Chapter 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…
I read it once quickly, my chest getting tighter with each paragraph. Then again, slower, forcing myself to absorb every word. By the third read, my throat was so tight, it hurt to swallow.
The childhood stuff hit hard. A six-year-old just wanting to play hockey like any other kid, but unable to because of who his parents were. The loneliness of being special. Never being allowed to fail.
But it was the Alexandra section that really got me. She’d called him bland, desperate, a golden retriever who thought he was a person. Jesus. No wonder he’d wanted one relationship where someone didn’t know. She’d used his trust against him, causing irreparable harm.
And then the part about me. About us.
The terrible jokes you made when you were nervous…
I love that you saw me at my worst—sick, frustrated, failing at basic furniture assembly—and still wanted to be around me.
I love you.
The words blurred as I read them. He loved me. Not past tense, not thought I loved. Present tense. Current. Real.
He loved me. That same big word my father had used, except now it didn’t feel so big anymore. It felt… right.
The anger I’d been carrying didn’t disappear, but it shifted. I was still hurt about the lies, still pissed that he’d made choices for me. But underneath the letter’s formal language was real pain, real fear, real love.
Fuck.
I couldn’t sit here. Couldn’t process this alone in my room like some dramatic movie scene. I needed to move, to act, to do something with all the emotions fighting for space in my chest.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing outside Nils’s apartment door. I’d driven here on autopilot, wearing my base layers I’d had under my gear because I hadn’t even gone back to change. My hair was probably a mess, I definitely needed a shower, and I had no idea what I was going to say.
But I was here, because I knew no other way. Clearly, I wasn’t gonna find an answer brooding by myself because if that were the case, I would’ve had one already. No, I needed to see him. Talk to him. Look him in the eye and say what I had to say. Whatever that was.
I knocked—hammered, really—on his door. “Nils, open up. I know you’re home.”
Footsteps, quick and urgent. The door opened to reveal Nils looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was disheveled, he was wearing sweatpants and an old Rideau University T-shirt, and his eyes widened when he saw me. “Adan?”
“Can I come in?”
He stepped aside immediately. “Of course.”
His apartment looked the same but felt different. The IKEA furniture we’d built together seemed to mock me with its normalcy. How had I spent so much time here and never realized I was sitting on a couch with actual royalty?
“You read it,” he said. Not a question.
“Yeah, I read it.” I turned to face him, the letter crumpled in my fist from how tightly I’d been holding it.
The quiet hope in his eyes was killing me.
I took a breath. “I get it. I get why you lied. That Alexandra chick really did a number on you.”
“That’s not an excuse—”
“No, it’s not. But it’s a reason. And the stuff about your childhood, about never being allowed to be normal… I can’t imagine that. My whole life, I’ve been fighting to be special. You’ve been fighting to be ordinary.”
“Does that mean—”
“It means I understand. It doesn’t mean we’re okay.” I started pacing, needing to move while I sorted through everything I needed to say. “Because we have bigger problems than trust right now.”
“What do you mean?”
I spun to face him. “I told my dad about us.”
Nils paled, swallowing thickly. “I imagine he’s furious with me.”
I couldn’t hold back the laugh-snort. “Yeah, but mostly for hurting me. He said he reserved the right to kick your ass. I told him you were a center at Rideau and that he’d probably lose, but that didn’t seem to deter him.”
Nils cringed. “He has every right to.”
“So you’d let him win? Hypothetically?”
Nils only hesitated for a moment. “No, but I’d allow him a graceful loss.”
I snorted. “That’s good enough for me.” Then I sobered again. “But his reaction to you being my coach made me realize that’s a bigger problem than I had thought initially, and now that I know you’re a prince, even more so.”
His shoulders dipped. “Yes, I know. If anyone finds out about us, about any of this, I’d lose my job and it could have consequences for you as well.”
That was exactly the conclusion I had come to as well. “If this story breaks, it’s not just ‘coach dates player.’ It’s ‘Secret Swedish Prince in Inappropriate Relationship with Student.’ That’s international news, Nils. That’s the end of both our careers.”
He sank onto the couch, head in his hands. “I know. God, I know. I’ve been thinking about nothing else.”
“Have you thought about what happens when Coach Brennan finds out you’ve been lying to him too? Not just about us, but about who you are?”
“Every day.”
“And?”
“And I don’t have answers. I’m trapped between lies I can’t undo and truths I can’t tell.”
I stood opposite him, maintaining distance even though every instinct wanted to close the gap. “Your letter said you love me.”
His head snapped up. “I do.”
“I…” The words stuck in my throat. “That’s a big word.”
The ghost of a smile played on his lips. “It’s a big feeling.”
“I don’t know if I—”
“I’m not expecting you to say it back.”
Nils interrupting me was so rare that I blinked. “Well, that’s good, because I won’t. Not now. I have too many feelings right now to trust myself to label them, and I don’t want to say something as important as that and not mean it.”
His eyes softened. “I understand.”
I finally sat down as well, that endless restless energy in my body seeping out. “So what do we do?”
He slowly nodded. “I will talk to Coach Brennan. He deserves to know the truth about my identity. As long as he knows, that part should be covered.”
He was right. That did solve one problem, but not the biggest one. “And what about us?”
Nils’s eyes were practically begging. “Is there still an ‘us’?”
And looking at him, seeing the pain and the hope and yes, the love, in those gorgeous blue eyes, the answer that had eluded me for days came. “Yes. I want there to be. But not at the cost of my chances of making it to the NHL.”
“I wouldn’t even allow it. Your dreams come first, Adan. They always will.”
“So where does that leave us?”
He was quiet for a long time, and when he spoke again, his voice was stuffed with emotions.
“It’s November, which means it’s seven more months till the end of my contract.
Seven months for us to work together to get you to the NHL.
Seven months where we have to focus on the end goal and let nothing jeopardize that. ”
I knew where he was going with this. “Seven months.” My voice was hollow. “You want us to pretend we don’t feel what we feel for seven months?”
“I want us to protect ourselves. Both of us. Your future in hockey, my job and reputation.”
“And you think we can do that? Just turn it off?” I thought about practice this morning, how aware I’d been of every movement he made, how his hand correcting my form had sent electricity through me despite my anger.
Nils gently shook his head. “But we have to try. Because the alternative is risking everything, and that’s unacceptable.”
He was right. I hated everything about this, but he was right. “At least it’ll give me some time to cool off,” I said in a lame attempt at humor.
He laughed obediently, but in his eyes, I saw the pain I felt reflected. It didn’t make it easier, but it did make the ache a little less sharp. “So professional contact only,” I said softly. “No coming over to your house anymore.”
“No. And no sitting with me on the bus.”
Fuck, this was gonna suck. “What if… What if I don’t make it to the NHL this year? I’ll have one more year of college left.”
“I won’t renew my contract,” he said without a second of hesitation. “I’ll coach you on a personal basis if needed, but I won’t sign on for another year. I can’t.”
His voice broke a little at the end, proving how much this was affecting him.
“Okay,” I said, but it came out a whisper.
We both rose. One look at him and I was in his arms, hugging him as tightly as if I never wanted to let him go… which wasn’t far from the truth. Our cheeks were pressed together, and I squeezed my eyes shut, not even surprised when they grew moist.
“These seven months will feel like forever,” I whispered.
“They will.” He let go and finally, I did too. He cupped both my cheeks in his hands and met my eyes before pressing the softest of kisses on my lips. “I need you to know—what I wrote in that letter, about loving you? That won’t change. Not in seven months, not in seven years.”
My throat tight, I couldn’t respond. Instead, I left, closing the door on him and everything I wanted but couldn’t have.