Chapter 27
ADAN
The locker room was pure chaos. Champagne sprayed everywhere: the real stuff this time, NCAA rules be damned. I clutched the Frozen Four trophy, my arms aching from holding it up for photos, but I couldn’t let go. We’d done it. National fucking champions.
“RIVERA!” Tank screamed in my ear for the hundredth time. “WE’RE NATIONAL CHAMPIONS!”
“I know!” I shouted back, laughing as Webb dumped another bottle over both our heads.
But even in the middle of the celebration, even with nineteen of my brothers going absolutely insane around me, my eyes kept finding the clock on the wall.
10:47 p.m. One hour and thirteen minutes until midnight.
One hour and thirteen minutes until I officially wasn’t a student anymore, wasn’t Nils’s player anymore, wasn’t bound by any rules except the ones we made ourselves.
Martinez grabbed the trophy from me, hoisting it over his head while the team chanted. I let myself get pulled into another group hug, another champagne shower, another round of celebration. But underneath it all, I was counting minutes like a kid waiting for Christmas morning.
The media scrum was torture. Reporters shoving microphones in my face, asking the same questions over and over.
“How does it feel to cap off your college career with a national championship?”
“Incredible. This team worked so hard all season. To finish like this is a dream come true.”
“You’re heading to Detroit on Monday. How do you balance celebrating this with preparing for the next level?”
“Tonight’s about this team, this accomplishment. I’ll worry about Monday later.”
Good answers. Safe answers. All while my eyes tracked the coaches being interviewed across the room.
Nils in his Millard polo, professional and composed while discussing our defensive strategy in the final period.
Our eyes met once across the chaos—just a second, but everything was in that look.
The pride, the want, the promise that this was almost over.
11:15 p.m.
My parents pushed through the crowd, my mom already crying before she reached me. “Mijo! You did it! Everything!”
“Mamá, you’re gonna make me cry too,” I said, pulling both of them into a hug.
“National champion,” my dad said, voice thick with emotion. “My son is a national champion.”
We posed for pictures: them with the trophy, me with the trophy, all of us with the trophy. My mom was full-on sobbing now, and even my dad was wiping his eyes when he thought no one was looking.
“Come home tonight,” my mom said, smoothing my champagne-soaked hair. “I’ll make your favorite. We can celebrate properly—”
“María,” my dad cut her off gently. He looked at me with understanding that made my chest tight. “I think Adan has somewhere else to be tonight.”
My mom looked confused for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Oh!” She cupped my face in her hands. “Be happy, mijo. You deserve everything.”
“Thanks, Mamá.”
They hugged me again, my dad whispering, “No more waiting. You’ve both waited long enough.”
11:38 p.m.
The celebration was finally winding down. Players headed out with family, and coaches were making their rounds with final congratulations. I was edging toward the exit when Coach Brennan intercepted me.
“Rivera. Come here.”
Before I could respond, he pulled me into a hug. Coach Brennan, who shook hands like they were business transactions and thought high fives were too emotional, was hugging me.
“Coach?”
“You did good, kid. On the ice and off.”
I pulled back, confused. “Thanks?”
“You kept your distance, respected the rules,” he continued, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You both put the team and your career first. That took character.”
My heart stopped. He could only refer to one thing. “Coach, you knew?”
“I’ve been coaching longer than you’ve been alive. I see things.” He clapped my shoulder. “Saw how you two looked at each other when no one else was watching, but I also saw it stopped there. Respected the hell out of both of you for it.”
“I… We…”
“Now go. You’ve waited long enough.”
He walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing there in shock. Coach Brennan knew. Had known all along.
11:48 p.m.
I drove through Buffalo’s streets like a man possessed. The radio was playing highlights from the game, replaying my game-winning goal in the second period, but I wasn’t listening. All I could think about was the countdown running in my head.
Eight minutes.
Seven.
Six.
I pulled up outside Nils’s building at 11:56 and sat in my car, watching the clock on the dashboard.
My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel it in my throat.
We’d counted on seven months, and it had been almost five.
Two months less than we had prepared ourselves for, so four more minutes couldn’t kill me.
But they might.
11:57.
11:58.
11:59.
At exactly midnight, I was out of the car and at his door, the trophy in my hands. I knocked once, twice, my whole body vibrating with anticipation.
The door opened and there he was. Sweatpants and the championship T-shirt, hair messed up like he’d been running his hands through it continuously, eyes wide and dark and fixed on me like I was everything. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“Is it—?”
“Midnight. I’m not your player anymore.”
The words were barely out before he yanked me inside, the door slamming behind us.
I sat the trophy down on the floor, and then his mouth crashed into mine, five months of want and frustration and love pouring into that first kiss.
I grabbed his face, his hair, anything I could reach, trying to get closer even though there was no space between us.
“Missed you so fucking much,” I gasped between kisses.
“Never again,” he said against my mouth. “Never keeping distance again.”
We stumbled toward his bedroom, hands everywhere. My championship shirt disappeared somewhere in the hallway. His T-shirt followed. By the time we hit his bedroom door, I was working on his sweatpants while he dragged mine down.
“Five months, Nils,” I said, finally getting it off. “Five fucking months.”
“I know. I counted every day.”
The rest of our clothes disappeared in a frantic rush. Then we were on his bed, skin against skin for the first time since November, and I thought I might die from how good it felt.
“Adan,” he breathed, hands running over my chest, my arms, my face like he was trying to memorize me by touch. “Let me… I need to taste you.”
“Fuck yes.”
He kissed his way down my body, taking his time even though I was practically vibrating with need. His mouth on my neck, my chest, the sensitive spot just below my ribs that made me gasp. By the time he reached my cock, I was already leaking, desperate for his touch.
“Please,” I said, not caring how needy I sounded. “Nils, please.”
He looked up at me, eyes dark with want. “I’ve thought about this every night. Dreamed about having you in my mouth.”
He licked a slow stripe up my shaft, base to tip, his eyes never leaving mine.
I shuddered and fisted my hands in the sheets, already on the edge.
Then he took me into his mouth, warm and wet around my aching cock.
I let out a guttural moan at the exquisite sensation, my fingers tangling in his hair.
Slowly, torturously, he worked his way down my shaft, taking me deeper.
His tongue swirled around the head, teasing the slit.
“Oh god,” I moaned, fighting the urge to thrust up into that wet heat. His mouth was heaven, soft and slick and perfect around me.
I threw my head back against the pillow, panting, as he began to bob up and down.
“Fuck, Nils, your mouth,” I groaned. He hummed around me and I saw stars, pleasure zinging up my spine. I’d had blow jobs before, but they’d never felt like this, like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, knowing that the fall down would be the trip of my life.
I’d never been with another man, and yet nothing about this felt strange or awkward. No, it felt as natural as breathing, as if I’d waited for this exact moment my whole life.
He pulled off for a moment, his lips glistening.
“You taste so good,” he murmured before diving back in.
This time, he took me all the way down until his nose was nestled in the curls at the base of my cock.
I cried out, hips jerking involuntarily.
He just relaxed his throat and took it, moaning like he’d never tasted anything better.
The sight of him, lips stretched around my cock, cheeks hollowed as he sucked, nearly undid me. He looked up and our eyes met, his dark with lust and something deeper, more profound.
Then he hummed around me, the vibrations making my toes curl. He brought a hand up to stroke what he couldn’t fit, working me root to tip. His other hand fondled my balls, rolling them gently. Pleasure radiated through me, building with each pull of his mouth.
“Nils, fuck, so good…” I panted. My thighs tensed as I got closer, pressure coiling tight in my core.
His hands moved to my hips as he picked up the pace, head bobbing faster. I was lost to the sensations, the slick slide of his lips, the filthy wet sounds filling the room. He took me deep again and swallowed around me. My back arched off the bed, a hoarse cry ripping from my throat.
He kept me on the precipice, alternating between deep, luxurious sucks and feather-light, teasing licks. My fingers tightened in his hair as I fought to hold on, to make this last. But it had been too long, and his mouth felt too divine.
“Fuck, Nils, I’m close,” I warned, my voice strained.
He just doubled his efforts, bobbing faster, taking me impossibly deep into the wet silk of his throat. His finger traced behind my balls to my entrance and pressed gently, not breaching me but adding delicious pressure. That extra stimulation pushed me over the edge.