Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
étienne
The Uber driver in Portland didn’t try to make conversation, which was good because I had no idea what I would have said.
Marco sat beside me in the back seat, his knee bouncing in a way that told me he was running through every possible scenario in his head. I wanted to reach for his hand, to feel his fingers laced through mine, but the driver’s eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror.
So, I kept my hands in my lap and watched downtown give way to the suburbs, then to central Beaverton with its mix of newer developments and older structures. The driver pulled up in front of a modern four-story building, all brick and glass with clean lines and large windows.
“This is it,” Marco said with finality.
I checked my phone—3:52 p.m. We were early.
“We could walk around the block,” I suggested. “Give ourselves a few more minutes.”
Marco looked at me, and I saw my own fear reflected in his dark eyes. “Or we could just go up.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Let’s just go up.”
We climbed out of the Uber, and the afternoon air hit me—cool, crisp, smelling faintly of rain.
The polished wood and glass of the building’s entrance screamed expensive. Our footsteps echoed as we crossed to the elevator bank. I pressed the button for the fourth floor, and the doors slid shut, sealing us in.
Marco’s reflection stared back at us. “We don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “We could leave right now. Tell them something came up.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“No.” He met my eyes in the reflection. “But I’m scared.”
“Me too.” I turned to face him. The elevator climbed and the floor numbers ticked upward. “But we’re here. And I think… I think we need to hear what they have to say.”
“What if they tell us not to do it? What if they say it’s too hard, not worth it?”
“Then we listen.” The elevator slowed, approaching the fourth floor. “But we decide. Not them. Us.”
The doors opened onto a hallway with abstract art on the walls and soft lighting. At the end of the corridor, the door to 402 opened before we reached it.
Griffin Lapierre looked the same as I remembered—maybe a little more worn, a few more lines around his mouth, but still the same intense presence. His ice-blue eyes swept over us, assessing, and then his expression softened into something that might have been understanding.
“étienne. Marco.” He stepped back, gesturing us inside. “Come in.”
The apartment was beautiful—high ceilings, large windows overlooking Beaverton, modern furniture in grays and blues, everything clean and organized.
But what struck me most was how lived in it felt.
Two pairs of sneakers by the door, one pair clearly Griffin’s size, one smaller.
A blanket draped over the back of the couch.
Photos on the bookshelf of Griffin and Wesley at various places—a beach, a restaurant, what looked like someone’s wedding.
A real life, lived openly.
A man appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray with coffee mugs and a plate of cookies. Warm smile, rainbow Pride watch band peeking out beneath his cuff and radiating an immediate sense of welcome.
“Hey, guys.” He set the tray on the coffee table. “I’m Wesley Hutton. Thanks for coming. Coffee? I’ve got cream and sugar if you need it.”
“Black’s fine,” Marco said.
“Cream and sugar for me, thanks.” I didn’t need the caffeine, but my hands needed something to hold.
We sat on the sectional, Griffin and Wesley taking chairs across from us. The seating arrangement felt deliberate—intimate enough for a serious conversation, but not so close that it felt invasive.
Griffin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So. What’s going on?”
I looked at Marco. He looked back at me. One of us had to start.
“We’re together,” I said finally. “Marco and I. We’re… in a relationship.”
Griffin’s expression didn’t change—he’d clearly guessed—but he nodded encouragingly. “Okay.”
“And we’re…” I took a breath. “We’re trying to figure out if we can do what you did. Come out. Be together openly. Or if we’re just… if it’s impossible.”
Griffin sat back, his blue eyes moving between us. “How long have you been together?”
“About six weeks,” Marco said. “As a couple. But we’ve been living together for almost three months. Since a fire at étienne’s apartment building.”
“And you’re sure?” Wesley asked gently. “About each other, I mean. This isn’t just… proximity or convenience or—”
“I’m sure,” I said, and my voice came out fiercer than I intended. “I love him. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Marco’s hand found mine on the couch between us, squeezed briefly, then let go. But the message was clear. Same.
Griffin passed a hand over his short hair—the same gesture I remembered from when we’d played together, the tell that meant he was thinking hard.
“Coming out is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Harder than any game, any season, any injury.
It changes everything. Your family, your team, your career, the way fans look at you on the street.
You need to understand that before you make this decision. ”
“But?” I pressed, because I could hear the unspoken word hanging there.
“But…” Griffin continued. “Living in the closet was killing me. Slowly. Every day. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t, hiding the most important part of my life, watching Wesley and not being able to touch him or claim him or just…
exist with him. That was worse than anything that happened after I came out. ”
Wesley leaned forward. “Can I ask—are you out to anyone? Family? Friends?”
“My sister knows,” Marco said quietly. “She’s known for years. But étienne just realized he’s bisexual.”
“But your families don’t know you’re together? Friends? A teammate?”
We both shook our heads.
Wesley’s expression grew serious. “Okay. So, you’re starting from scratch. That makes it harder, but it’s also cleaner in some ways. You get to control the narrative from the beginning.”
“We had a close call recently,” I admitted. “Boucher has made some comments and he’s been watching us. We think he suspects something.”
Griffin’s jaw tightened. “Boucher. I thought we were friends. But then he showed his true colors. When I came out, he was one of the guys who made it… difficult.”
“Difficult how?” Marco asked.
“Nothing overt. Passive-aggressive comments on social media. Made sure I knew he didn’t approve.” Griffin’s tone was flat. “Some guys are like that. They won’t confront you, but they’ll make you feel it.”
“That’s what he’s doing now,” I said. “Even though we’re not out. It’s like he’s waiting for us to slip up so he can—”
“Expose you,” Wesley finished. “Yeah. That’s dangerous. Because if someone else controls when and how you come out, you lose all the power.
“That’s what happened to me,” Wesley continued, and something painful flickered across his face.
“In Nashville. I was dating a color commentator, Charles. He was closeted. We thought we were being careful, but his father almost caught us one night. After that, Charles got paranoid, pulled away. The hiding poisoned everything between us. By the time we were discovered—because we were, eventually—there was no coming back from it. I had to leave Nashville.”
“I’m sorry,” Marco said quietly.
Wesley shook his head. “It taught me something important, though. You can’t build a real relationship on secrecy. The hiding compounds. It gets harder, not easier. Every day you have to act like you’re just friends, it damages what you have.”
His words hit too close to home. The past week had been agony.
“So, we shouldn’t wait,” I said. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying you need to decide what you can live with,” Wesley said.
“Can you keep hiding for another year? Two years? Five? If you can, and if that’s what feels right for you, then do that.
But if the hiding is already hurting you—and I think it is, or you wouldn’t be here—then waiting just makes it worse. ”
Griffin stood and moved to the window. The afternoon light caught his profile, and I could see the weight he carried, even now.
“When I decided to come out, I was terrified. I thought I’d lose everything.
My career, my team, my family’s respect.
Some of that happened. I lost endorsements.
I lost the support of some fans and teammates. ”
My stomach twisted.
“But.” Griffin turned back to face us. “I also gained everything that mattered. I got to be with Wesley publicly. I got to stop pretending. I got to wake up every morning and just… be myself. And the people who mattered—most of my teammates, the fans who actually cared about me as a person, my real friends—they stayed. My mother came around eventually. The friends and fans who didn’t…
” He paused. “I had to make peace with losing them.”
“My father won’t accept it,” I said quietly. “He’s made his views on homosexuality very clear. When you came out, Griffin, he said things I won’t repeat. If I tell him about Marco, he’ll… I’ll lose him completely.”
“I’m sorry,” Griffin said, with meaning. “That’s one of the hardest parts. Knowing that being honest costs you people you love.”
“My mother will struggle too,” Marco added. “She’s Catholic. Traditional. She’ll see it as a sin, as me rejecting everything she taught me.”
“They might surprise you,” Wesley offered gently. “Not all of them, maybe. But some people, given time—”
“And some won’t,” Griffin cut in, his tone firm but not unkind.
“You need to go into this knowing that. Some family members will reject you. Some teammates will make it hard. Some fans will hate you. You can’t control that.
All you can control is whether you’re going to live authentically or keep hiding. ”