Chapter 29 #2
Silence settled over the room. Through the windows, I could see Beaverton spread out below, people going about their lives, unaware that in this apartment, two hockey players were trying to figure out if they were brave enough to tell the truth.
“How did you decide?” I asked finally. “That you were ready?”
Griffin looked at Wesley, and something passed between them—a whole conversation in a glance.
“We got caught,” Griffin said simply. “Management walked in on us kissing in Wesley’s office. We were violating the team’s no-fraternization policy—player and staff member. They could have fired Wesley on the spot, broken my contract, made it a whole thing.
“I realized in that moment,” Griffin continued, “that I had a choice. I could end it with Wesley, go back to hiding, keep pretending for however many more years. Stay safe. Stay closeted. Or I could choose him. Choose us. Choose to live authentically, even if it meant risking everything else.”
He strode to Wesley and took his hand. The gesture was so natural, so comfortable, it made my chest ache.
“I chose him,” Griffin said. “I chose the possibility of a real life over the certainty of hiding. And yeah, I lost some things. But I gained what mattered.” He caught Wesley’s gaze.
“We both did,” Wesley said softly.
“The thing is,” Griffin looked back at us, his blue eyes intense, “I was never going to be ready. There’s no perfect time to blow up your life.
But I realized—and this is important—I couldn’t be the player I wanted to be while carrying that secret.
Every time I stepped onto the ice, I was exhausted before I even took a stride.
The hiding was killing my game on top of what Wesley and I had. ”
“And eventually, the lies eat away at everything else,” Wesley said.
Griffin squeezed Wesley’s hand. “So, we didn’t choose our timing. But it worked out for us.”
Marco’s knee had stopped bouncing. He was listening intently, processing everything the way he did—methodically, carefully, weighing every variable.
“If we did this,” he said slowly. “How would we do it? What’s the process?”
Wesley sat up straighter, his PR instincts clearly activated. “First, you tell your families. That’s non-negotiable. They need to hear it from you before anyone else does. Even if it goes badly—especially if it goes badly—they deserve that courtesy.”
“Then you tell someone on the team you trust,” Griffin added. “Test the waters. Get a sense of how it’ll be received.”
“Kinnunen,” I said immediately. Marco nodded his agreement.
“Good. A teammate you play with regularly makes sense, and he’s a good guy.
” Griffin continued. “After that, you tell your coach and management. They need time to prepare—PR strategy, security protocols, media training for you guys. This is going to be a circus, especially at first. Management needs to be ready.”
“There’s a problem with that,” I said.
Griffin looked at me. “What kind of problem?”
I took a breath. “Management is talking about trading me. My performance has been down all season, and they’re fielding offers from Boston and Toronto.
” My hands tightened into fists. “We’re afraid that coming out might push Greer over the edge.
Give him an excuse to call it a distraction and trade me anyway. ”
The room went silent.
Griffin exchanged a look with Wesley, then leaned forward. “Okay. That’s a real concern. I won’t lie to you.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
Griffin’s lips twitched. “Did the performance issue start before the relationship?”
“Yeah. The relationship is the only thing that’s helped. Living with Marco, having his support—it’s made things better, not worse.”
“Then here’s the thing,” Griffin said. “If Greer is looking for a reason to trade you, he’ll find one whether you come out or not. You said your performance is down. That’s already his reason. Coming out doesn’t change that part of the equation.”
“But it could make it worse,” Marco said. “He could point to team chemistry concerns, media distraction, locker room issues—”
“He could,” Wesley interjected. “But he could also do those things without you coming out. If he wants to move you, he’ll justify it however he needs to.”
Griffin met my eyes. “The question is—will coming out help or hurt your performance?”
I thought about Marco’s phone calls before games. “It helps,” I admitted. “Having Marco back in the locker room with me helps. Not having to hide from the team, not having to worry about being caught—that would help too.”
“Then you’re looking at this backwards,” Griffin said. “You’re not risking your career by coming out. You’re giving yourself the best chance to save it.” The breath caught in my lungs.
I glanced at Marco. He was staring at Griffin, his expression stunned, like he’d just been given the answer to a question he’d been asking for months.
“He’s right,” Marco said quietly. “étienne, he’s right.”
“Okay,” I murmured to myself. Then stronger, “Okay. What’s next?”
“Then the full team,” Wesley said. “Before you go public. They need to hear it from you directly, not from social media or the news. Give them time to process, to ask questions if they need to.”
“And then?” Marco asked.
“Then you go public,” Wesley said. “Social media would be the smartest way for your situation. You write a joint statement, post a photo of you together, and control your own narrative. Just your truth, in your words.”
“We can help you with the statement,” Griffin offered. “Wesley’s brilliant at this stuff.”
Wesley grinned. “It’s literally my job.”
“What about timing?” I asked. The question that had been sitting heavy in my chest since we decided to talk to them. “When should we do it?”
Wesley and Griffin exchanged another look.
“Christmas is Thursday.” Wesley stated. “Are you going home to visit?”
Marco shook his head. “There’s not enough time with the game schedule. But I’ll video call when my family’s together.”
“I’ll call my father,” I said softly, thinking of my papa sitting alone in a cold, sterile house in Trois-Rivières.
Wesley was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Here’s my professional opinion. Don’t come out publicly right before Christmas. That puts too much pressure on everyone. It would be messy.”
“Tell your families early in the week,” Griffin said. “Monday or Tuesday. Give them the holiday to process, but you won’t have to lie during your calls.”
“Then come out to management and the team after Christmas,” Wesley continued. “When everyone’s back. Tell the team in person.”
Griffin added, “Give your teammates a day or two to process before the media storm hits. That way, they’re not blindsided.”
I did the math in my head. “So… tell families Monday or Tuesday. Tell a teammate—Kinnunen—maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. Then Christmas break. Then when we’re back…”
“Tell management and the team,” Wesley said. “Then go public a day or two later. That gives everyone time to prepare, time to process, but keeps the momentum going so you’re not sitting on it for too long.”
“When do you come back from Christmas break?” Griffin asked.
“We have a game Saturday,” Marco said. “At home, against Utah. Then another game at home on Monday.”
“So, you could tell management and the team on Sunday,” Wesley suggested.
“That’s the day the roster freeze is lifted,” Griffin said, his expression turning serious. “Which makes it both risky and necessary.”
My stomach dropped. “Risky how?”
“The freeze lifts at midnight Saturday into Sunday. By the time you meet with Greer Sunday morning, he can already make trades.” Griffin leaned forward. “If he’s been looking for a reason to move you, you’re handing it to him on the first day he’s able to act.”
“Merde.” I looked at Marco. His face had blanched.
“But here’s why it’s also necessary,” Griffin continued.
“You can’t blindside Greer. You just can’t.
Coming out publicly without telling him first—that burns bridges with management.
Makes you look impulsive, immature. Like you don’t respect the organization.
” He paused. “And if he finds out from social media instead of you? He’ll be pissed.
That could push him toward trading you even if he was on the fence. ”
“So, I’m fucked either way,” I said. “Tell him and he might trade me immediately. Don’t tell him and he’ll be angry enough to trade me anyway.”
“Pretty much,” Griffin said, not unkindly. “But at least if you tell him first, you’ve handled it professionally. You’ve given him the courtesy of hearing it from you. That would matter to Greer.”
“So, we definitely tell him on Sunday,” I said.
Wesley nodded. “Then go public on Tuesday. That gives your team Monday’s game to adjust before the media circus hits.”
My head was spinning. Less than two weeks. We’d tell our families in two days, and a little more than a week later, the whole world would know.
“That’s fast,” I said.
“Yes,” Wesley said gently. “But if you drag it out, if you wait too long between steps, fear will talk you out of it. Use that momentum.”
Marco was quiet beside me. I could see the wheels turning in his head, working through every scenario, every risk.
“We’re scared,” I admitted.
“You should be,” Griffin said honestly. “This is terrifying. But étienne, Marco… every day you wait is another day you have to hide. You came here today because you’re already at a breaking point.
The question isn’t whether hiding is sustainable.
It’s not. The question is whether you’re ready to do something about it. ”
Marco’s hand found mine on my thigh. This time, he didn’t let go.
“Can you give us a minute?” I asked Griffin and Wesley. “To talk? Just the two of us?”
“Of course.” Wesley stood immediately. “We’ll be in the bedroom. Take your time.”
They disappeared through a doorway, leaving Marco and me alone in the living room with the town spread out below us.
“So,” I said quietly.
“So,” Marco echoed.
“What are you thinking?”
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on something out the window.
“I’m thinking about my mother’s face when I tell her.
About your father maybe cutting you off.
About Boucher’s reaction when we tell the team.
About the media, the scrutiny, everything that’s going to change.
About the possibility of a trade. Of them separating us. ”
My heart sank. “And?”
“And I’m thinking about how wrong it felt to have to leave your hotel room, to worry about being caught sleeping over.
” He turned to look at me. “I’m thinking about sitting next to you on the plane, so close I could feel you breathing, but not being able to take your hand.
About celebrating goals with you and having to make sure the hug doesn’t last too long.
About watching you take a hit and not being able to show how scared I was. ”
“Marco—”
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, and his voice cracked. “The hiding. The pretending. I don’t want to call at Christmas and lie to my family. I don’t want to waste more time being scared when I could be with you.”
My chest broke open. “Are you saying—”
“I’m saying let’s do it.” Marco’s hand tightened around mine. “Tell our families Monday. Tell Kinnunen Tuesday. Come back after Christmas, tell the team, go public. All of it.”
“You’re sure?” I had to ask, even though I could see the answer in his eyes. “Because once we start, we can’t take it back.”
“I don’t want to take it back.” His voice was steady now, certain.
“I’m terrified, étienne. I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my life.
But I’m more scared of losing you because we couldn’t figure out how to live honestly.
I’m more scared of looking back in five years and realizing we wasted all that time hiding. ”
Tears burned in my eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He pulled me closer, pressed his forehead to mine. “So, let’s do this.”
For a moment, we just sat there, holding each other, letting the weight of the decision settle over us.
“Griffin? Wesley?” I called out.
They appeared in the doorway almost immediately—they’d probably been listening or at least waiting for our decision.
“We’re doing it,” Marco said. “We want to come out. We need your help.”
Wesley’s face lit up. “Okay. Let’s make a plan.”
Wesley grabbed a tablet and started outlining the timeline. The next hour flew by in a blur of practical details.
“Then, Wednesday, you play a game on New Year’s Eve,” Wesley finished. “First game as an openly out couple. Symbolic as hell. New year, new beginning.”
My head spun. “This is really happening.”
“This is really happening,” Wesley confirmed. “And you’re going to need support. We’re here. Anytime you need to talk, anytime it gets too hard, call us. Text us. We’ve been through this. We can help.”
“You’re going to need each other most of all,” Griffin said, his voice serious. “This is going to test you. The media, the scrutiny, the reactions—it’s going to be hard. But if you stay together, if you remember why you’re doing this, you’ll get through it.”
Marco’s hand squeezed mine again. “We will.”
Wesley handed us his business card. “My cell is on there. Call me after you’ve told Kinnunen. We’ll start working on the statement. And if you need anything before then—anything at all—reach out.”
“You’re going to be okay,” Griffin said.
We stayed another twenty minutes, going over details, asking questions, absorbing advice. When we finally stood to leave, both Griffin and Wesley hugged us—real hugs, the kind that said we’ve got you.
At the door, Wesley squeezed my shoulder. “You’re braver than you think. Both of you.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
“No. You are. That you’re doing this—that takes courage.” He smiled. “Call me Tuesday.”
“We will.”
The Uber back to the hotel was quiet. Marco and I sat in the back seat, his hand in mine between us, where the driver couldn’t see.
“We just agreed to come out,” Marco said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Tabarnak!”