Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Wesley
I stared at Griffin’s text for the third time, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
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?
He was coming out. In two days. Sunday afternoon, after Saturday’s game. The first NHL player in history to publicly acknowledge being gay. And he needed me.
I immediately started strategizing—talking points, anticipated questions, tone, and framing. The part of me that had spent years managing crises and spinning narratives into something positive saw the possibilities, the opportunities, the ways we could control this story before it controlled us.
But underneath that automatic response, something deeper churned: hope and terror and the recognition that Griffin was doing what Charles never could.
He was choosing courage over comfort. Me over safety.
My hands trembled slightly as I typed back.
Wesley
Come over. We have work to do.
I set down my phone and considered how much had changed in just one day. We’d thought we could navigate this impossible situation successfully. I’d let myself believe that maybe this time would be different from Nashville.
It is different. Griffin is coming out. Charles threw me under the bus. That’s the difference.
But the Nashville trauma still whispered to me. What if Griffin regrets this? What if the backlash destroys him? What if he ends up hating you for being the catalyst?
I shoved those thoughts aside and moved into practical mode. If Griffin was doing this, he needed the best PR strategy possible. He needed talking points that would frame his coming out as leadership rather than scandal. He needed to be prepared for the media onslaught that would follow.
And I was suspended. Officially forbidden from working on team business. Helping Griffin prepare his coming-out statement while I was under investigation for the relationship that made his coming out necessary felt ethically complicated at best.
Does it matter? If he’s coming out anyway, if our relationship will be public knowledge soon, what difference does my suspension make?
The rationalization felt thin, but I didn’t care.
Griffin needed me. And after being forced to walk out of the facility this afternoon while he faced Owen Davidson alone, after hours of sitting in my apartment processing my suspension and probable unemployment, I needed to do something that mattered.
A knock sounded on my door ten minutes later, three quick raps. I opened it to find Griffin standing on my small front step, the late-afternoon light casting shadows across his face.
His ice-blue eyes showed strain. But it was his expression that hit me hardest—vulnerable in ways I rarely saw, the perfect mask completely absent. Griffin stood there for a moment, meeting my gaze with raw honesty. “Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hi.” I stepped back to let him in. He crossed the threshold into my apartment with a sigh, like he was walking into sanctuary.
I closed the door behind him, and we were alone—no facility staff, no teammates, no Owen Davidson. Just us and the decision Griffin had made and the enormous implications neither of us could fully understand yet.
“Wesley, I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked on my name. “I dragged you into this. They suspended you because of me. Because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, couldn’t maintain the boundaries you tried to set, couldn’t—”
“Stop.” I cut through his self-flagellation.
“We both made choices. I could have said no when you invited me over. Could have maintained distance. Could have been smarter about where and when we—” I gestured vaguely, encompassing the facility and every moment we’d been careless. “This isn’t just your fault.”
“But I’m the one who pursued you. I’m the one who kept pushing despite knowing the risks.” He moved closer, his expression anguished. “And now you’re suspended and I—”
“Griffin.” I reached out, my hand landing on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath my palm. “I made a choice. To be with you. To take the risk. That was my decision, not something you forced on me.”
“I love you.” The words burst out of him, desperate and honest and terrifying all at once.
“I’m in love with you, Wesley. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.
Never let anyone close enough. Never wanted someone like I want you.
And I know it’s only been weeks—I know that’s crazy, that it’s too fast—but it’s true. I love you.”
The declaration hit me with unexpected force, stealing my breath and making my chest tight with emotion I’d been trying to keep contained. Griffin loved me. Had just said it out loud, raw and vulnerable and real.
“I don’t know if you can forgive me for destroying your career,” he continued, his voice rough. “But I need you to know—you’re worth more to me than hockey. More than my image. More than everything I’ve spent sixteen years building. You’re worth it.”
Tears stung my eyes, unexpected and unwelcome. I’d heard love declarations before. Charles had said the words plenty of times, usually in hotel rooms after sex, whispered like secrets that disappeared in daylight.
But this—Griffin standing in my apartment after choosing to come out, after deciding that his perfect image didn’t preclude being gay, after risking everything to protect me—this felt different. This felt like what love was supposed to be.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “We’re both to blame. We knew what we were getting into. And Griffin—” I paused, gathering courage to say what I’d been afraid to acknowledge even to myself. “I love you too.”
His eyes widened, hope and disbelief warring in his expression.
“I know it’s fast,” I said. “Two weeks is nothing. We barely know each other in a lot of ways. But it’s real.
What I feel for you—” I struggled to articulate something I didn’t fully understand myself.
“I never felt a fraction of this for Charles. Never. With him, I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Always wondering when he’d inevitably choose his family over me.
I knew deep down that I was his secret, not his partner. ”
“Wesley—”
“But you—” My hand still rested on Griffin’s chest, feeling his heart thumping, grounding myself in his physical presence.
“You chose me. You’re coming out, risking everything, choosing truth after sixteen years of self-preservation.
That’s not what Charles did. That’s not what anyone’s ever done for me. ”
His hand covered mine and held it there. “I’m not doing this just for you. I meant what I said in the text. I need this for myself too. I’m tired of hiding. Tired of acting and measuring my worth through other people’s perception instead of just being myself.”
“I know.” And I did know—could see it in his expression, hear it in his voice.
This wasn’t just Griffin trying to be a hero or protect me from consequences.
This was him finally choosing himself. “But that doesn’t make it less meaningful that you’re doing it now.
That you’re not letting me take the fall alone. ”
We stood in my entryway, hands clasped between us, and processed the enormity of what we’d just acknowledged. Two weeks together. In love. About to face a media firestorm that could destroy his career.
This is insane, the rational part of my brain whispered. You barely know him. You’re both in crisis. This could still end badly.
But my optimism—battered by Nashville but not quite broken—saw the possibilities instead of just the problems. Saw that Griffin was different from Charles. That this ending might be different too.
“Okay.” I shifted gears deliberately, channeling professional focus to ground us both. “Let’s craft your statement. We have two days before the press conference. That’s enough time to prepare if we’re smart about it.”
Griffin blinked at the transition, then nodded. “Right. The presser. That’s why I came over.”
“Partly why you came over.” I managed a small smile despite the weight of everything. “But yes, let’s work. Come sit.”
We moved to my dining table, and I grabbed my personal laptop and a notebook. Griffin settled across from me, and I studied him for a moment—the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw, the way his hands moved restlessly on the table like he needed something to do.
“First question.” I poised my pen over the notebook. “Why are you coming out? And I don’t mean the immediate situation with Davidson catching us. I mean deeper. What do you want people to understand about this?”
He was quiet for a long moment, considering. Finally, he said, “I want them to understand that I’ve been hiding who I am my entire career. That being gay isn’t a flaw or a scandal—it’s just part of who I am. And that I’m tired of living a version of myself that isn’t real.”
I wrote notes and analyzed his words. “Good. That’s sincere and heartfelt. What else?”
“I want them to know this doesn’t change my commitment to the team. That I’m still their captain. That being honest about my sexuality doesn’t make me less of a leader.” His voice gained certainty as he articulated his thoughts.
“So this is about truth and authenticity.” I wrote faster. “About leadership through honesty. About being a pioneer not because you wanted to be first, but because you needed to be yourself.”
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
“Okay.” I looked up from my notes. “Here’s what we’re not going to do.
We’re not mentioning me specifically. We’re not talking about the relationship or the policy violation or any of the circumstances that led to this moment.
This statement is about you—your truth, your courage, your decision to live authentically. ”
“I agree.” Then he frowned. “But people will find out. Davidson caught us. The investigation—”