#coachdrills

Maybe that was the Canadian in him. Red like the maple leaf. Red like Team Canada jerseys. Red like summer flags, hockey nights, and every stubborn little piece of pride that came from being raised north of the border and knowing exactly where home was. In his form-fitting red spandex sports gear, muscles tight and defined, fraternity paddle in hand, Wells looked like patriotism had been rebuilt in the gym and told to pose for the camera.

There was something almost unfair about it: the clean-cut confidence, the athletic swagger, the broad chest, the easy smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing. Wells wore red the way some men wore a warning label. Bright. Bold. Impossible to ignore. Canadian to the core, but still very much the kind of bro who could turn a paddle into a prop, a challenge, or a promise depending on who was looking.

And if Coach happened to take that paddle for one of his after-hours drills later? Well. Let’s just say Wells already knew red would still be the theme by the time Coach was finished with him, on his gear, in his face, and maybe just a little on his backside too.