Chapter 13
Theo
I stood backstage in the media room at Storm Arena.
My injured shoulder throbbed despite the painkillers.
The sling felt heavier than usual, like it was trying to drag me down through the floor.
I could hear the murmur of voices beyond the curtain—reporters setting up cameras, producers testing audio levels, the low hum of anticipation.
Luca stood beside me. He wore a suit instead of his usual game-day clothes—navy blue, perfectly tailored, the kind of armor he’d worn when signing his contract.
But his hands were shaking.
"You don't have to do this," I said quietly.
Luca’s jaw tightened. "Yes, I do."
"I mean..." I shifted closer, lowering my voice. "We could wait. Do it after the finals. Or not at all. I’m fine with—"
"I’m not." Luca turned to face me. The fear in his eyes made my chest ache. "I’m done hiding you. I’m done pretending you don't matter. If I don't do this now, I never will."
Coach Reeves appeared in the doorway. "They’re ready for you."
Luca nodded. His hand found my good one, squeezing hard enough to hurt.
"I’m right here," I said. "The whole time."
"I know." Luca’s thumb traced circles over my knuckles—an old habit from stolen moments in equipment rooms and empty practice rinks. "That’s the only reason I can do this."
They walked through the curtain together.
The media room exploded with camera flashes.
I’d been to press conferences before—rookie introductions, post-game interviews, the standard circus. But this was different. Every seat was filled. Cameras lined the back wall. I recognized faces from ESPN, TSN, Sports Illustrated, The Athletic. National media, not just local beat reporters.
They knew something was coming.
Luca’s hand stayed in mine as we approached the podium. The PR director started to say something about seating arrangements, but Luca ignored him. He positioned himself at the microphone, pulled me close to his side, and kept our hands linked where everyone could see.
The room went silent.
"Thank you for coming," Luca said. His voice was steady despite the tremor I could feel running through his palm. "I have a statement to make, and then I’ll take questions."
He pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket. He unfolded it with his free hand.
"My name is Luca Moretti," Luca began. "I’m thirty years old. I’ve been captain of the Chicago Storm for three years and played professional hockey for twelve. I’ve won a Norris Trophy, made three All-Star teams, and represented Team USA at the World Championships."
He paused. I felt the tremor in his hand intensify.
"And I’m gay."
The room erupted. Cameras flashed like lightning. Reporters surged forward. Someone dropped something that clattered against the floor.
Luca’s grip on my hand tightened to the point of pain.
"I’ve known since I was fourteen," Luca continued, his voice cutting through the noise. "I’ve been in the closet for sixteen years. I chose fear over authenticity every single day, and it nearly destroyed me."
My throat burned. I wanted to pull Luca into my arms, to shield him from the cameras and the questions and the judgment I could already see forming on some faces. But this was Luca’s moment. Luca’s choice. All I could do was stand beside him and squeeze back just as hard.
"I hid because I was terrified," Luca said. "Terrified of losing my career. My family. My team. Terrified of being seen as less-than, as weak, as something shameful." His voice cracked. "I built walls so high I forgot what it felt like to breathe."
He looked at me then—really looked at me, with cameras capturing every second.
"And then I met someone who reminded me what living actually means."
My vision blurred. My shoulder throbbed in time with my heartbeat.
"Theo Callahan is..." Luca’s voice broke. He stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "Theo is the bravest person I’ve ever met. He walked into this league as himself, without apology, without fear. He’s authentic in a way I’ve never been.
And he saw through every wall I built and decided I was worth fighting for anyway. "
A reporter in the front row was crying. I noticed peripherally, the way I noticed the heat of the stage lights and the weight of my sling and the fact that my heart was beating so fast I felt dizzy.
"I fell in love with him," Luca said simply. "And I hurt him because I was too afraid to admit it. I chose my career over his heart. I treated him like a secret I was ashamed of, when the truth is he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me."
Luca turned to face me. The microphone picked up every word.
"I’m sorry," Luca said, his eyes wet. "I’m sorry for making you feel like you were something to hide. I’m sorry for every time I looked through you in public, every time I made you feel small. You deserved better. You deserved someone brave enough to love you out loud from the beginning."
I couldn't speak. My throat had closed completely.
"I don't know what happens next," Luca continued, speaking to the room again but still holding my gaze.
"I don't know if this will cost me endorsements or opportunities or relationships with people I care about.
But I know I can't live in that closet anymore. I know I can't pretend to be someone I’m not. And I know that if I lose everything else but get to keep him, it’s worth it. "
He finally looked back at the cameras.
"So yes. I’m gay. I’m in love with my teammate. And I’m asking for privacy and respect as we navigate this together. Thank you."
The room exploded again—questions shouting over each other, cameras flashing, the PR director trying to establish order. But Luca ignored all of it. He turned to me and pulled me close, pressing our foreheads together.
"I meant every word," Luca whispered.
I kissed him.
Right there. In front of ESPN and TSN and every sports outlet in North America. I kissed Luca like we were alone, like cameras didn't exist, like the only thing that mattered was making sure Luca knew he wasn't alone.
When we finally broke apart, the room had gone quiet again.
"Questions?" Luca said calmly, as if he hadn't just destroyed and rebuilt his entire world in ten minutes.
The questions lasted forty-five minutes.
Some were respectful. Some were invasive. A few made me want to climb over the podium and throw hands with my good arm.
"How long have you been together?"
"Since about a month into the season," Luca answered. "Though I fought it for longer than that."
"Does the team know?"
"As of three days ago, yes. They’ve been incredibly supportive."
"Are you worried about backlash from fans?"
Luca’s jaw tightened. "I’m sure there will be some. But I can't control other people’s reactions. I can only control my own choices. And I choose honesty."
"Theo." A reporter in the third row zeroed in on me. "How do you feel about becoming the face of LGBTQ+ representation in professional hockey?"
I blinked. I hadn't expected to be asked anything directly.
"I didn't come out to be a symbol," I said carefully.
My voice sounded strange through the microphone—too loud, too exposed.
"I came out because hiding felt like dying. If that helps someone else feel less alone, that’s incredible.
But mostly I just want to play hockey and love who I love without it being a whole thing. "
"Is it difficult dating your captain? The power dynamic—"
"There is no power dynamic," Luca cut in, his voice sharp. "Theo is my equal in every way that matters. On the ice, I’m his captain. Off the ice, we’re partners. Anyone who suggests otherwise doesn't understand what a relationship is."
My chest felt too full. Like my ribs couldn't contain everything I was feeling.
A woman in the back raised her hand. "Luca, your father is famously traditional. Have you spoken to him about this?"
Luca’s expression went carefully blank. "No comment on family matters."
But I felt him flinch. I felt the way his hand spasmed before going rigid.
"One more question," the PR director announced.
"For both of you," a young reporter called out. "What do you want people to know?"
Luca and I looked at each other.
"That it’s worth it," I said. "Being yourself. Even when it’s terrifying. Even when you lose people. Because the alternative is living half a life, and that’s not living at all."
"And that love isn't a distraction," Luca added. "It’s not a weakness. It doesn't make you less of an athlete or less of a man. If anything, it makes you more. Because you’re finally whole."
The flashes started again. I let them. I leaned into Luca’s side—careful of my shoulder—and let the cameras capture us together.
I let the world see.
The media explosion was immediate.
By the time we made it back to the locker room, Twitter was on fire. #LucaComesOut was trending number one worldwide. ESPN had already posted the full press conference video. Commentary poured in from current players, retired legends, fans, celebrities, and politicians.
Most of it was positive.
Michael Okoro: Proud of you, @LucaMoretti29. Welcome to the club. It gets better.
The NHLPA released a statement of support within an hour.
But there was ugliness too. Comments about Luca being a distraction. Accusations of seeking attention. Old-guard analysts questioning whether an openly gay captain could command respect. Radio hosts debating whether it was "appropriate" for teammates to shower together now.
I wanted to throw my phone through a wall.
"Don't read it," Kieran advised, appearing at my side. "Seriously. Nothing good comes from reading the comments."
"They’re saying he’s selfish for coming out before the finals," I said tightly. "Like he should have kept hiding to make everyone comfortable."
"People are idiots." Kieran plucked the phone from my good hand. "You know what matters? The guys in this room. And we’ve got your back. Both of you."
Luca emerged from Coach Reeves’s office. His expression was unreadable. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on me, and some of the tension left his shoulders.
"Dad?" I asked quietly when Luca reached me.
Luca’s jaw worked. "He called. I didn't answer."
"But—"
"He left a voicemail." Luca’s voice was flat. "Told me I was an embarrassment to the family. That I chose a 'lifestyle' over my heritage. That I’m not welcome home until I 'fix this.'"
Rage flooded my chest. "Luca..."
"It’s fine." Luca’s smile didn't reach his eyes. "I expected it. And I meant what I said at the press conference. If I lose people who can't accept me, they weren't worth keeping."
"That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
"No," Luca admitted. "It doesn't."
I pulled him close, letting him hide his face against my good shoulder. Around us, the locker room pretended not to notice.
"I’m proud of you," I whispered into Luca’s hair. "So goddamn proud."
Luca’s arms came around me—careful of the sling, always careful—and held on tight.
That night, I went to Luca’s apartment.
We’d been here before. We’d mapped each other’s bodies in this bed, learned what made the other gasp and break and beg. But tonight felt different.
No secrecy. No fear. No wondering if Luca would panic afterward and disappear for days.
Just us.
"How’s your shoulder?" Luca asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Fine if I don't move it." I nudged Luca’s knee with my own. "I can work with that."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." I caught Luca’s chin. I tilted his face up. "I trust you."
Something raw crossed Luca’s expression. Like the words had cracked him open.
"I love you," Luca said roughly. "I don't think I’ve said it enough. I love you so much it scares me."
"I know." I kissed him softly. "I love you too. Even when you’re being an idiot. Especially then, actually."
Luca huffed a laugh against my mouth. "Brat."
"Your brat."
"Yeah." Luca’s hands came up to frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "Mine."
We undressed slowly. Luca helped with my sling, easing it off with the care he brought to everything. He pressed kisses to my bare shoulder, and I felt my throat tighten.
"I’m okay," I said.
"I know. But I’m allowed to be grateful you’re here anyway."
We fell into bed together. Luca mapped my body with his hands and mouth—relearning every scar, every sensitive spot, every place that made me arch and gasp. But this time, there was no urgency. No desperation.
Just reverence.
"You’re so good," Luca murmured against my hip. "So perfect. I don't deserve you."
"Shut up," I managed. My good hand fisted in Luca’s hair. "You—fuck—you deserve everything."
"I have everything." Luca kissed lower. "I have you."
I lost the ability to form words after that.
Later—much later—when we were tangled together and my shoulder was throbbing but I didn't care, Luca propped himself up on one elbow.
"What happens now?" Luca asked quietly.
"Now?" I traced patterns on Luca’s chest—nothing fancy, just lazy circles. "Now we win a championship. And after that, we figure out the rest."
"What if it’s too much? The media attention, the scrutiny—"
"Then we handle it together." I caught Luca’s hand. I pressed it over my heart. "You aren't alone anymore. Remember?"
His eyes were wet. "I remember."
"Good." I pulled him down for a kiss. "Because I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, Captain."
"Best thing that ever happened to me," Luca whispered against my mouth.
"Damn right."
We fell asleep like that—wrapped around each other, no space between us, nothing left to hide.
Outside, the world was still processing. Social media was still arguing. Analysts were still debating whether an openly gay captain could lead a team to victory.
But none of that mattered.
We had each other. We had our team. We had a championship to win.
And for the first time in sixteen years, Luca Moretti was finally, completely free.