Chapter 25 #3
“I think it’s genuine. That’s what matters most.” I closed my laptop, suddenly exhausted from the intensity of the past few hours. “The media will respond however they respond. But this message—this is something you can be proud of regardless of reaction. Will Natalie handle the PR?”
“Yes. We’re meeting tomorrow after practice.”
“Good. Give her the statement. I’m sure she’ll get approval from Davidson, legal, HR, and the owner.”
Griffin set down the printed statement and rubbed his eyes. “Owen wanted to wait until after tomorrow night’s game to do the presser. Give the team time to focus on hockey before the media circus.”
“Smart.” Though the idea of Griffin playing a game while knowing what was coming the next day felt brutal. “How are you feeling about that?”
“Terrified. Focused. I don’t know.” Griffin’s laugh was hollow. “Part of me wants to get the presser over with. But another part is grateful for one more game where I’m just the captain, not ‘the gay captain.’ A chance to prove myself. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.” I stood and moved around the table to where Griffin sat. “You’re allowed to be scared. This is enormous. Historic. Life-changing. Fear is the appropriate response.”
“But you think I can do it?”
“I know you can do it.” I laid my hand on his shoulder and felt the tension coiled beneath. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. Not just physically—emotionally. You wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t ready.”
Griffin reached up and covered my hand with his, holding it against his shoulder. “Thank you. For helping me. For not giving up on me after Davidson caught us. For believing I’m different from Charles.”
“You are different from Charles.” The certainty in my voice surprised me. “He ran. You’re standing and fighting. That’s the difference.”
Griffin stood and turned to face me. Suddenly we were inches apart—close enough that I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the fear he was trying to hide, the love that made him vulnerable in ways his perfect captain persona never allowed.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he said quietly. “I love you. And I know two weeks is insane—”
“It is insane.” I managed a smile despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. “But I meant what I said too. I love you. And this—what you’re doing—proves you’re worth whatever happens to me.”
He kissed me then, tender and desperate all at once. His hands gripped my waist with gentle certainty, and I kissed him back, pouring everything I couldn’t articulate into the contact—gratitude and fear and hope and love all tangled together.
We stumbled toward my bedroom, still kissing, hands exploring familiar territory with new urgency. This felt different from previous encounters—less about physical release and more about connection, about claiming each other before the world tried to tear us apart.
Griffin’s hands worked at my shirt with trembling fingers, and I helped him, needing the contact, needing to feel his skin against mine, needing the proof that this was real and worth fighting for.
We came together slowly, deliberately, like we were memorizing each other.
Griffin’s touch was reverent, exploring, claiming.
I tried to give back the same attention, showing with actions what felt too big for words—that he mattered, that his courage awed me, that choosing him was the easiest decision despite all the impossibly difficult circumstances.
Afterward, drained from coming so hard it had turned me inside out, we lay spooned together.
Griffin’s arm curled around my waist, and my back nestled against his chest. I listened to his breathing gradually slow.
The room was dark except for ambient light from the street, and the silence felt comfortable rather than heavy.
“I should probably go,” he murmured, but he didn’t move. “Morning skate is at nine. I need to be at the facility by eight thirty.”
“Stay.” The word came out before I could stop it, before rational thought could intervene. “Just tonight. You can leave early tomorrow morning.”
Griffin’s arm tightened around me. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” And I was—sure that I needed him here tonight, needed the comfort of his presence, needed to fall asleep wrapped in his arms before everything changed. “We’ll set an alarm. You’ll have plenty of time.”
“Okay.” Griffin pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Thank you. For everything today. For helping me find my voice.”
“You already had your voice. I just helped you realize it.” I shifted slightly, getting more comfortable in his embrace. “You’re going to be amazing. Both the game and the press conference.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” I closed my eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with me. “And I’ll be watching. Both parts. Cheering you on.”
Griffin’s breathing gradually evened out, his body relaxing into sleep. I lay awake longer, processing the day’s emotional whiplash—caught, suspended, Griffin’s decision to come out, our love declarations, this moment of peace before the storm.
This is what healthy love looks like. Not Charles choosing his family and career over me. Not prayer vigils and public denunciations. This—Griffin being courageous, choosing us despite the cost.
Nashville’s trauma would probably never fully heal. The scars from Charles’s betrayal ran too deep. But Griffin was proving that not all closeted men would throw me under the bus. That some people valued love and truth more than safety and image.
I fell asleep wrapped in Griffin’s arms, hopeful despite everything.
My phone alarm went off at six thirty Saturday morning and dragged me from sleep with its insistent ring. Griffin stirred beside me, groaning softly as consciousness returned.
“Morning,” I mumbled and reached to silence the alarm.
“Morning.” Griffin’s voice was rough with sleep. He pulled me closer for a moment and pressed a kiss to the back of my neck. “I don’t want to get out of bed.”
“I know. But you have to.” I turned in his arms to face him, taking in his pillow-creased cheek and the vulnerability in his expression before the day’s demands reasserted themselves. “Morning skate waits for no one. Not even captains who are coming out tomorrow.”
Griffin smiled, then sobered. “Are you going to be okay today while I’m gone? For the game?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll watch from home. Probably stress-eat an entire pizza while analyzing your every shift.” I kept my tone light despite the anxiety already building. “You focus on hockey. I’ll focus on not having a nervous breakdown.”
“Wesley—”
“I’m kidding. Mostly.” I touched his face, his stubble scraping against my fingers. “I’ll be okay. This is your moment. Both the game and tomorrow’s presser. I’m just supporting from the sidelines.”
Griffin captured my hand and held it against his face. “You’re not on the sidelines. You’re my partner. In this and everything else.”
The word partner made something warm expand in my chest. Not boyfriend, not secret. Partner.
“Okay.” I leaned in for a quick kiss. “Now get up before you’re late and Coach Roberts benches you for the biggest game before the biggest press conference of your life.”
Griffin laughed and extracted himself from my bed. He dressed in yesterday’s clothes but had time to go home to shower and change before morning skate.
At my front door, he paused, his hand on the handle. “Thank you. For last night. For everything.”
“Always.” I pulled him in for one more kiss, deeper this time, trying to pour reassurance and love and confidence into the contact. “Now go. Kill it on the ice tonight. Show them why you’re the captain.”
Griffin’s expression shifted into something more determined, more focused. The captain’s mask sliding into place, the vulnerability of this morning giving way to professional competence. I could see the transformation happen—Griffin the man becoming Griffin the elite athlete.
“I’ll see you on the other side,” Griffin said quietly.
“See you on the other side.”
He left, and I closed the door behind him, then leaned against it and tried to process everything.
In less than thirty hours, Griffin would stand in front of cameras and reporters and acknowledge what he’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.
And I would watch from home, suspended, proud and terrified in equal measure.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of the pocket of my sweats. It was a text from Griffin.
Griffin
Thank you for believing in me. I love you.
I typed back.
Wesley
I love you too. Now focus on hockey. Tomorrow, we change the world.
His response was immediate.
Griffin
Tomorrow, we change the world.
I returned my phone to my pocket and flopped onto the couch. The apartment felt empty without him but also charged with anticipation.
Tomorrow, everything would change. Griffin would come out. Our relationship would eventually be public knowledge. The media would dissect every aspect of our story.
But tonight, Griffin would play hockey. Would lead his team. Would be the captain one more time before adding “and gay” to every description of who he was.
And I would watch, and hope, and believe that the courage Griffin was showing would be enough to carry us both through whatever came next.
This is what healthy love looks like, I thought again. Someone who chooses you. Who fights for you. Who’s brave enough to be honest even when honesty costs everything.
Griffin was different from Charles. This ending would be different too.
It had to be.