Chapter 19 #2
The message made my chest tighten. Because I’d wanted to run. But I hadn’t. And I wasn’t sure if that made me brave or stupid.
Griffin wasn’t Charles, though, and today’s lunch was just one small example of that.
Wesley
For what it’s worth—I’m glad you remembered my sandwich order. That meant something.
Griffin
Everything about you means something to me. Good night, Wesley.
Wesley
Good night, Griffin.
I set my phone on the bathroom counter and stood up, my legs stiff from sitting on the tile floor for so long. My reflection in the mirror looked tired, worried. Still scared.
I moved to the living room and collapsed on the couch, staring at my ceiling.
This afternoon should have been simple—watching a movie with Griffin, enjoying his company, the kind of normal Sunday afternoon that people in regular relationships took for granted.
Instead, we’d been reminded in the starkest possible way that what we were doing was dangerous, risky, the kind of thing that could destroy both our careers.
And yet I was staying. Why?
He trusted me with his fears. He was trying so hard to be brave despite being terrified. The way he looked at me like I was someone worth risking everything for made my heart clench.
It was the connection we’d built over the past few weeks—the coffee-shop conversations, the stolen moments, the sense that we understood each other in ways that went beyond physical attraction.
It was the hope, fragile and probably foolish, that maybe this time could be different. That we could make this work despite all the odds stacked against us.
I recognized that hope for what it was: classic blind optimism, the kind that had gotten me in trouble before. The belief that if I just tried hard enough, wanted it badly enough, I could make the impossible possible.
But I couldn’t seem to stop hoping anyway.
I went to bed but couldn’t sleep.
At two in the morning, I gave up trying and opened my phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. I wasn’t looking for anything specific, but I found myself navigating to Griffin’s social media profile.
His feed was exactly what you’d expect from a professional athlete: team photos, game highlights, charity events. Everything carefully curated, professionally shot, to project an image: Griffin Lapierre, elite hockey player and team captain.
I scrolled through his posts from the past month. Griffin at practice. Griffin signing autographs for kids. Griffin in a suit at some team function, looking polished and untouchable.
Not a single personal photo. No friends, no family, nothing that revealed who he was behind the captain’s mask.
And certainly no photos of me.
But scrolling through his feed, seeing this sanitized version of his life where I didn’t exist at all, made something in my chest ache.
I clicked on the comments on his most recent post—a photo from Friday’s practice, Griffin in full gear, focused and intense.
Best captain in the league
Why is he single? Such a catch!
Griffin Lapierre is literally perfect. Someone wife him up already.
Any woman would be lucky to have him.
The comments went on like that, fans speculating about his love life, debating which celebrities or models he should date. People creating narratives about him based on literally nothing.
And Griffin couldn’t correct them. Couldn’t say “Actually, I’m gay and dating my PR manager, so thanks but no thanks on the female celebrity suggestions.”
He had to let them speculate, let them create this fictional straight version of him and fill in the blanks with assumptions that were completely wrong.
This was Griffin’s public face. The image the world saw. Straight, single, available.
And I would never be part of it.
The thought hit harder than I’d expected. I would never be in his social media photos. Never be acknowledged as his partner. Never exist in the public version of his life.
Even if we made it through the next four to six years, even if Griffin eventually came out, we’d have lost all that time. All those years where our relationship would be erased from his public history, invisible, like it had never happened.
I closed the app, but the feeling stayed—the particular pain of being someone’s secret, of knowing that the person you were with had to pretend you didn’t exist.
I’d felt this way with Charles too. But somehow it stung more with Griffin.
Maybe because I’d known better this time.
Maybe because the attraction I felt was stronger, more complicated than just physical.
Maybe because I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do this again, and here I was, reading comments from fans who didn’t know Griffin was gay while I sat alone in my apartment.
I set my phone down and stared at my ceiling, trying to sort through the mess of emotions.
I cared about Griffin despite every logical reason not to. That was certain.
But caring didn’t make it hurt less to be sidelined. Caring didn’t change the fact that I was risking everything—my career, my reputation, my hard-won sense of self—for a relationship that had to stay hidden. Caring didn’t erase the fear.
Was it worth it?
The answer should have been clear. The answer should have been no—no relationship was worth this much risk or pain.
But when I thought about Griffin—his rare smile, his vulnerability, the way he looked at me like I was someone who mattered—the answer wasn’t so simple.
Maybe this kind of connection was supposed to be terrifying and risky and completely illogical.
Or maybe I was just repeating old patterns and calling it something meaningful.
I didn’t know. I didn’t have answers.
All I knew was that despite everything, I wasn’t ready to end this yet.
I’d made my choice when I said yes to Griffin. This afternoon had just forced me to confront what that choice actually meant.
I chose to hope, even when hope felt foolish.
That was who I was—an optimist, someone who kept choosing possibility over safety.
And maybe that was going to destroy me eventually. Because I didn’t know how to protect myself from this. Didn’t know how to guard my heart while also being present in whatever this relationship was becoming.
I’d already jumped. Now I just had to hope I didn’t crash before figuring out how to land safely.
Or that Griffin would be there if I did.
Either way, I was committed now.
For better or worse, I was in this.
I didn’t pick up my phone again. Griffin needed rest, and so did I. We’d talk tomorrow, make a plan, figure out how to be more careful.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.
I cared about Griffin Lapierre, and that was both terrifying and the most honest thing I’d felt in years.
I just hoped we’d both survive it.