13. Moose
Chapter thirteen
Moose
T he acrid scent of day-old coffee assaulted my nose as I settled into my cramped office. A slice of watery sunlight cut through the blinds. It was barely 7 a.m., but I was determined to get a head start on the mountain of paperwork for our upcoming charity gala.
I booted up my ancient desktop computer, its fan wheezing like an asthmatic bulldog. While I waited for it to creak to life, I pulled out my phone. Might as well check the team's social media accounts, make sure last night's post about our win against the Sharks had gotten some traction.
My thumb swiped lazily through the feed. Likes were up, comments mostly positive. Good. Maybe I was finally getting the hang of this marketing gig. I scrolled further, past player highlights and fan reposts, when something caught my eye.
I froze, thumb hovering over the screen. There, nestled in the background of a seemingly innocent locker room celebration shot, were Finn and me.
The world narrowed to those few pixels. Finn's lithe frame was tucked against my side, his head tilted up toward me with a smile that made my heart stutter even now. My hand—God, my massive paw—splayed possessively across his lower back. The intimacy was undeniable, even in the grainy background.
"No, no, no," I muttered, panic clawing up my throat. I zoomed in, hoping it was a trick of the light, a misunderstanding. But the image only became clearer, more damning.
The desk lamp flickered, its dying bulb matching the erratic rhythm of my pulse. I barely noticed. I glued my eyes to the phone, watching helplessly as likes and comments poured in beneath the post.
"Is that Moretti and Novak?"
"Looks cozy ;)"
"Guess we know why the rookie's getting so much ice time... connections in the front office."
I sucked in a ragged breath, my free hand kneading the tight muscles at the base of my neck. The low hum of the office faded, replaced by a memory—Finn's laughter, bright and unrestrained from just a few days ago, as I battled his dad in a bubble hockey tournament. The ghost of Finn's touch lingered on my skin, a stark contrast to the cold dread seeping through my veins.
My phone rang, cutting through my thoughts of doom.
"Moose?" Finn's voice was tight, controlled, but I could hear the undercurrent of panic. "Have you seen—"
"Yeah," I cut him off, gentler than I intended. "I've seen it."
A beat of silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken fears. I could almost see him, pacing in his apartment, running a hand through those unruly curls.
"What do we do?" Finn finally asked, the tremor in his voice betraying his calm facade.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the right answer to materialize. The weight of responsibility—to Finn, to the team, to myself—pressed down on me like a physical force. "I don't know. I don't—" The words caught in my throat. I wanted to wrap him in my arms, to shield him from the storm brewing around us. Instead, I was stuck in this sterile office, powerless. "Just... lay low for now, okay? I'll handle this."
"But—" Finn started, then cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. "Moose, we hold equal responsibility. You don't have to protect me."
A rueful laugh escaped me. "Old habits die hard, I guess."
"I'm serious," Finn insisted. "We knew this could happen. We talked about it."
"Talking about it and living it are two different things," I countered, my free hand clenching into a fist. "You've worked so hard to get here. Your speed, your dedication—you're finally getting the recognition you deserve. I can't let this derail that."
"And what about you? You think I don't worry about your career too? You've reinvented yourself, taken on this whole new challenge. I won't let you sacrifice that for me."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. "Finn," I breathed, my voice breaking. "I—"
I heard a sharp knock on my door and the muffled voice. "Moose… it's Tasha."
"I have to go," I said quickly. "Emergency meeting. Just... promise me you won't do anything rash. No statements, no social media. Not until we figure this out."
"Moose—"
"Please, Finn. Trust me on this."
A long pause, then a resigned sigh. "Okay. I trust you. But Moose?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you. Whatever happens, remember that."
The lump in my throat threatened to choke me. "I love you too," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
The line went dead. I stared at the phone, stomach churning with a potent mix of love, fear, and guilt.
Another sharp knock on my door jolted me back to reality. "Come in," I called out.
When the door opened, Tasha from PR stood in the doorway, her usually immaculate hair frazzled.
"Emergency meeting. Now."
I nodded, hauling myself to my feet. My legs felt like lead as I followed her down the hallway. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed angrily, each step echoing like a countdown to disaster.
The conference room was a pressure cooker of tension. As I entered, the low murmur of voices abruptly ceased. Faces turned to me, and I saw a mix of disappointment and barely concealed anger. I slid into an empty chair, the leather squeaking in protest.
Mr. Fredericks, our GM, sat at the head of the table, his craggy face set in hard lines. On an ordinary day, I would feel proud that he had an interest in me.
To his right, Tasha perched on the edge of her seat, fingers flying over her tablet. The rest of the table was a who's who of team management—all people I'd joked with at the team Christmas party. Now they regarded me with a spectrum of emotions ranging from pity to disgust.
"Moretti," Fredericks growled, breaking the suffocating silence. "Care to explain this?" He slapped a printout of the damning photo on the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
I opened my mouth, but the words evaporated on my tongue. How could I explain something I was still grappling with myself?
"It's not what it looks like," I finally managed, the lie tasting bitter.
Fredericks's eyebrow arched. "Really? Because it looks like our marketing manager is a little too cozy with one of our rookies."
The room spun. I gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white. "I was just—"
"Save it," Tasha cut in, her voice clipped. "We need to get ahead of this. We need you to draft a statement. Deny any inappropriate relationship. Chalk it up to a misleading angle, team camaraderie, whatever. Just make it convincing."
Her words hit me like a physical blow. Deny it. Lie. I remembered Axel's story of getting caught in a similar situation and how it destroyed a relationship. She wanted me to pretend that what Finn and I had was nothing more than a trick of the light.
"I can't," I whispered.
The room fell silent. I could hear the tick of the wall clock, marking each excruciating second.
"Excuse me?" Fredericks leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
"I said I can't!" The words exploded out of me, filling the stifling air. "I won't lie about this. About him."
Tasha's face softened, just a fraction. "Milo, think about what you're saying. Think about your career. About Finn's career."
"That's all I've been thinking about!" I shot back, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. "Do you think this is easy for me? For either of us?"
"Nobody said it was easy," piped up Neal Overton. I wasn't sure what job he performed, something that merited an office in the top executive suite. "But this is professional sports, Moretti. There are expectations. Standards."
I turned to him, feeling a surge of anger. "Standards? You mean like looking the other way when half the team is out until 3 a.m. before a game? Or how many DUI's have NHL teams swept under the rug?"
Overton's face flushed an ugly shade of red. "That's different and you know it."
"How?" I demanded. "Because it fits into your narrow view of what's acceptable? Because it doesn't challenge your comfortable little worldview?"
"Enough!" Fredericks's fist came down on the table with a resounding thud. "This isn't a debate, Moretti. This is damage control. Now, are you going to be part of the solution, or do we need to start discussing severance packages?"
The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I looked around the table, searching for a friendly face, a hint of understanding. I found none.
"I need some air," I mumbled, stumbling to my feet.
"Milo," Tasha started, her voice softer now. "Please, just—"
But I was already moving, fleeing the conference room on unsteady legs. I ignored the calls behind me, the protests fading as I staggered down the hall.
My vision blurred, the familiar corridors suddenly alien and hostile. I collided with the wall, fumbling for the door handle of my office. As I all but fell inside, one thought pounded in my head, drowning out everything else:
What have I done?
I was going to lose everything. My job. My dignity. Finn.
A wailing sound filled the air. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from me.
I slumped against the door, sliding to the floor. My chest heaved, each breath a desperate gasp. The edges of my vision darkened, the world closing in around me.
"Milo?" A gentle voice cut through the fog of panic. "Milo, can you hear me?"
I blinked, struggling to focus. Dr. Chen crouched before me, her face etched with concern. I had no idea how long she'd been there. Her hair was slightly disheveled, as if she'd hurried down the hall to check on me. The scent of peppermint tea, which she always carried in a thermos, wafted towards me.
"I can't," I choked out. "I can't do this. I can't—"
"Breathe with me, Milo," she instructed, her voice a steady anchor. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. That's it."
I tried to follow her lead, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Dr. Chen placed a hand on my shoulder, its warmth grounding me.
"Focus on my voice," she continued. "Tell me five things you can see right now."
I blinked, forcing myself to look around. "The... the carpet. My desk. Your shoes. The window. A... a pen on the floor."
"Good," Dr. Chen nodded encouragingly. "Now four things you can touch."
Slowly, agonizingly, the vise around my chest loosened. The room came back into focus, the edges softening. Dr. Chen guided me through the rest of the grounding exercise, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos in my head.
"There you go," Dr. Chen murmured. "You're safe, Milo. You're okay."
I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping. "Nothing about this is okay."
"Perhaps not," she agreed, settling herself more comfortably on the floor beside me. "But you're not alone in this. Have you spoken with Finn?"
Finn. My phone. I scrambled for it, hands shaking as I unlocked the screen. A text message glowed up at me:
Hope it's a productive day. I love you.
The sob that tore from my throat was equal parts anguish and relief.
"Milo," Dr. Chen said gently. "I think it's time we talked. Really talked. Not just about this situation, but about everything that led up to it."
I nodded, swiping at my eyes. "I don't even know where to start."
"The beginning is usually a good place," Dr. Chen smiled softly. "Tell me about when you first realized your feelings for Finn were more than just friendship."
I took a deep breath, the memory washing over me. "It was when I was on assignment for the environmental consulting firm. I brought seaweed snacks into the locker room for the players. Finn was there. We started talking and hit it off as friends right away. I immediately noticed the size difference between him and the other players. I just... I wanted to protect him. To hold him. It terrified me."
Dr. Chen nodded thoughtfully. "And why do you think it terrified you?"
"Because I knew right away I liked him in that way, and I knew what a mess it could be for him after hearing about what Axel went through," I confessed, the words tumbling out. "I was afraid of screwing up Finn's career before it even really started."
"Those are all valid concerns," Dr. Chen acknowledged. "But Milo, have you considered that by trying to protect Finn, you might be denying both of you the chance at genuine happiness?"
Her words hit me like a splash of cold water. I stared at her, mouth agape.
"I... I hadn't thought of it that way," I admitted.
"Perhaps it's time you did," Dr. Chen suggested gently. "You've spent so much of your life trying to fit into what you think others expect of you. Your family, your teammates, society at large. But at what cost?"
I leaned my head back against the door, closing my eyes. "I don't know how to do this, Doc. How to be... me. Whoever that is."
"That's the beauty of it, Milo," Dr. Chen said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "You get to figure that out. And you don't have to do it alone."
I opened my eyes, meeting her gaze. There was no judgment there, only understanding and encouragement.
"So what now?" I asked, feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time since the nightmare began.
"Now," Dr. Chen said, rising to her feet and offering me a hand, "we start the real work. Together."
I took her hand, letting her pull me up. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges I couldn't begin to imagine.
I stared at my phone, hands still trembling slightly. A new text from Finn glowed on the screen:
Just finished practice. Coach worked us hard. Thinking of you. Love you.
The simplicity of it, the normalcy, hit me like a punch to the gut. While my world was imploding, Finn was still going about his day, still thinking of me. A sob caught in my throat, equal parts anguish and overwhelming love.
"Milo?" Dr. Chen's voice pulled me back to the present. "What is it?"
I showed her the text, unable to find words to say out loud.
She nodded, understanding dawning on his face. "It's grounding, isn't it? A reminder that life goes on, even in the midst of chaos."
"Yeah," I managed, my voice hoarse. "I just... I don't know how to protect him from all this."
Dr. Chen leaned back, regarding me thoughtfully. "Have you considered that perhaps Finn doesn't need your protection as much as he needs your partnership?"
I blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean?"
"You've spent much of your life trying to be the protector, the strong one," Dr. Chen explained. "It's a role you're comfortable with. But in doing so, you may be denying Finn—and yourself—the opportunity for a truly equal relationship. He's an adult. He has a lot of tools for taking care of himself."
Her words settled over me, uncomfortable yet ringing with truth. I thought back to our phone conversation earlier, how Finn had insisted we were in this together.
"I... I don't know how to do that," I admitted, the vulnerability of the confession making my chest tight.
Dr. Chen smiled gently. "That's okay, Milo. Learning to be vulnerable, to lean on others—it's a process. And it's one I believe you're ready for."
I nodded slowly, feeling a strange mix of fear and hope bubbling up inside me. "So what now?"
"It won't be easy," Dr. Chen cautioned. "You'll be challenging beliefs and behaviors you've held onto for years. But I believe the reward—a more authentic, fulfilling life—is worth the effort. Don't you?"
I thought of Finn's text, of the simple joy and love it conveyed. Of the future we could have if I was brave enough to fight for it.
"Yeah," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. "I think it is."
Dr. Chen nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, why don't we schedule a proper session for tomorrow? In the meantime, I want you to do something."
"What's that?" I asked, curious.
"Reply to Finn's text," he said. "Be honest about where you are emotionally, but also let him know you're working on being better. Can you do that?"
I took a deep breath, fingers hovering over my phone's keyboard. "I can try."
As Dr. Chen quietly excused herself, I began to type, each word a small act of bravery. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges I couldn't begin to imagine. But I felt a glimmer of hope.