’re wearing them, using them. That’s not bragging.” Then something occurred to me. “Do they make you better? As a player, I mean? Can you tell the difference?”