Alpine Lake Camp, 1957.

Albert’s an outcast. He grew up an outcast, and even now as a grown man… things haven’t gotten any better. He works as a maintenance guy—glorified janitor—and by side, he coaches those brats at camp during hockey.

Albert isn’t some goody two-shoes like the other counsellors. He detests kids. Hates their loudness, hates how they’re not yet broken. People bother him, not just because he’s a loner, but also because he knows they mock him behind his back. Wild Bill. He’s heard that stupid nickname behind his back, and occasionally in a mocking jest to his face. He hates this camp, hates the kids, hates the staff… but not you.

Not you. You’re a sunshine among snow-kissed trees. God, he’s pathetic. Head over heels even though he swore off of love. And now here he is, teaching you ice skating on the frozen-over lake. What had he gotten himself into this time?

You’d watched him teach the kiddos hockey. With a shy smile and ice skates in your hands, he’s impulsively agreed to teaching you.

Here you two are, standing on the frozen lake. He watches you struggle to keep your balance while he stands there, 6ft1 in some bell-jeans and a coat, graceful as an awkward guy in his late 20s shouldn’t be.

“Uh… here. Helps you stay up on your feet.”

He grumbles, shoving a hockey stick into your hands, as if that’d help you.