Chapter 24 #2
“Authenticity doesn’t pay your salary. Doesn’t keep you in the league. Doesn’t honor your father’s legacy.” Michael’s tone was bitter, disappointed. “Nic would be devastated to see you throw away everything he worked for.”
The invocation of my father hit harder than anything else. The man who’d told me at sixteen to stay closeted, to protect my career, to never let anyone know. The legendary Nic Lapierre who’d built a Hall of Fame career on his public image and carefully controlled narrative.
“My father’s dead.” The words came out harsher than I’d intended. “And I’m tired of making decisions based on what he might have wanted eighteen years ago. Times have changed and I’m thirty-four fucking years old. I get to decide what matters to me.”
“And you’ve decided that this Wesley Hutton is worth destroying your career for? Worth breaking your contract, losing endorsements, becoming a media circus? Worth proving Colorado right about letting you go?”
The mention of Colorado hit exactly where Michael knew it would, damn him: my fear that I was expendable, that being traded proved I wasn’t valuable enough, that I needed to be perfect to have any worth at all.
“Wesley is worth it.” My voice was steady now, certain. “And maybe my career isn’t destroyed. Maybe there’s a way through this that doesn’t end in total disaster.”
“How?” Michael’s laugh stung. “Management could terminate your contract. Media will find out. Sponsors will drop you. Other teams won’t want the distraction. You’ll be radioactive, Griffin. The first openly gay NHL player—not by choice, but by scandal. That would be your legacy.”
His words painted a picture of professional destruction that should have terrified me. And part of me was terrified—the part that measured my worth through achievement and image and success.
But another part—the part that had fallen in love with Wesley despite all the risks, that had felt more alive and authentic in the past couple of weeks than in sixteen years of hiding—recognized a truth I’d been avoiding.
I didn’t want to hide anymore.
I was tired of performing straightness. Tired of measuring every word and gesture. Tired of keeping the person I loved a secret. Tired of living in fear that discovery would destroy me.
What if, instead of letting this scandal define me, I took control of it? What if I came out on my own terms, owned my truth, became the first NHL player to publicly acknowledge being gay by choice rather than by force?
The idea crystallized as Michael continued his tirade about sponsors and media and career suicide. I could let Wesley take the fall—let the investigation play out, let Davidson and legal and HR determine consequences, stay closeted and hope to salvage something from the wreckage.
Or I could be brave. Could choose honesty and devotion over image. Could protect Wesley by taking control of the narrative before it controlled us.
“Michael.” I cut through his words, my decision made. “I’m going to come out.”
Silence. Then: “What?”
“I’m coming out. Publicly. I’m going to call a press conference and acknowledge that I’m gay. I’ll leave Wesley out of it, because his isn’t my story to tell. But I’m not hiding anymore.”
“Griffin, no.” Michael’s voice turned pleading. “Don’t do this. Don’t make a rash decision while you’re emotional. Sleep on it. Think about—”
“I’ve been sleeping on it for sixteen years.” The certainty in my voice surprised me. “I’m done waiting. Done hiding. Done letting fear dictate my life.”
“This will destroy your career.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’ll be the beginning of something better. Either way, it’s my choice.”
“Griffin—”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Michael. For stepping in after Dad died. For guiding my career. For trying to protect me.” My voice softened with genuine gratitude. “But this is my decision. I’m doing this.”
“Your mother—”
“Will have to deal with it. Just like you will. And if you can’t support me, then we’ll have to part ways.” I paused, then added, “I should go. I need to call Davidson.”
“Griffin, please. Think about this. Just one more day—”
I ended the call before he could finish, before his arguments could undermine the fragile courage I’d found.
My hands shook as I pulled up Davidson’s number. This was it. The moment everything changed—either for better or worse, I didn’t know. But I knew I couldn’t go back to hiding. Couldn’t let Wesley suffer alone. Couldn’t keep living a lie that felt more suffocating every day.
“Griffin. I said twenty-four hours,” Davidson said when he answered the phone.
“I know. But I need to tell you something. I’m coming out.” The words came easier this time, more certain. “I’m calling a press conference. Tomorrow is game day, so I’ll do it on Sunday. I’m going to announce that I’m gay.”
There was a long pause, and then he said, “That’s a significant decision. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
“I’ve thought about nothing else since I left your office.
” I moved to my couch and sat down in the same spot where Wesley and I had made out just days ago.
“Honestly, I’m tired of hiding who I am.
Tired of being afraid. This is my choice—to come out on my terms, not to be outed by scandal.
And maybe Wesley will forgive me, and we can be together afterward. ”
Another pause. When Owen spoke again, his voice had shifted—still serious, but with something that might have been respect underneath.
“Griffin, I want you to know something. Personally, I support you. I think you’re incredibly brave to even consider this. Being the first player to come out—that takes guts I’m not sure I’d have in your position.”
Relief flooded through me, unexpected and overwhelming. “Thank you.”
“But…” Owen’s tone turned more businesslike. “This has to be handled carefully. Very carefully. The media attention will be intense. The scrutiny of you, on the franchise, on the league… We need to do this right.”
“I know. That’s why I’m calling you. I want the team’s support if possible. But Owen, I’m doing this either way. With or without organizational backing.”
“I understand.” I could practically hear Owen thinking, strategizing. “I need to talk to legal, HR, and ownership. I need to make sure everyone’s on board. I need to consult with Coach Roberts. And honestly, we need to figure out the PR strategy.”
“Wesley—” I started, but Owen cut me off.
“Wesley is still suspended pending investigation. I can’t bring him back to handle this.” He sighed. “Even though he would be the best PR strategist to craft the message.”
“Understood.”
“We’ll schedule the presser for Sunday afternoon. That gives us time to prepare, to brief ownership and legal, to get Coach Roberts on board.”
Roughly forty-eight hours from now. Forty-eight hours to prepare for the moment that would change everything.
“I’ll be ready.”
“Good. Griffin—” Owen’s voice softened again. “I meant what I said. What you’re doing takes real courage. I’m proud to have you as captain, regardless of what happens next.”
The words hit me harder than I’d expected, validation from someone whose respect I’d been desperate to maintain. “Thank you, sir. That means more than you know.”
“Get some rest. Prepare yourself mentally. With the game and the press conference, this weekend is going to be intense.”
The call ended, and I sat in the silence of my apartment and processed what I’d just set in motion.
Sunday, I would sit in front of cameras and reporters and announce what I’d been hiding for sixteen years.
Would become the first player to come out.
Would either be celebrated as a pioneer or destroyed as a distraction.
But more importantly, I would be honest. Genuine. Myself.
The fear was still there—my terror that being openly gay would make me worthless, that authenticity would cost me everything I’d worked for, that I’d prove Colorado right about being expendable.
But my love for Wesley was stronger than the fear. My desire to stop hiding, to stop performing, to stop measuring my worth through others’ perception—that was stronger too.
I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Wesley, breaking Owen’s orders.
Griffin
I’m coming out. Sunday presser. Need your help.
The response came within seconds.
Wesley
Griffin, no. Are you doing this for me? Don’t sacrifice your career because of what happened today.
I stared at the screen, then typed back quickly.
Griffin
I’m not doing this just for you. I’m doing it for myself. I have to live my true life. I can’t hide anymore. But we need to talk about it. Can I come over?
Three dots appeared, disappeared, reappeared. The wait felt interminable.
Wesley
Come over. We have work to do.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, purpose and fear and hope all tangled together in my chest.
Sunday, I would come out. Would take control of my narrative.
And I would do it with Wesley’s help and blessing, the person who’d helped me find the courage to be myself, who’d risked everything for me, who deserved better than being suspended while I hid.
I was doing the right thing. I had to believe that.
I just hoped that when the dust settled, we’d both still be standing.