Chapter 28 #2
Tuesday morning arrived with cruel cheerfulness—sunshine streaming through my windows, birds chirping, the world completely indifferent to the anxiety churning in my gut. I dressed carefully in a suit—charcoal gray, white shirt, blue tie. A shield for whatever verdict awaited.
The drive to the facility felt surreal. I’d been suspended on Friday, had spent the weekend watching Griffin come out and posting my own statement, and now I was returning to learn my fate. Four days that had changed everything.
I had to park in the visitor’s lot. Then I sat in my car for a moment and gathered my courage.
Whatever happens, you’ll survive it. You always do.
I had to get a visitor’s badge at security, a gut-punch reminder that I no longer belonged here.
I took the elevator to the executive level, my heart pounding harder with each floor. Owen’s assistant smiled when I arrived.
“Mr. Hutton. He’s expecting you. Go right in.”
I knocked once, then opened the door to Davidson’s office.
Owen sat behind his massive desk, but he wasn’t alone. HR Director Sarah Thomas sat in one of the chairs facing the desk, and beside her was Anthony Morris, the team’s legal counsel. The formality of the setup made my stomach twist.
This is it. They’re firing me with witnesses.
“Wesley, come in. Sit.” Davidson gestured to the empty chair beside Sarah.
I sat, my hands clasped in my lap to hide their trembling. Three people. Official meeting. This felt like termination.
“Thank you for coming in.” Davidson’s tone was professional but not cold. “We’ve completed our review of the situation. Several factors have emerged that I want to discuss with you.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Morris leaned forward, leather legal pad portfolio in hand.
“Wesley, during our review of the non-fraternization policy and the circumstances of your suspension, we identified several concerns. The policy itself is overly broad and potentially legally questionable. It prohibits all romantic relationships between different organizational levels without distinguishing between direct reporting relationships and separate departments.”
I blinked, considering what he’d said. That sounded like… good news? Or at least not immediate termination.
“Most organizations today,” Anthony continued, “don’t have blanket bans on workplace relationships. They have disclosure and conflict-of-interest protocols. Our policy needed revision regardless of your situation.”
Sarah picked up the thread. “Additionally, we’ve been monitoring the public response to Captain Lapierre’s coming out and your statement.
The fan reaction has been overwhelmingly positive.
We’ve received inquiries from several progressive sponsors interested in partnering with the organization.
Your professional value to this team is significant.
Your expertise in crisis management and narrative framing was evident in how you handled your own statement. ”
I struggled to keep up. They were complimenting my PR work? While I was suspended for a policy violation?
Davidson steepled his hands on his desk, his expression serious, but not hostile. “Wesley, I made a hasty decision last Friday when I suspended you. I reacted to the policy violation without fully considering the context or the appropriate response.”
He paused, and I held my breath.
“We’re lifting your suspension effective immediately.”
The words didn’t compute at first. I stared at Owen, certain I’d misheard.
“Now, you did violate the policy in effect at the time. You’ll receive a formal reprimand that will be placed in your personnel file, and a five thousand dollar fine. Captain Lapierre will receive the same—formal reprimand and fine. But your employment continues.”
“I’m… I’m getting my job back?” The question came out barely above a whisper.
“You never should have lost it.” Regret passed across Davidson’s face. “I overreacted to a situation that required more nuanced handling. You violated a policy, yes. But the policy itself was flawed, and my response was disproportionate to the circumstances.”
Sarah added, “The non-fraternization policy is being rescinded and replaced with a disclosure and conflict-of-interest protocol. You and Captain Lapierre will need to file disclosure paperwork acknowledging your relationship and confirming there’s no direct reporting relationship or conflict of interest.”
Anthony nodded. “The new protocol requires disclosure within thirty days of a relationship beginning, annual updates, and immediate notification if circumstances change. It’s designed to address actual conflicts of interest rather than prohibiting all relationships.”
I sat in stunned silence, my mind in a whirl. Reinstated. Fined but not fired. Policy rescinded. Griffin and I could be together openly—or at least with organizational knowledge and approval.
“I don’t know what to say,” I said unsteadily. “Thank you. I—thank you.”
“You’re an excellent PR manager, Wesley.
” Davidson’s tone was genuine. “Your work with Griffin has been exemplary. Your handling of the home-opener media coverage was professional and effective. And frankly, your personal statement demonstrated exactly why we hired you. You understand messaging better than anyone else we could find.”
The compliment made my throat tight with unexpected emotion.
I’d spent four days thinking I’d lost everything, and instead I was being welcomed back with praise.
The fine—five thousand dollars—made my stomach twist. I had savings, but that was a significant amount. Still, I was thankful it wasn’t worse.
Davidson stood, signaling the meeting’s end. “Welcome back, Wesley. I look forward to continuing to work with you.”
I stood on shaky legs and shook hands with all three of them, wondering if this was real. I wasn’t fired. I had my job back. The policy that had made our relationship forbidden was gone.
Sarah handed me paperwork—the formal reprimand to sign, documentation of the fine, and the new disclosure protocol forms. “You and Captain Lapierre should file the disclosure paperwork together. It requires both signatures.”
“We will. Thank you.”
“And I’ll notify security to return your badge,” she said. “You can pick it up on the way out.”
“Thank you,” I said, the words inadequate for the relief flooding through me.
I left Owen’s office in a daze and walked through the facility toward the PR suite where my office waited.
It looked exactly as I’d left it Friday afternoon—laptop still on my desk, tablet and corporate phone still by my keyboard, the organized chaos of my workspace unchanged.
Like the past four days had been a strange dream rather than reality.
Natalie appeared in my doorway, her expression breaking into a huge smile. “Wesley! You’re back!” She crossed the room and hugged me, professional boundaries temporarily abandoned. “I’m so glad. I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” The waver in my voice surprised me. This job, this team, this space—it mattered more than I’d realized. “Thank you for holding down the fort.”
“Are you kidding? After watching you handle your personal crisis with that incredible social media post? You just gave a masterclass in PR strategy. We should all be thanking you.”
Other staff members appeared, colleagues offering welcome-backs and expressing support. Not everyone—some kept their distance—but enough. Enough to make me feel like I belonged here, like my suspension had been an aberration rather than a condemnation.
After everyone dispersed, I sat at my desk and pulled out my personal phone.
Wesley
I’m back. They rescinded the policy. Will explain more later. We’re okay.
Griffin’s response came an hour later, after practice.
Griffin
We’re better than okay. We’re free.
I stared at his text, letting the truth of it settle. Free. No more hiding. No more policy violations. No more fear that someone would discover us and destroy everything.
Just two people in a relationship, acknowledged and accepted by the organization we worked for. I replied to his text.
Wesley
I love you. And I can say that without fear now.
Griffin
I love you too. When can I see you? Need to celebrate.
Wesley
Tonight. Your place. I’ll bring dinner.
Griffin
Perfect. See you then.
I set down my phone and returned to the press release I was crafting—the job I’d thought I’d lost now restored. The job I’d built now secure. The future I’d feared was over now wide open with possibility.
This is what it feels like when things actually work out. Courage gets rewarded instead of punished. Truth leads to freedom instead of destruction.
It wasn’t Nashville. It wasn’t Charles’s betrayal or the prayer vigil or the career destruction I’d feared was repeating.
This was different. Better. Real.
Wednesday afternoon, Griffin and I met at HR to file the disclosure paperwork together. We sat across from Sarah at her desk, the forms spread between us, and it felt absurdly formal and wonderfully meaningful all at once.
“This is weird,” Griffin muttered, reading through the disclosure requirements.
“It’s documentation,” I corrected, though I agreed it felt strange. “Proof that we’re not hiding anymore.”
Sarah walked us through the forms—confirming our relationship status, acknowledging we understood the conflict-of-interest policies, verifying there was no direct reporting relationship between us. Simple questions with profound implications.
Griffin signed first, his signature bold and decisive. Then he slid the forms to me, and I added my signature beside his.
“There.” I set down the pen. “Official.”
“Officially official.” Griffin smiled, amused. “We’re a couple. With paperwork to prove it.”
Sarah collected the forms and tapped the edges against her desk to straighten them.
“Thank you both. We’ll file these. You’re required to update them annually or if circumstances change significantly.
If either of your roles changes in ways that create a reporting relationship, we’ll need to address that. ”
“Understood,” Griffin and I said in unison.
We left HR together, walking through the facility side by side without having to maintain a careful distance or pretend we were just colleagues.
Staff members who saw us didn’t seem surprised or scandalized—most had probably read the news coverage by now, knew about our relationship, had already contemplated the reality.
“This feels fantastic,” Griffin said quietly as we approached my office. “Walking beside you without calculating every interaction. I didn’t realize how exhausting the hiding was until I didn’t have to do it anymore.”
“Me neither.” And it was true. The constant vigilance, the careful distance, performing professional neutrality—all of it had been exhausting in ways I hadn’t fully recognized until it was gone.
At my office door, Griffin paused. “Dinner tonight? I’ll actually cook something. Or attempt to.”
“Please don’t burn down your apartment.” I smiled and kept my tone light despite wanting to touch him, kiss him, acknowledge physically what we could now acknowledge openly. “But yes. Dinner sounds perfect.”
“See you tonight.” Griffin’s expression was warm, open, the closeted mask completely absent. Then he walked away, and my gaze tracked his firm ass with the simple pleasure of being allowed to look.
This is what freedom feels like. Not perfect. Not without consequences. But real and honest and ours.
We’d survived. More than survived—we’d somehow managed to turn a crisis into an opportunity, a scandal into a love story, fear into freedom.
It wasn’t the ending I’d expected when Davidson had walked in on us kissing last Friday. It was better than anything I’d dared hope for.
And tomorrow… tomorrow we’d face whatever came next. Together. Openly. Free.