Page 4 of Coaching Prince Charming

“And you normally had a coach who already knew you all inside and out,” I said. This was as close as I would come to justifying myself. Outside the rink, he was welcome to criticize me however he wanted. And he had. When I had been a moping mess, haunting my sprawling mountain home in nothing but a bathrobe and a generous shot of whiskey in my coffee, Beckett had sat me down and called me out on my bullshit. It had stung, but it had been the right thing to do. And it had woken me up to the fact that I still had to live my life. Even if it wasn’t the way I wanted.

My nephew nodded.

“In here, I’m your coach. Harvey and Margot have the know-how and the authority. Anything you think any of us could do better, you should bring it up privately. I mean it. Feedback is welcome, so long as you don’t disregard your superiors in front of the entire team. It might seem like the right call at that moment, but you’re undermining the respect your teammates have for the coaches. It’ll have a domino effect.” My voice had hardened the longer I spoke.

Beckett straightened his back and sat still. “Understood.”

I nodded once. “Go now. Don’t let Caden wait for you.”

“He’s fine,” Beckett said, cocking his lips into a soft smile. “How about you, Uncle? Are you really alright?”

“I wish everyone would stop asking that,” I said lightly, but it didn’t come out very reassuring.

Giving me a small salute and a smile, Beckett got up. “It’s good to see you,” he said before leaving.

For most of my life, I wasn’t there nearly as much as I had wanted to be. It was ironic. I had been too busy rising to stardom after my brother had walked out on them. Julie, my former sister-in-law, would bring Beckett to my ranch in Texas or my home in the mountains for some guy-to-guy bonding. I’d taken care of them when times were tough, but I hadn’t watched the kid grow up. I would see him a few times a year, and he would seemingly be twice the height as the last time. And with a mouth on him!

Now I had a shot at being around, but Beckett was focusing on his future, and his life was already better for having Caden by his side.

It was a thing so foreign to me that I could hardly imagine what it felt like.

That stupid envy. Did it ever go away? They were young. They loved each other. They were beautiful together. And they lived in times that were far more welcoming to diversity. For an athlete, that was nearly unimaginable in my time.

Not that long ago, a queer athlete couldn’t dream of a happy life. He couldn’t hope for more than a string of discreet hotel hookups just to feel another human being next to him.

I should know.

I had let my life fly by without ever giving love a chance.

TWO

Carter

My fingers plucked the guitar strings independently from my mind. My thoughts drifted, but my hands knew what they were doing. They also knew they would rather be traveling up and down the octaves of my piano, but we’d left that back home. “You won’t have time to mess around with that thing,” Dad had informed me the first time I had mentioned the possible challenges of transporting my piano. “Dorm rooms don’t have enough space for those things. And your roommate won’t have the patience to listen to it.” He’d told me I would only attract trouble if I took the thing with me.

My roommate, Ron, was far more patient than Dad had predicted. And the room was much more spacious than what he’d described. And, for the win at three in a row, it turned out I had way more time than he’d claimed. In fact, all I had was time.

The weeks of warm-up drills with Coach Partridge and my gym routine were all I had on my agenda until the semester officially began.

So I sat in the shade of an old chestnut tree behind the team house where most of the Titans lived, ass on the stone table and feet on the matching bench, my guitar resting on my knee, fingers working while my mind wandered.

“I bet girls love you at parties,” Ron said.

For a moment, I thought he was sarcastic.

“I wish I could play like that,” he said.

“Do you play at all?” I asked.

Ron shrugged. “A few chords. Nothing that’ll get me laid.”

I snorted. “Guitar’s not getting me laid, dude.”

Ron leaned back on the flat bench that didn’t have a backrest, his head leaving the shade, sunlight setting his light hair to glow. He closed his eyes and let the sunshine warm him up. “Then you’re doing something wrong.”

“Yeah?” My mouth also worked without any input from my head. My mind was miles away. There had been times I would get like this over dinner, and Dad would wear the most peculiar frown you’d ever seen. “Where did you go?” he would ask. To be honest, daydreaming wasn’t something my dad could wrap his mind around.

“Girls love guys who can play a guitar,” Ron claimed.

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