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Not until he’d seen Eli after his conversation with Jen. He’d walked out of his meeting looking dazed. “She was fine with me cutting back on activities. Even apologized for making me feel like I had to do them all. She thought I wanted to do them all because I always say yes when she asks.”

Nolan had rubbed a thumb over Eli’s cheek. “You don’t have to do it all to prove that you belong here. You just have to be you.”

“Aw.” Eli had kissed him, a loud smooch that had echoed in the hallway. “That’s nice of you to say, but it’s very much not true. I do have to prove that I can play hockey. And on that note, let’s go find Friedle to schedule that extra practice.”

“He set up a meeting with me and Friedle last week,” Dad said now. “To apologize for having his focus split in too many directions. He promised hockey would be his number one focus from now on. Actually, he said hockey and the guy he’s dating because, and I quote, ‘Me marrying that guy one day is non-fucking-negotiable.’”

Nolan choked on a bite of oatmeal raisin cookie.

Dad side-eyed him. “Did you know that?”

Nolan wasn’t sure if he meant about the meeting or about what Eli had said. Either way, the answer was the same. “No,” he croaked once he got his breath back. “I didn’t.”

“Like I said, guts. And talent. I always knew he’d make it to the big leagues, even back when I coached him in Saskatoon. He’s a good player. A good teammate. Self-aware in a way not a lot of people are. Takes chances. He’ll be good for you.”

Good thing Nolan hadn’t taken another bite of his cookie. “How did you find out?”

Dad let out a disbelieving laugh. “If you wanted to keep it a secret, you shouldn’t have kissed him at Hughes Thanksgiving. People talk, Nolan.”

“I wasn’t actively trying to keep it from you. Eli was worried you’d treat him differently if you knew.”

“I can keep personal and professional separate. Besides, I won’t be his coach forever, so it doesn’t matter in the long run.”

“What do you mean?” Nolan blinked at him. “Are you quitting? Or are you finally going to retire, old man?”

“Pfft. Old man.” Dad shook his head in mock offense. “Listen to this guy. Who raised you?”

“Me, mostly,” Nolan blurted without thinking and immediately regretted it.

But Dad laughed. “Can’t argue that, and you did a damn good job, kid. But no, I’m not retiring. I will be moving on from the Trailblazers in the next couple of years.” He looked around the room, and Nolan had the impression of the head of a lion pride overlooking his domain. “I’ve loved working with this team, but frankly, I don’t have a lot more to offer them. They’re thriving. I’d like to get back to my roots and work with a team that’s had a couple bad seasons. See what I can do to prop them up and help them rebuild. And what about you?” Dad turned toward him and gestured at him with his wine glass. “What’s next for you after you finish up here? Back to San Francisco?”

Nolan’s gaze strayed toward Eli. “I’ve still got a few months left here, but after that . . . I don’t know. I thought I’d start applying for jobs in the new year.”

“In San Francisco?”

Nolan shrugged. “Probably a little more local to Burlington.”

“I wondered if you’d ever find a reason to stay in one place.” Dad toasted him again. “Told you he’d be good for you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“So?” Dad said, laughing. “What’s next then?”

It was a question Nolan had been noodling since Eli had asked him—in a post-Hughes Thanksgiving drunken haze—if he wanted to go back to San Francisco.

Nolan had simply assumed that he would, but the truth was, nothing was holding him there. He’d quit his job, and the few acquaintances he’d made at the gym wouldn’t miss him.

Earlier, he’d been speaking with Prinnie, who’d told him he’d be cutting out early since these types of parties weren’t his thing. They weren’t Nolan’s either, so he’d invited Prinnie out for drinks, then mentioned it to some of the other older child-free players in case they wanted to join them. Now Nolan had a group of six or seven guys he was treating at the bar later.

He’d taken a page out of Freddie’s book—or letters, as it were—and put himself out there.

Nolan had friends here.

He had Eli.

He had his dad, at least until Dad decided to move on.

He’d somehow built himself a little community.