5. Nate

FIVE

For days,Carter's words followed me. Everything I did, I wondered if it meant anything. I questioned all my actions against the idea of purpose. In theory, the kid — the young man! I couldn't get advice from him on how to live my life and still call him a kid — the young man should have been right.

Collecting stamps crossed my mind, and I wondered if that would give me any less purpose than coaching. I wondered if I could find something to keep me busy without it perpetually poking me where it hurt the most.

The ugly truth was that watching these young men in the rink filled me with envy. I hated being that person, but I couldn't rid myself of that horrible, oily feeling. They got to do something I couldn't. And it was especially pronounced on the night of our first friendly game against Blizzard Breakers, the rival team in the city. Their ranks were filled with talented players, and their captain's energy matched my nephew's. In some ways, young Grayson Reed was a more appropriate fit for the captaincy than Beckett. He had a way of motivating his team simply by his presence. Of course, I didn't know the internal mechanics among them the way I knew how the Arctic Titans functioned. Beckett kept a clean house. It would be hard to pick one over the other if I were to choose, as both captains had unique qualities and weaknesses.

I observed the game with tension coiling my guts. My feet were on fire for a good chunk of the second period while it seemed like my guys were about to get their asses kicked. The battle on the ice was vicious, and the sneaky tactics my boys used were becoming predictable.

When they finally started lagging by a couple of points, the second period ended, and I gathered my guys in the locker room for a quick meeting. The break would last longer while they smoothed the ravaged ice.

"Reed sees through you," I pointed out, looking at Beckett but speaking to everyone. "It's time to switch things up. Prince, you're in. Partridge, do you have an ace up that sleeve? Wipe that smirk off your face."

"I'm not worried about Reed, Coach," Beckett said. "We always let them get soft in the second period."

I demanded to know what he meant, although we had gone over something similar just a week earlier in drills. Beckett laid out his plan, but I disagreed with a couple of points that depended more on luck than skill. After a few minutes, I approved my nephew's ideas, which was an odd thing for a coach to do, but the Titans had always been a more democratic team than I was used to. It seemed like Beckett had more of the makings of a true captain than I had given him credit for.

Carter didn't protest having to play. The simple truth was that he was a secret weapon in our defenses. Even if his performance in practice was deteriorating over the last couple of weeks, I gambled on him. And my instincts were right. When the final period kicked off, Beckett's front line charged mercilessly, engaging the Breakers in key positions, but the star of the period was Carter. When pushed hard, he shone like fireworks and shooting stars. He was especially good when paired with Asher Sullivan, even if he believed his roommate was a better fit. The two boys snatched the puck several times from the opponents, not even letting the Breakers get to Sawyer Price.

With the two teams being deadlocked until the last few minutes, I discovered just how invested I was in the game. My boys were like Roman soldiers on a battlefield. For all the messing around in drills, they were disciplined and aligned. As they mounted the final push, my heart thundered, and my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands, fists tightening until my knuckles were white.

As much as this game was a test of my team's abilities, it was a lesson for my own coaching skills. I had noticed the rival coaches dictating the flow of the game, which did the opposite of what they wanted. Keeping a tight leash was sometimes inferior to letting the team find their rhythm. At times, my boys were like very skilled jazz players.

And when they scored the two points in close succession that would earn them an undisputed victory, the rink was in uproar of celebrations.

Taking his helmet off, Carter Prince was grinning like this was the greatest thing he'd done in his life, and he had a good reason for it. Seeing how bright his face was with pride, I felt my heart leaping uncontrollably. You did it, I thought. I knew you could.

For all that talk of losing the love for the sport, his body knew what to do in the thick of it. And when he skated across the rink to leave the ice, he seemed a foot taller with the sheer joy lifting him off the ground.

"Well done, Prince," I said with unfiltered pride in my voice. "You were incredible tonight." I put a hand on his shoulder but regretted it immediately. There was no way to jerk my arm back without being suspicious, but touching him sparked far too many feelings that were better left locked up at the bottom of my rotten soul. He's a student. He's your friend's son. He's your Grindr stalker with big eyes full of wonder and awe. "Looks like there's still some passion left in you."

"Thanks, Coach," Carter said in a soft voice pitched for my ears. "That means a lot coming from you." And he hit me with that look of admiration that I didn't deserve.

Whether he knew it or not, that time when he reminded me of being named the sexiest man alive by some variety magazine rocked me to my core. For days, the words had stuck with me. Not only did he know the year off the top of his head, but he knew I'd been given that title a total of four times.

I was starting to be a little concerned. As if it wasn't bad enough that Carter's proximity often made me feel hot and uncomfortable in my own skin, the things he sometimes said sparked wild interpretations in my mind. Why would he know this about me? Why would that piece of information be so ready to use? Hell, I hardly remembered which year that had been, but Carter knew.

He knew too many things about me, and some were better left alone. Not that anyone cared anymore. The few photographers that had been on my tail recently hadn't expressed that much interest in me coaching a college team, so their editors sidelined the scoops in favor of whatever celebrity gossip was rocking the world at the moment. My name was mentioned a few times in short, uninteresting articles, but nobody was profiling me anymore.

"Coach," the familiar voice called from behind me. I pulled my hand away from Carter's shoulder now that I had a good excuse. As I turned, Beckett's smile broadened. "The boys are having drinks at the ThirstyThinker. Are you joining us?"

Carter's ears perked so abruptly that my gaze darted to his bright expression. He was hopeful; no mistakes there. "Join us," he said, dragging one side of his lips into a crooked, daring smile.

"Ah, I don't know, boys," I said, but Caden Jones appeared next to Beckett and added his plea to theirs. "Fine. Alright. One drink." As if a bunch of college students really wanted to hang out with a boring old guy like me, but I appreciated their politeness in asking. And I had no way to get out of it.

The Titans left the arena and headed into their locker room to shower and change. I met with the assistant coaches, who chose to skip the drinks in favor of returning to their families. It must have been nice. All three had had someone to come home to.

For most of my life, I didn't care about such things. Living on the go, traveling across the country, and never seeing the place I'd designated as my home had been just fine. Now, though, I wondered if I had missed out on something good.

If you could stop being jealous of everyone around you, that'd be a good start, a small voice told me.

I squared my shoulders and waited until I heard the Titans pass outside my office. For a moment, I entertained the idea of sneaking out and heading to my apartment instead of joining them. I didn't have the time to develop the escape plan, however, as Carter Prince knocked and entered in a busy fashion. "Are you coming?"

"Of course," I said and cleared my throat. I grabbed some papers on my desk. "I just need to tidy up."

Carter crossed his arms on his chest. Once again, he wore a sleeveless T-shirt and denim knee-length shorts, all of which revealed a bit too much flesh to my liking. If he didn't flaunt his sculpted arms, I wouldn't have to avoid looking at him. "Right," he said with plain suspicion coloring his voice.

"I wasn't gonna bail on you," I protested. "I said I would come."

"We'll go together," he said lightly.

I pressed my lips into a tight line, opened the drawer, and shoved the random papers inside. "I don't need a chaperone, Carter." I shut the drawer and locked it as if there were some important documents hiding in there. Tucking the key inside my pocket, I shut down the computer with my other hand and got up.

Carter shrugged. "The guys already left. Don't make me walk alone."

I shook my head slightly but didn't complain. "Let's go, then."

As we walked out, the evening air washed over us. It was still warm, but it carried the air of coming fall. Carter briefly ran his hands over his biceps.

"Are you cold?" I asked. "Maybe you should go home instead."

"And miss the party? Nah, I'm good." Even so, I quickened my pace to get to the Thinker sooner.

I had been there once, almost a year ago, after Beckett had kissed Caden on live television and in front of the crowded rink. Seeing it had felt like getting punched in my stomach. Oh, I was proud of my nephew for his courage, but the moment still shamed me. I hadn't had the balls to do anything like it. Two twenty-year-olds had so casually reached out and made their dreams come true when I never could. Despite all the influence my name carried, I'd always been too cowardly to take what I wanted.

"What are you thinking about?" Carter asked softly.

"The weather."

He chuckled, clearly seeing that I lied. "Wanna talk about it?"

I shot him a warning look, but he only bumped into me like we were playing. I scrambled to find a distraction. "I knew you'd be great if I pushed you out there."

"Please." He waved his hand dismissively. "I wasn't that great. Actually, I was terrified of fucking up." He glanced at me as if I would scold him for foul language. There was still some of that kid left in him, which was a sobering thought. Unintentionally, I veered a little to the left, making more room between our bodies. Carter continued after a heartbeat. "Asher did great. And Beckett."

"You should be proud of yourself, Carter," I said. "You're way more talented than you admit."

He said nothing, but his gaze was on my face for so long that I looked away. After a long silence, he said softly, "You showed us some real coaching tonight, Nate."

I rolled my shoulders in a hesitant shrug. "Eh, I was having fun doing this."

"Maybe it's not all that bad," he suggested. "Maybe you do have a purpose in doing this."

"And maybe you do, too," I said.

He winced. It wasn't subtle, but it wasn't forced, either. When he next spoke, his voice was tighter. "I don't think I have a choice."

That made me halt, and Carter stopped just as abruptly, turning to me but looking down. "Do you dislike it so much, Carter?"

"I keep telling you," he whispered. "It doesn't matter what I think."

By instinct, I grabbed his upper arms, feeling the heat of his bare flesh on my hands and my own guts twisting with feelings I wasn't supposed to have. "Carter, nobody can force you to do anything."

"Think again," he said, lifting his head defiantly. He took a small step toward me, and my body froze. I didn't move back now when he was despairing, but my muscles screamed for me to create some buffer between us, some zone of safety. "Would you believe me if I told you I had no control over my life? It's a little like getting injured and your life changing around it. It's just that my injury isn't physical. It's my dad's plans for me."

It was my turn to wince. The phantom pain slashed through my collarbone. "What are you saying, Carter?" I let my hands drop from his arms now that I felt like an appropriate amount of time had passed.

"I'm saying that everything I do was planned by someone else." His tone was flat and tired. "College, hockey, gym, and practice. I don't have a say in where my life is headed."

"These are good things, Carter," I said, then immediately regretted it.

"You sound exactly like him," Carter said sulkily. "They're good for you, maybe. But nobody's ever asked me if I wanted this, Nate. You never asked me, either."

I licked my lips to buy myself time. My heart was beating faster, and my palms were growing slick with sweat. "I assumed…" My voice trailed.

Carter closed his eyes. "That's right. Everyone assumes."

"Carter, I didn't realize how strongly you felt this," I said carefully.

Carter bit his lower lip and lowered his head, shooting me a look from under his eyebrows. His brow creased as his eyebrows dragged up, and he shook his head. "The thing is, I can't tell that to anyone. Dad wouldn't listen. The other guys are shaping their lives around hockey. Fuck, man, you're my coach, and you're still the only person I can admit this to." He shuddered. "I feel like a fucking traitor."

Part of me wanted to hug him and tell him he wasn't a traitor, but I couldn't trust myself to do that. I couldn't trust myself to be near him. He was already digging into my private life — by accident or design — too deep. If I hugged him, he'd either misinterpret it or worse. What if I couldn't control myself at all?

"There has to be a way," I said. "Look, you convinced me. It wasn't that hard. Dana will listen."

Carter shot me a skeptical look. "Dana will not listen, Nate. You two drifted apart for too long. You don't know him like I do. Me being here is all he ever talks about. He doesn't call me to ask how I'm doing. God forbid we mention my piano. All he wants to know is if you think I'm good enough."

"Piano?" I thought Carter played guitar.

He waved his hand like it didn't matter. Blinking fast, he turned his head away from me. "I'm sorry, Coach. I didn't mean to drop all this on you."

"It's alright," I promised him. "I'm glad you told me."

He didn't turn to leave yet. Instead, he looked at me again, his eyes shining a little brighter. Tears, I realized. He wasn't all light and happy. Those were unspilled tears catching the lights from the deserted street. "A bit of honesty can't hurt anyone," he said, his tone too careful not to have a double meaning.

"Some truths are more dangerous than others," I said in a tighter voice.

"Dangerous?" he scoffed. "I can't see how."

"Carter…"

"I get it," he cut me off. "A kid like me has no reason to know those things, but here we are."

"What are you trying to say, Prince?" I asked, my voice dropping near to a growl.

He shared a sad smile. "You were Uncle Nate when I was small. I'll never forget how cool you were. Do you believe me when I say that I used to think you visited us because you wanted to hang out with me?" He laughed out loud, but there was a heavy note of sorrow in there. "You have a way of making people feel special. And you know what? When I came out to Dad, he only worried that it would hurt my chances to make it as a pro. You convinced him those things didn't matter anymore."

I clenched my teeth. Yeah, I'd talked some sense into Dana. The very same sense I had lacked all my life. If I had to carry the burden that the patriarchal, heteronormative society had placed on my chest, there was no reason the next generation should, too. "What does that have to do with anything?" I asked coldly.

"Did you ever think you should follow your own advice?" Carter asked.

I stepped away from him, my back pressing against the wall of some student facility near the center of Northwood's campus. The Thinker was only around the corner, and most people there knew me as their coach or the famed hockey royalty. "We shouldn't be talking about this, Carter."

"Why not?" he asked. "We're sharing secrets."

"Are you threatening me, kid?" I demanded, my temper flaring before I could rein it in.

"What?" He was horrified, eyebrows rising all the way up, brow creasing, mouth dropping open. "Why would I…?"

"I don't know. Why would you?" I asked, anger getting the better of me. "Whatever you think you know…"

"I think?" It was his turn to be angry, and I had to admit he had the right. He knew the truth. Running from that wasn't an option. "Don't be ridiculous. I only meant to offer you the same courtesy. Now you know what haunts me. And I know what you're hiding. I thought sharing a secret might help lift some of the burden."

"It doesn't," I said. "And I would rather if we never mentioned this again."

"Really?" Carter frowned. "And if I tell you I feel a million times better now that I shared my problems with you?"

"It's not the same thing," I said, softening my voice at last. "You're young. Your life is still ahead of you. You should make your choices and not let anyone dictate what you do. This…this is different. I'm too old to change the way I live." This was as close as I would go in discussing it.

Something about Carter made me want to open up. There was a softness to him and the sort of empathy I hadn't often encountered in my life. But they were deceptive, even if he didn't want them to be.

My life was kept together by duct tape and prayers. I couldn't risk losing what little of my reputation was left by suddenly coming out of the closet. The closet was just fine. I'd spent my best years in there.

"Nate, I just want to help," Carter said, stepping toward me.

I looked deep into his light brown eyes and wondered what to do with him. He knew everything. He was right about most things. In the end, it was my stubbornness that stopped me. "I've been living a double life since I can remember, Carter," I whispered. "I don't mean to change that now."

As he took another step toward me, I had nowhere else to go. We were inches apart, and Carter was looking up, his gaze locked on mine, his eyes shining bright, his lips slick after he'd licked them. "We've got more in common than you want to admit." After a moment, he looked down. "And I have more secrets than I could tell you in one night."

My heart clenched hard. He was dancing around something devastatingly dangerous. "Carter, we should…"

In one heartbeat, Carter Prince rose to the tips of his toes, his lips slamming against mine, his hands pressing the sides of my rib cage. In an instant, I was aware of more things than I thought my brain could process. The alarms went off in my head, and I knew I had to stop this. I had to. He was nineteen and in my care. But I could also tell that he wore a scent of amber and sandalwood. I could tell he'd chewed a minty gum recently. I knew his body was warmer than it had been before, and I knew the distinct scent of his sweat, however faint it was. I was aware of my heartbeat speeding and a choked sound dragging out of me.

It lasted less than one whole second, I was sure, but it carried enough information to seem like it had gone on for a year.

Sweet and tender and so close to me, this young man was pressing his lips against mine, parting them in some foolish hope that this would turn into a proper kiss.

I found the control over my limbs somewhere deep in my mind, grabbed Carter's wrists, and yanked his hands off my torso. Instantly, I lifted my head out of his reach and looked at the star-specked sky. Something burned my eyes like they were sprayed with acid. "Don't," I growled.

A whimper tore free from his throat as he leaped back from me. "I'm so sorry," he blurted. "Fuck, Nate, I'm so sorry."

I kept my gaze on the sky. "It's fine."

"It's not. Oh my God. I fucked up. I fucked up so hard." He was having a panic attack, and I was incapable of meeting his eyes.

It hurt too much. The thing he'd made me do felt like ripping my heart out of my chest and throwing it against the paved street. Finally, I forced myself to look at him. "Nothing happened," I told him decisively. "Listen to me, Carter. Nothing happened. You did nothing."

Tears brimmed in his eyes, but he pursed his lips and frowned, meeting my gaze squarely. He nodded once fiercely and opened his mouth.

I cut him off. "Everything is fine," I said. "We don't have to talk about it."

He nodded once again. I realized he was stiff to keep the shaking at bay. His hands trembled, and he balled them into fists. "I should…probably…go home."

"If that is what you want," I said, relieved.

He nodded hastily, taking another step back.

Finally, I allowed myself to look around, relieved that nobody was in sight. "Carter," I said, my voice carrying a command for him to wait.

He looked at my feet and no higher, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Don't think about it too much," I advised him carefully. "We don't have a problem."

"Sure," he whispered. "Thanks." Before I could say anything, he turned away from me and hurried down the street.

I stood still for a while longer, then dragged myself after him until I reached the intersection that led me to the garage and my car. I drove home while my ears rang like mad and my heart pounded like I was about to collapse and die. Part of me wished it was the case.

It wasn't until I was inside my apartment, sitting with a plain whiskey on ice in my hand, that I allowed myself to think about it. The blazing heat of his lips on mine, the slight wetness of his saliva, and the whimper he produced when I pushed him away. They were more than enough to set fire to my stomach and my groin. These things, combined with the air of lightness he carried wherever he went and those sweet smiles he had for everyone, tugged at my heart.

What did I do to lead him on?I wondered. Walking back through the evening, I examined all my words carefully, as far as I could remember them, and I couldn't find anything that had encouraged him. But you never discouraged him, either, that critical voice whispered to me.

I didn't know, I replied to myself harshly. I would have if I'd known.

But I wondered how true that was. In the stillness and deathly silence of my apartment, I allowed myself to take a deep breath of air and hold it, thinking through all the interactions I had shared with Carter.

No. I had never allowed myself to admit that Carter was attractive. I had never allowed myself to look at him. The entire idea was too terrible to consider. He was a student at the place I worked. And Dana…

Fear gripped me out of nowhere. All those things were bad enough, but the worst of all was knowing I was far too old for him. But to admit that fully and to be honest with myself, I also had to admit that a single kiss from him had made me feel more alive than I'd been since the start of my career when the world was a place full of opportunity, and I was a young man full of hope.

I had to admit that it was a delicious kiss so full of passion despite all the wrongness that had caused it. Despite all the sorrow that surrounded it.

Oh, Carter, I thought sadly, sipping my whiskey. If I were fifteen years younger…

I stopped that train of thought immediately. That wasn't leading me anywhere productive. I would only end up hurting more, and I would still have just as many choices laid out before me. Keep him away. That was all I could do.

And as I set my mind to it, it felt like I was slapping him across his face. It felt like I was stabbing us both in the heart.

My reasons were good enough to swear never to give him another idea like this, but that didn't make it any easier. Not when he was willing to risk everything for a doomed kiss. And not when it was the only good thing that had happened to me in years.