Chapter 12
Luca
I stood in the center of the locker room with my heart trying to break through my ribs, and wondered if this was what dying felt like.
Four days since Theo got hurt. Four days since I’d made a promise in a hospital room that felt impossible the moment I walked out the door. Four days of my phone lighting up with messages I couldn't bring myself to answer, my father’s voice in my head louder than ever.
You have a responsibility. To the team. To the family name. To everything we've built.
But I also had a responsibility to myself. To Theo. To the truth I’d been burying since I was fourteen years old.
The team filtered in slowly. Kieran first, always early. Then Hayes and Morrison and the rest. Game 6 started in two hours. Conference semifinals tied 2-2. Everything was riding on tonight.
They should be focusing on the game plan. On the opponent’s tendencies. On the million small details that separated winning from losing at this level.
Instead, I was about to blow up their entire dynamic four days before we might make the conference finals.
"Cap?" Morrison paused halfway to his stall, gym bag still slung over his shoulder. "You good?"
My hands were shaking. I shoved them in my pockets. "Can everyone sit for a minute? Before we start getting ready."
The room went quiet in that particular way. Everyone knew something was wrong. Players who had been mid-conversation fell silent. Hayes set down his phone. Kieran, who had been taping his stick, stopped with the roll still in his hands.
"Is this about Callahan?" Clay Abbott asked. The backup goalie was quiet most of the time but sharp when he spoke. "The kid’s shoulder?"
"It’s about me," I said. My voice came out steadier than I expected. "And Theo. And..." I swallowed hard. "And the fact that I’ve been lying to all of you for ten years."
No one moved. The only sound was the ventilation system, a steady mechanical hum that suddenly seemed too loud.
My chest felt like someone was standing on it. My palms were sweating. Every instinct I had screamed at me to stop talking. To deflect. To put the mask back on and pretend this conversation wasn't happening.
But I’d looked into Theo’s eyes in that hospital room and seen what my fear had cost. I’d seen the careful distance in the way he’d said, I need to believe you will actually follow through when it gets hard.
I owed him this. I owed myself this.
"I’m gay," I said. The words felt like shards of glass in my throat. "I’ve been closeted since I was fourteen. My whole career, my whole life since then—I’ve been hiding it. From my family, from the media, from you guys. From everyone."
Silence. Morrison’s bag hit the floor with a dull thud.
"Theo and I..." My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and forced myself to keep going.
"We were together. For a few weeks. And I ended it because I was terrified. Because I thought if anyone found out, I’d lose everything.
The captaincy, the contract, your respect.
So I pushed him away and I signed my extension and I told myself it was the right call. "
My hands were shaking so hard now that shoving them in my pockets didn't hide it anymore. I pulled them out. I let them hang at my sides. I let everyone see.
"Then I watched him take a hit that could have ended his career, and I realized I’ve been choosing fear over everything that actually matters.
Over being honest with the people I trust most. Over being the kind of leader you guys deserve.
Over..." My throat closed up. "Over someone who made me feel like maybe I don't have to hide forever. "
Kieran was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. Hayes looked stunned. Morrison’s mouth was hanging open.
"I know this is a lot to drop on you before a playoff game," I said. My voice sounded distant, like it was coming from somewhere outside my body. "I know the timing is shit. But I’m tired of lying. I’m tired of pretending I’m someone I’m not.
And if that means you don't want me as your captain anymore, I—"
"Jesus Christ, Moretti." Kieran stood up. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled me into a crushing hug. "Shut the fuck up."
I stood frozen for a second, arms pinned to my sides, brain struggling to process what was happening.
"You think we didn't know something was eating you alive?" Kieran said into my shoulder. "You’ve been wound tighter than a fucking drum for weeks. We just didn't know what."
"You..." My voice broke. "You knew?"
"Not specifically." Kieran pulled back, hands still gripping my shoulders. His eyes were wet. "But I knew you were carrying something heavy. We all did. And we’ve been waiting for you to trust us enough to tell us."
"I should have told you years ago," I said. My throat felt raw.
"Probably." Kieran’s mouth quirked. "But you told us now. That’s what matters."
Morrison stood up next. Then Hayes. One by one, the rest of the team rose from their stalls and benches. Some came forward to clap my shoulder or pull me into quick, hard embraces. Others just stood in solidarity.
"My cousin came out last year," Abbott said quietly. "Took him until he was thirty. He said the hardest part was thinking he had to do it alone."
"You aren't alone, Cap," Hayes added. His voice was gruff. "You never were."
"What about Callahan?" Morrison asked. "Does he know you’re doing this?"
I shook my head. "He said he needed to believe I’d follow through. This is... this is me trying to prove it."
"The kid has been a ghost since the injury," Kieran said. "Barely responding to texts. Just sitting at home with his shoulder in a sling, probably climbing the walls."
"I hurt him," I said simply. "I chose my contract over him and I broke his heart. I don't know if he’ll forgive me, but I have to try."
"He’ll forgive you," said a quiet voice from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
Theo stood in the entrance to the locker room. His arm was in a sling. He wore jeans and a Storm hoodie instead of his game suit. His eyes were red-rimmed and shining with tears, and he was looking at me like he’d just watched me slay a dragon.
"Theo..." My voice broke completely. "What are you doing here?"
"Kieran texted me." Theo’s smile was wobbly. "Told me I should probably get my ass down here. Something about my boyfriend needing backup."
The word boyfriend made me blink. Hope flared so bright in my chest it hurt.
"I meant what I said," Theo continued, stepping into the room. "About needing to believe you’d follow through. This..." His voice caught. "This is the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do."
"It’s the least brave," I said. "I should have done it months ago. Years ago. I should have—"
"You did it now," Theo said, echoing Kieran’s words. "That’s what matters."
The room was silent again, but it felt different this time. Not the heavy, waiting silence from before. This one felt lighter. Clearer.
"So," Hayes said, breaking the tension with his usual bluntness. "Are you two, like, together-together now? Or is this still in the figuring-it-out phase?"
Theo looked at me. Waiting. Giving me the choice.
"If he’ll have me," I said, holding Theo’s gaze, "I want to be together. For real this time. No more hiding. No more secrets."
"Even if it means telling your father?" Theo asked quietly. "Telling the media?"
My stomach dropped at the thought. My father’s voice in my head screamed warnings, painted catastrophic scenarios, and listed all the ways this could destroy everything.
But Theo was standing in front of me with hope in his eyes. Suddenly my father’s voice didn't matter anymore.
"Even then," I said. "Whatever it takes."
Theo crossed the room in four strides and kissed me.
It was soft and careful because of the sling, but also fierce and claiming and absolutely public. In front of the entire team. With twenty pairs of eyes watching.
When we broke apart, someone let out a low whistle.
"Okay," Kieran said, clapping his hands once. "Now that we’ve got that settled, can we please focus on kicking Dallas’s ass tonight? Because if Moretti just came out to the entire team before a playoff game and we lose, I’m going to be pissed."
Laughter rippled through the room, breaking the last of the tension.
"You heard the man," I said, slipping automatically back into captain mode even as my hand found Theo’s good one and held on. "Let's win this thing."
We won 5-1.
I had two assists and played the best hockey of my life. I was loose and fast and unafraid in a way I hadn't been in years. Maybe ever. Every shift felt lighter. Every pass connected. The puck followed me like it knew I’d finally gotten my shit together.
In the third period, up 4-1 with five minutes left, I skated past the bench and caught Theo’s eye in the stands where he sat with the injured reserves. Theo grinned at me—that wide, unguarded smile that made my chest ache—and held up his good hand in a thumbs up.
I smiled back. On the ice. In front of eighteen thousand people and a dozen cameras.
I didn't care anymore.
When the final buzzer sounded, the team mobbed each other at center ice—hugging and shouting and riding the high of advancing to the conference finals. Kieran grabbed my helmet and knocked our foreheads together.
"Told you," he yelled over the roar of the crowd. "Best game of the playoffs!"
"Couldn't have done it without you guys," I shouted back.
"Yeah, you could have." Kieran’s grin was fierce. "But you didn't have to. That’s the whole fucking point."
The locker room afterward was chaos—music blasting, champagne spraying, everyone riding the adrenaline high of a series-clinching win. I sat in my stall and let the noise wash over me, exhausted and exhilarated and lighter than I’d felt in a decade.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Congratulations on the win. And on your courage. —Michael Okoro
I stared at the message. Michael Okoro had come out two years ago—first active NBA player to do it. I’d watched his press conference from my couch, alone, and felt a longing so sharp it had made me nauseous.
I typed back: Thank you. That means a lot.
Another buzz. This time, my father.
Dad: We need to talk. Call me.
My stomach clenched. I looked at the message for a long moment, then locked my phone and shoved it in my bag.
Not tonight. Tonight was for celebrating. Tonight was for Theo.
Tomorrow, I would face my father. Tomorrow, I would figure out the media strategy and the PR nightmare and all the other consequences waiting in the wings.
But tonight, I was going to kiss my boyfriend in public and let myself feel happy.
I found Theo waiting outside the locker room, leaning against the wall with his sling and his crooked smile.
"Hey, Captain," Theo said.
"Hey yourself." I stopped in front of him. "Thanks for coming."
"Wouldn't have missed it." Theo’s good hand came up to cup my jaw. "I’m proud of you."
"I was terrified," I admitted.
"I know. That’s why I’m proud." Theo kissed me softly. "Doing scary things anyway—that’s what brave means."
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now?" Theo pulled back, grinning. "Now you take me home and prove you mean all those pretty promises you made."
Heat flooded my chest. "Your shoulder..."
"Has a very specific list of things I’m not supposed to do," Theo interrupted. "Kissing my boyfriend isn't on it."
Boyfriend. The word still made my heart skip.
"Okay," I said. "Let's go home."
We walked out of the arena together, Theo’s good hand in mine. For the first time in ten years, I didn't look over my shoulder to see who might be watching.
I didn't care.
I was done hiding.