Chapter 13 #2
“Three years. Three years of hotel rooms and careful distance in public. Three years of him canceling plans because someone might see us. Three years of watching him appear on broadcasts talking about family values.” Wesley’s voice was steady, but the pain underneath was evident.
“His father was a famous TV preacher—prominent evangelical church in Nashville. When his father found out about us, he showed up at my house with his congregation. Staged a protest and prayer vigil on my front lawn, saying I’d corrupted his son, that I was leading Charles into sin.
They vandalized my house. I received death threats. ”
My jaw tightened. “Shit.”
“Charles had a choice. Stand with me or save his career and his relationship with his family. He chose them. Went on local news, denounced me publicly, said I’d pursued him inappropriately despite his objections.
” Wesley’s expression was carefully controlled.
“I managed to keep the team out of the scandal—spun it as a personal matter, not organizational. But I couldn’t stay in Nashville after that.
Every time I walked into the arena, I’d see Charles in the broadcast booth.
Every game, I’d hear his voice doing commentary.
I needed to start over where no one knew the story. Where I was safe.”
The casual cruelty of it—the public humiliation, the betrayal, the way Charles had sacrificed Wesley to protect himself—made something protective and angry flare in my chest.
“That’s why you’re so careful about your reputation,” I said.
“It was self-preservation. I understood it, even as it destroyed me.” Wesley crossed his arms. “But I can’t do it again, Griffin. I can’t be with someone who’s more afraid of being seen with me than losing me entirely.”
“This isn’t permanent.” I stood to face him. “I’m not asking you to hide forever. Just until I retire—four to six years. Then I can come out, we can be public, and the non-fraternization policy won’t matter because I won’t be playing anymore.”
Wesley stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head slowly.
“That’s not—Griffin, think about what you’re proposing.
Four to six years of hiding. That’s not a few months of sneaking around.
That’s years of lying to everyone we work with, constantly performing, never being able to acknowledge what we are to each other in public.
Never going to team events together as a couple.
Never being photographed together outside of work.
No casual touches in the facility, no private jokes that might give us away.
” His voice grew more strained. “I did secret before. With Charles. It destroyed us. The constant hiding, the paranoia, the way we couldn’t just be together without calculating every risk—it poisoned everything good between us. ”
Each point landed like a body check I couldn’t avoid. He was right. All of it was right.
“And that’s assuming we even last that long,” Wesley continued, something raw in his voice now.
“Most relationships don’t survive four years under normal circumstances.
Add in all this pressure, the hiding, the professional complications—” He broke off, and looked away.
“I can’t do another closeted relationship, Griffin.
I can’t go back to being someone’s secret. It nearly broke me the first time.”
“This is different.” I leaned forward, desperate for him to understand. “Charles was closeted, pretending to be straight, lying to everyone including himself. I’m not pretending anymore—not with you. You know the truth. I’m just not ready to tell the world yet.”
“But the effect is the same.” Wesley’s voice was quiet but firm. “To everyone else, you’re straight and I’m just your PR manager. We’d still be lying. Still hiding. And I’d still be the one who has to watch you maintain that performance while pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
“It would hurt you?” The question came out smaller than I intended.
“Of course it would hurt me.” Wesley met my eyes again, and I could see the conflict there—want and fear and something that looked like grief.
“Watching you deflect questions about dating, knowing you can never acknowledge me, having to be professional and distant when all I’d want is to—” He stopped himself.
“Yes, Griffin. It would hurt. Every single day.”
The weight of what I was asking him—what I was asking both of us—settled fully.
This was asking Wesley to go back into a closet he’d fought hard to escape, to compromise the authenticity he’d built, to risk his career and his emotional well-being for a relationship that might not survive the pressure.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “You’re right. This is asking too much.”
“I didn’t say no.” Wesley’s voice was careful now.
“I’m saying—I need you to understand what you’re actually asking.
Not just from me, but from yourself. Because if we do this and you decide six months in that it’s too hard, that the risk is too high, that you need to protect your career—I can’t go through that again.
I can’t be someone’s experiment in authenticity who gets discarded when reality gets difficult. ”
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Charles said the same thing.” The pain in Wesley’s voice was unmistakable. “And I believed him. Right up until he chose his career over me without a second thought.”
I wanted to argue, to insist I was different, that I’d never hurt him that way.
But how could I promise that? Wesley was right to be cautious.
I was asking him to trust me with everything—his job, his heart, his hard-won sense of self—while offering nothing but my word that I wouldn’t break under pressure.
“What would make you feel safer?” I asked. “What would you need from me to even consider this?”
Wesley was quiet for a long moment. “Honestly? I don’t know if anything could. The power dynamics alone—you’re the captain, I’m staff. If this goes wrong, my career is over and yours probably continues. That’s not a small thing.”
“So that’s a no.” I tried to keep the devastation out of my voice.
“That’s a—” Wesley rubbed his face with both hands.
“I don’t know, Griffin. I want to say yes.
God, I want to say yes so badly it’s terrifying.
But I also know what happens when I ignore red flags because I’m attracted to someone.
I know how it feels to lose everything because I convinced myself love was worth the risk. ”
“And was it?” I asked quietly. “Worth it?”
“I don’t know.” Wesley’s laugh was hollow. “Ask me again when I’m not unemployed and blacklisted from an entire industry.”
“I know it’s unfair. I know I’m asking you to sacrifice things I’m not willing to sacrifice myself.
But I also know that what’s between us—” I gestured helplessly “This isn’t something I can just ignore or walk away from.
You make me want things I’ve never let myself want.
You make me feel like maybe hiding my sexuality isn’t all there is. ”
Wesley was quiet for a long moment, his troubled expression showing the internal debate I couldn’t hear. Finally, he asked, “What happens if you get traded again? If you end up somewhere else and I’m still here?”
“Then we’ll figure it out. Long distance, me requesting a trade to come back, whatever it takes.” The words came out with more certainty than I felt, but I meant them. “I’m not Charles, Wesley. I won’t abandon you to save myself.”
“You can’t know that. Not really. When the pressure comes, when your career is legitimately threatened, you might make different choices than you think you will.”
“You’re right. I can’t guarantee how I’ll react when everything’s on the line.” I took a step closer. “But I can promise that right now, in this moment, you matter more to me than the image. More than whatever I’m supposed to be to everyone else.”
Wesley’s gaze searched mine, looking for something—truth, sincerity, proof that this time would be different.
“I told myself I wouldn’t do this again,” he said, his voice low. “Wouldn’t risk my heart for someone who wouldn’t love me openly.”
“I understand if you can’t—”
“But my feelings for you are too strong to ignore.” Wesley moved closer, the distance between us shrinking to inches.
“I believe you’re different from Charles.
I believe there’s potential for you to eventually come out, to have the life you deserve.
And I want to try this, even knowing it’s risky, even knowing I might end up hurt again. ”
Hope and fear warred in my chest. “You’re saying yes?”
“I’m saying I choose you, despite all the very good reasons I shouldn’t.
” Wesley reached up, his hand cupping my jaw, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
“But Griffin, if this becomes what it was with Charles—if you start choosing your closet over me every time it matters—I will leave. I can’t survive that again. ”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“You don’t know that you won’t.”
“Then I’ll prove it to you. Every day, every choice, I’ll prove that you matter more than hiding.”
Wesley’s smile was sad but genuine, tinged with hope struggling against experience. “That’s a nice promise. Let’s see if you can keep it.” His eyes shimmered with emotions too complex to name—vulnerability and desire and the ghost of past hurt all tangled together.
His fingers curled tightly in my shirt, anchoring himself, or maybe anchoring me.
He pulled me closer with careful intent, like he was giving me a chance to change my mind.
I went willingly, sliding my arms around his solid back, feeling the warmth of him through the soft knit of his sweater.
He leaned in slowly, giving me time to process, to panic, to pull away if I needed to.
Our noses brushed—a whisper of contact that sent electricity down my spine.
He paused, his lips a hair’s breadth from mine, his breath warm against my mouth.
Then he kissed me.
His lips were soft and warm and trembled slightly, betraying the nerves he was trying to hide. His beard brushed against my scruff, the texture somehow exactly right. Different from every anonymous hookup, every careful transaction, every moment I’d compartmentalized and forgotten.
The world narrowed to the press of his mouth against mine—slow and deliberate and devastatingly real. Not rushed or desperate or hidden in the dark of a hotel room. Just Wesley kissing me in my apartment like it meant something. Like I meant something.
After a long, perfect moment, he started to break away.
But I caught his bottom lip gently between mine and kissed him again, refusing to let it end.
He made a soft sound of surprise that turned into something deeper, more certain.
The kiss intensified, his hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck.
Our tongues met and tangled, and he tasted of savory spices and hops and something uniquely him—warmth and safety and dangerous possibilities.
It felt like permission and promise and destiny all at once. Like stepping off a cliff and discovering I could fly. Like the first honest thing I’d done in sixteen years.
When we finally pulled apart, both breathing harder, Wesley rested his forehead against mine. “We have to be so careful. No one can know. Not teammates, not staff, not management.”
“I know,” I murmured.
“No public displays. No lingering looks in meetings. Nothing that might make people suspicious,” he warned.
“Understood.”
“And if it becomes too much—if the hiding starts destroying us—we have to be honest about it. No silent suffering, no building resentment. We talk about it,” he said.
“Deal.” I pulled back to meet his eyes. “Are you sure about this?”
“No. But I want to try.” Wesley’s smile was warmer now, more hopeful. “Besides, you’re worth the risk. Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Check back with me in six months.” He grinned.
I kissed him, softer this time, savoring the simple fact that I could. That Wesley was here, in my apartment, choosing me despite every rational reason not to.
On the TV, someone scored—LA or Anaheim, I had no idea. I didn’t care. The game I’d supposedly invited Wesley over to watch had continued without us paying any attention. Background noise to a moment that was infinitely more important.
When Wesley left after the forgotten game, I stood in my doorway and watched him walk to the elevator. He turned back once, smiling, his dimple making an appearance. Something in my chest expanded painfully at the simple acknowledgment that this was real, this was happening.
I closed the door and leaned against it, elation and terror fighting for dominance.
I had what I’d been wanting since the moment I’d met Wesley—his presence, his attention, his willingness to try being together despite the impossible circumstances. But I also had new weight settling on my shoulders, new responsibilities I’d never carried before.
Wesley was trusting me with his heart and his career. He was depending on me to protect him when protecting myself had always been my primary instinct. Most importantly, he believed I was different from Charles, that I wouldn’t sacrifice him to preserve my image when the stakes got high.
I wanted to be that person—the one who chose authenticity over the closet, who valued Wesley more than public perception, who could sustain a secret relationship without it becoming toxic.
But sixteen years of hiding, of prioritizing an image above all else—that didn’t disappear because I wanted it to. Those patterns were carved deep, instinctive in ways that scared me.
What if Wesley was right to be cautious? When my career was actually threatened, would I make the same choices Charles had made? The possibility haunted me. I could end up hurting Wesley exactly the way I’d promised I wouldn’t.
The questions circled through my mind as I got ready for bed. I lay staring at my ceiling and replayed the evening, Wesley’s kiss, and the way he’d looked at me like I was worth the risk.
I’d wanted this—wanted Wesley, wanted the connection, wanted to just exist as myself with someone who knew the truth.
Now I had it.
And the weight of that responsibility felt heavier than any captain’s C I’d ever worn.