Open Ice (Breakaway Plays #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Marco

I scrolled through social media on my phone, half watching étienne absolutely demolish some thirteen-year-old kid in the latest NHL PlayStation game.

The sound effects echoed through my living room—the satisfying crack of stick against puck, the crowd’s roar, the announcer’s enthusiastic play-by-play.

“Yes! Top shelf, baby!” étienne pumped his fist, his hazel eyes bright with triumph. “That’s four–nothing. Kid never had a chance.”

“You know you’re playing against a literal child, right?” I asked, not looking up from my phone.

“A child who was talking trash about me on social media. Justice has been served.” He leaned back into my couch cushions, the controller still in hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

I shook my head and fought a smile. This was us most nights étienne crashed at my place—he destroyed kids at video games while I caught up on whatever I’d missed during the day.

Three years we’d been doing this, ever since he’d been traded to the Colorado Glaciers from Montreal.

Three years of easy friendship, of inside jokes and comfortable silence, of knowing each other’s routines better than we knew our own.

My thumb kept scrolling, past photos of teammates’ families, past some promotional post from the Glaciers’ official account, past an ad for protein powder. Then I stopped.

Griffin Lapierre’s face stared back at me from the screen.

My chest tightened.

The post was from a sports news account—a photo of Griffin at a press conference, microphones clustered in front of him, each one demanding access. His expression was serious, almost solemn, but there was something else there too. Something that looked like relief.

brEAKING: NHL Star Griffin Lapierre Comes Out as Gay

My mouth went dry. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I wondered if étienne could hear it over the sound of his video game.

I read the caption beneath the photo: “Former Colorado Glaciers and current Portland Stormhawks captain Griffin Lapierre made history today, becoming the first NHL player to publicly come out as gay. Full press conference details in link.”

The air in the room felt suddenly thin. I forced myself to breathe normally, to keep my expression neutral, even though my gut clenched. Griffin Lapierre—who I’d played alongside for years without ever suspecting he was gay—had done it. He’d actually done it.

“Marco? You good, man?”

I looked up. étienne had paused his game, controller resting on his thigh, and watched me with concern creasing his forehead.

“Yeah.” My voice came out steady. Thank God. “Just… did you see this?”

I turned my phone toward him, showing him the post.

étienne leaned forward, squinting at the screen. His eyebrows shot up. “Holy shit. Lapierre came out? He’s gay? I never would have guessed.”

“Apparently. I didn’t know he was gay either.” I kept my tone carefully neutral, the way I’d learned to do over seventeen years of hiding. Mildly interested but not too interested. Supportive but not too supportive. The exact tone that wouldn’t make anyone wonder.

“Wow.” étienne sat back, processing. “That’s… that’s actually really cool. Good for him, you know? That takes guts.”

Cool. He thought it was cool.

A pang twisted my stomach—not quite envy, not quite longing. Maybe both.

I looked back at my phone, studying Lapierre’s face in that presser photo.

We’d been teammates once, before he got traded to Portland this season.

I hadn’t known him well, even though he’d been our captain.

While he’d been a good leader, he’d kept to himself.

But I’d watched him, the way I watched any player who seemed too focused, too controlled, too closed off about his personal life.

The way I’d taught myself to be.

I wondered if Griffin had felt the same knot in his stomach every time someone made a homophobic joke in the locker room. If he’d perfected the same fake laugh, the same way of changing subjects without seeming as if he was changing subjects.

My thumb hovered over the comment button.

I wanted to write something. Wanted to tell Griffin I was proud of him, that he’d done something brave, something impossible.

Wanted to tell him that seeing someone like him sit up there in front of the world and say those words made something in my chest feel less like a prison and more like a door I just hadn’t opened yet.

But would it give me away?

I set the phone down. Picked it up again.

Commenting on the post wasn’t suspicious—it was expected. Any former teammate who respected the man would do it. Not commenting would actually draw more attention than commenting would.

It was the logical thing to do.

I typed quickly, before the fear could catch up: “Proud of Griffin Lapierre. He’s always been a leader—this is no different.”

My thumb found the share button. Hovered.

It was just a comment. Just words. Nothing that revealed anything about me or what Griffin’s post had stirred in my chest.

I pressed share before I could change my mind.

The comment posted. My phone buzzed once with a notification—Griffin had liked it. Nothing else. No questions, no suspicious comments, no one reading between the lines.

“Let me see that.” étienne reached for my phone.

I handed it over and watched as he clicked through to the full article, his face intent as he read. The video game menu music played on a loop in the background, oddly cheerful.

“Bro,” he said after a minute. “He did a whole press conference and everything. That’s wild. I mean, I’m sure there’re gay guys in the league, but nobody’s ever actually said it, you know? Not while they’re still playing.”

“Yeah,” I managed.

“The comments are pretty supportive.” He continued scrolling. “That’s good. Though there are always going to be assholes, I guess. I like your comment—Lapierre’s a good guy. Oh, here, his boyfriend posted about it too. Wesley Hutton.”

My chest constricted. Boyfriend. Lapierre had a boyfriend, and now everyone knew it, and the world hadn’t ended.

“Can I see?”

étienne navigated to Hutton’s Instagram and handed the phone back to me. Hutton wrote:

“Watching Griffin Lapierre’s press conference today, I was overwhelmed with pride and love.

Griffin and I are in a relationship. This is real. This is mutual. This is love.

We both knew the risks. We both made choices. I won’t let him shoulder this alone.

We’re two people who fell in love despite complicated circumstances.

We violated organizational policy. There are consequences. We accept them.

But love—true, honest love—shouldn’t have to be hidden. Griffin’s courage today proved that.

I’m proud of him. I’m honored to be part of his journey. And I hope our story shows that authenticity and professional excellence aren’t mutually exclusive.

To every LGBTQ+ person in sports or any profession: you deserve to be yourself. Fully, openly, proudly. Thank you, Griffin, for showing us it’s possible.”

That could never be me.

I could never stand at a press conference and say those words.

Could never introduce someone as my boyfriend, never bring a date to team events or charity galas or any of the hundred other public functions where I smiled and played the part of the good Italian American son who just hadn’t found the right girl yet.

My family would never forgive me.

“Earth to Marco.” étienne waved a hand in front of my face. “You’re doing that thing where you disappear inside your head. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I forced myself to look away from the press conference, from Hutton’s response. “Just processing. It’s big news.”

“Right?” étienne settled back into the couch, unpausing his game. “Wonder what the guys are saying in the group chat. Probably freaking out.”

I opened the Glaciers team group chat. Sure enough, it was blowing up. Most of the comments were positive:

Good for Lapierre

Brave move

Respect

But there was an undercurrent of discomfort too.

Good luck to him.

To each his own.

Distraction.

And then I saw Cory Boucher’s name.

My stomach dropped.

Boucher’s message wasn’t in the group chat. Instead, someone had screenshotted a post from his account and shared it. I clicked on the image to expand it.

Interesting PR strategy by @Griff_Lapierre. Wonder if Colorado knew what they were getting rid of.

The words were carefully chosen. Neutral enough on the surface, but anyone who understood subtext could read between the lines.

The implication was clear: Griffin’s sexuality was something the Glaciers had wanted to “get rid of.” Something problematic.

Something that made him damaged goods. Had the franchise known about Lapierre’s orientation?

Boucher’s message was poison wrapped in civility, and my stomach churned as I read it.

“Jesus,” étienne said, looking over my shoulder at my phone. “Boucher’s being a dick.”

“Yeah.” My jaw tightened. “That’s pretty on brand for him.”

Cory Boucher. Our captain. The guy who’d taken over when Griffin got traded, who’d made it very clear he had different ideas about team culture and what it meant to be a Glacier.

Who made jokes in the locker room that walked the line between ribbing and cruelty, who rolled his eyes when someone brought up Pride night or diversity initiatives.

Who would make my life hell if he ever found out who I was.

I closed the chat and set my phone face down on the coffee table, suddenly needing to not look at it anymore.

“You okay?” étienne asked, and there was real concern in his voice.

“Fine.” I rubbed my hand over my short beard, a nervous gesture I’d never quite managed to break. “Just… it’s a lot. Lapierre coming out. Boucher being an ass about it. The whole thing.”

“Yeah, I get it.” étienne’s attention was back on his game, but his tone was thoughtful. “When he wasn’t performing his captain’s duties, he mostly kept to himself.”

I wondered if Griffin had been lonely during his years in Colorado. If he’d felt as isolated as I did, surrounded by teammates but utterly alone with the truth of himself. If that was part of why he’d seemed so reserved, so controlled, so perfectly professional in every interaction.

If that was what keeping this secret did to a person—turned you into a performance of yourself, all the real parts locked away where no one could see them.

“Well, good for him anyway,” étienne said firmly. “Takes balls to do what he did. I hope it works out for him.”

“Me too,” I said quietly.

And I meant it. God, I meant it so much it hurt.

But even as I said the words, even as I watched étienne return to his video game like nothing had changed, I thought about what would happen if I ever did what Griffin had done.

My mother would cry. My father would rage.

My sisters—except Gia, thank God for Gia—wouldn’t understand.

The Morelli name would be dragged through the neighborhood, through the parish, through every Italian American social circle on Staten Island.

I’d become the cautionary tale, the black sheep, the son who’d disappointed everyone.

And Cory Boucher would make my life shit.

So, I’d keep doing what I’d always done.

I’d smile and deflect when my mother asked about my dating life.

I’d go to team events alone. I’d hook up in secret with guys who understood discretion, who had as much to lose as I did.

I’d watch other people live authentic lives and tell myself that wanting more was selfish, ungrateful, impossible.

I’d watch Griffin Lapierre live the life I wished I could have, and I’d be happy for him.

And I’d never, ever let anyone know that seeing that press conference photo felt like watching someone open a door I’d nailed shut years ago.

“Hey,” étienne said suddenly. “You want pizza? I’m thinking we order from that place that does the good garlic knots.”

“Yeah,” I said, grateful for the subject change, for the return to everyday life. “Pizza sounds good.”

“Cool. I’m buying since I just destroyed that kid’s will to live.” He grinned at me, easy and unguarded and so completely étienne that my chest ached.

This was enough, I told myself. Having a best friend who crashed at my place most nights a week, who knew my coffee order and my pregame rituals and could read my moods better than anyone.

Having hockey and a career I’d worked my ass off for.

Having my family, even if they didn’t really know me.

Having enough that no one would ever guess what I was missing.

This was enough. It had to be.

So, I ordered pizza with étienne, and I watched him play video games, and I pushed Griffin Lapierre’s brave face out of my mind.

And I told myself I was fine with the choice I’d made seventeen years ago, when I’d first realized who I was and decided that no one could ever know.

And I almost believed it.