Chapter 27 #2
I don’t need protecting. I need a partnership. We’re in this together.
I stared at his response, processing. Part of me wanted to be angry—I was supposed to handle this and control the narrative. But Wesley had just done what I couldn’t. He’d made our relationship something to be proud of instead of something to hide or explain away.
Griffin
I read it three times. It’s beautiful. And brilliant. You reframed everything.
Wesley
That’s my job. Well, it was my job. Might not be anymore.
Griffin
It’s already viral. Thousands of people have seen it.
Wesley
I know. I’m trying not to panic about that.
Griffin
Don’t panic. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I love you.
Wesley
I love you too. Are you okay?
Griffin
Terrified. Relieved. Grateful. You didn’t have to do this.
Wesley
Yes, I did. You aren’t going to face the aftermath alone. That’s not how this works.
Griffin
I’m not used to someone standing beside me like this.
Wesley
Get used to it. I’m not going anywhere.
I read his last message twice, something warm and painful expanding in my chest. Wesley had just risked everything—again—to stand with me publicly. To make sure the world knew this wasn’t just my story, it was ours.
“You okay?” Holloway’s voice pulled me back to the hallway. He still stood nearby, watching me with concern.
“Yeah.” I pocketed my phone and managed a genuine smile despite the emotional overwhelm. “More than okay.”
Davidson appeared after wrapping up a conversation with Natalie. “Griffin, excellent work today. Get changed, get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be intense too.”
I nodded and headed to the locker room, needing the privacy to process. I changed out of my suit quickly, grateful to shed the formal armor for jeans and a T-shirt.
My phone continued buzzing with notifications—I opened one app again and immediately wished I hadn’t.
@Griff_Lapierre was trending worldwide. Number one. Ahead of everything.
#HockeyIsForEveryone was trending too, thousands of posts celebrating, supporting, sharing both my press conference and Wesley’s post.
I scrolled through responses, my stomach churning.
brEAKING: Portland Stormhawks captain Griffin Lapierre becomes first NHL player to publicly come out as gay. Full story at link.
The NHL stands with Griffin Lapierre and celebrates his courage. Hockey is for everyone. #HockeyIsForEveryone
Crying watching Griffin Lapierre’s press conference. This is what courage looks like.
Thank you @Griff_Lapierre for your incredible bravery. You’ve just changed hockey history and made the sport safer for LGBTQ+ athletes everywhere.
The support was overwhelming—athletes from other sports, LGBTQ+ organizations, fans, journalists, random people expressing pride and gratitude.
But there was backlash too. Ugly comments, suggestions that I was seeking attention, predictions that my career was over, homophobic slurs I’d feared my entire life.
Then I saw Cory Boucher’s post from eleven minutes after my press conference.
Interesting PR strategy by @Griff_Lapierre. Wonder if Colorado knew what they were getting rid of. #Stormhawks #BoldMove
The dismissive sarcasm hit harder than the hate. Boucher couldn’t even acknowledge my coming out directly, had to couch it in implication and snark.
Fuck him. He was bitter and small. That wouldn’t touch me.
But it still stung.
My phone rang—Michael’s name flashing. I answered and braced for the lecture.
“I watched your press conference.” His voice was tight, controlled. “You did exactly what I told you not to do. Made yourself a target, turned your career into a social statement.”
“And?” I waited for the rest.
“And you handled it well. The statement was strong. Your answers were professional. You didn’t come across as a victim, just as a player being honest.” He paused. “I’ll admit—grudgingly—that was impressive.”
The faint praise felt like a win. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. This is going to complicate everything. But—” Another pause. “I respect that you did it on your own terms. With preparation. That matters.”
“I had help.” Wesley’s contribution couldn’t go unacknowledged.
Michael was quiet. “I’ve already gotten calls from three potential sponsors. Progressive brands that want to support you. You lost the outdoor sports gear endorsement—conservative ownership. But the new inquiries are worth more combined. Net positive financially if we play this right.”
The pragmatic calculation should have felt hollow, but it was also proof Michael was doing his job. “Keep me posted.”
“Griffin—” His voice softened fractionally. “What you did took courage. Your father would be—” He stopped himself. “You did well today.”
We ended the call, and I saw a text from my mother waiting.
Mom
I watched your press conference. I’m so worried about you. The backlash, the media attention—are you safe? Are you okay? Please call me when you can. I love you, honey. I’m trying to understand. This is just a lot to take in.
Griffin
I’m okay, Mom. I know this is a lot. We can talk tomorrow. Love you too.
I scrolled through more messages—former teammates supporting me, organizations praising my courage, media outlets requesting interviews. Three texts from unknown numbers caught my attention.
Unknown
Thank you for going first. Been closeted my whole career. Seeing you do this makes me think maybe I can too someday.
Unknown
You’re braver than I’ll ever be. But knowing you’re out there playing openly gives me hope.
Unknown
Maybe someday I can do this too. Thanks for showing it’s possible.
Other players. Had to be. Athletes who couldn’t come out themselves but found hope in watching me do it.
The weight of that responsibility settled over me—heavier than any pads I’d ever worn.
I left the facility and drove home on autopilot, processing everything. My apartment felt too quiet when I arrived, the silence oppressive after the chaos.
I couldn’t be alone with this. Couldn’t process the magnitude of what had happened without Wesley.
Griffin
Can I come over?
Wesley
Already expecting you. Door’s unlocked.
Relief flooded through me. I grabbed my keys and drove to Wesley’s apartment, the familiar route grounding me.
His door was unlocked as promised. I knocked anyway, then let myself in.
Wesley stood in his living room, dressed casually in jeans and a worn gray T-shirt, his expression showing everything—concern and pride and love tangled together.
He didn’t say anything. Just opened his arms.
I crossed to him and let him hold me, my face pressed into his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me with solid certainty. The tension I’d been carrying since the press conference finally released.
“You did it,” Wesley murmured against my hair. “You were incredible. So brave. So strong.”
“I’m terrified.” The admission came out muffled against his shoulder. “The entire world knows now. Everyone’s talking about it. I can’t take it back.”
“You wouldn’t want to take it back.” Wesley’s hand rubbed slow, comforting circles on my back. “Even if you could.”
“No.” That much was true. Despite the fear and the tremendous response and the sudden loss of privacy, I didn’t regret it. “I wouldn’t.”
We stood there for a long moment, Wesley holding me together while I processed the day’s emotional upheaval. Finally, he pulled back slightly. His hands framed my face, and his brown eyes searched mine.
“Come on. Let’s sit. You can tell me everything.”
We moved to his couch, and I collapsed onto it with an exhaustion that went beyond physical. Wesley settled beside me, close enough that our thighs touched, his presence steady and reassuring.
“It’s everywhere.” I pulled out my phone to show him the trending hashtags, the news articles, the explosion of social media, and the messages I received.
“I’m trending worldwide. People I’ve never met are talking about me.
Organizations are calling me a hero. And I just—I don’t know what to think about any of it. ”
Wesley took my phone, scrolled through some reactions, his expression thoughtful. “The response is mostly positive. That’s significant, Griffin. More support than backlash.”
“But there is backlash. Boucher’s post, the hateful comments, the sponsor who dropped me—”
His head snapped up. “A sponsor dropped you?”
“One sponsor. Who got replaced by three others.”
Wesley set down my phone and took my hands. “You knew there would be consequences. But you’re also seeing that those consequences aren’t what you feared. You’re not being destroyed. You’re being celebrated.”
“By strangers who’ve made me into a symbol. I didn’t ask to be the first openly gay NHL player. I just wanted to stop hiding.” The frustration bled through despite knowing it was irrational.
“I know. But you are the first, whether or not you wanted to be. And that means something to a lot of people.” Wesley’s thumbs traced circles on the backs of my hands. “Those texts from unknown numbers—they matter, Griffin. Your courage gives other people hope. That’s not a small thing.”
“It’s a lot of pressure.” A new fear crept in—the terror that I’d fail to live up to this new role, that I’d prove unworthy of the symbol people were making me into.
“You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be an icon or activist or representative. You just have to be yourself. That’s all anyone’s asking.” Wesley leaned in and pressed his forehead against mine. “And you did that today. Beautifully.”
I closed my eyes and let his certainty wash over me, trying to internalize the truth of what he was saying. I’d been honest. I’d been myself. That had to be enough.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “For helping me prepare. For believing I could do this. For being here now when I’m falling apart.”
“You’re not falling apart. You’re processing something enormous. That’s allowed.” Wesley kissed me softly, tenderly, then pulled back with a small smile. “Besides, where else would I be? You just made history. I’m not missing out on the outcome.”