Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Marco
For a heartbeat, nothing. Just silence and the glow of our phone screens.
Then the notifications started.
One. Five. Twenty. A hundred. The numbers climbed so fast I couldn’t track them. My phone buzzed continuously in my hand, vibrating against my palm like a living thing. Likes, shares, comments flooding in faster than I could process.
“Holy shit,” étienne breathed beside me, staring at his own screen. “Marco, we’re—”
“Trending,” I finished, watching the hashtag appear. Worldwide. Within two minutes of posting.
I stared at the post on my screen. Five hundred likes, a thousand, two thousand.
Comments poured in. Despite Wesley’s warning, I read them.
So brave. Thank you for sharing your truth.
Love is love!
Proud of you guys!
But also:
Disgusting. Keep that shit private.
There goes the Glaciers’ season.
This is what’s wrong with sports today.
My phone buzzed with texts, cutting through the notifications.
Kinnunen
Proud of you guys.
Jensen
Got your back, teammates.
Griffin
Welcome to the club. You’re not alone.
Wesley
You did it. So proud. Call if you need anything.
Gia
I LOVE YOU. Crying. So brave. Mama’s crying too, but in a good way, I think. Call me later.
My chest tightened. Hopefully it was a good way.
Another text came through.
Mama
I saw. I don’t understand this, but I love you. Always.
I stared at those words. Not acceptance. Not approval. But not rejection either. Not silence.
I love you. Always.
It was more than I’d had on Monday.
“The team group chat is blowing up,” étienne said, scrolling through his phone. “Kinnunen posted the rainbow flag. Jensen said, ‘Respect.’ Harris said, ‘Got your backs.’ Reid made some joke about us still owing him beer from the last team outing.”
“Who hasn’t responded?” I asked.
étienne’s face tightened. “Boucher. And a few others.”
Expected. But it still stung.
More notifications. ESPN had picked it up. Sports Illustrated. Every major news outlet.
“Colorado Glaciers Players Come Out in Relationship.”
“Pro Hockey Sees First Gay Couple.”
“Marco Morelli and étienne Savard Make History.”
The headlines swam before my eyes.
My DMs were flooded. I opened them without thinking.
You’re an inspiration.
Thank you for your courage.
But also:
Hope you get what’s coming to you.
Can’t wait to see you get checked into the boards.
You’re going to regret this.
Threats of violence. Promises of harm. Nothing specific enough to be called a death threat, but the malice was clear. The hate, sharp and vicious.
I closed the app, my stomach churning.
“Don’t read the comments,” étienne said quietly. “I already made that mistake.”
“Me too.”
We sat there, phones buzzing in our hands, the world exploding around us. Support and hate in equal measure, all of it rushing toward us like a flood we couldn’t stop.
“We should turn them off,” I said finally.
“Yeah.” étienne reached over, took my phone from my hand. Powered them both down. Set them face down on the coffee table like they were weapons we needed to disarm.
The sudden silence was deafening.
We looked at each other.
“We did it,” étienne said, his voice shaking. “We actually did it.”
I pulled him close, and he collapsed against me.
His arms wrapped around my waist and held me tight. He trembled, and my heart raced against his chest.
We sat there for a long time, wrapped around each other, letting it sink in. Everyone knew now. There was nothing more to do.
Around four thirty, we finally pulled apart.
“We should eat something,” I said. “Make dinner. Try to feel routine for a few hours.”
“Is anything going to feel routine again?” étienne asked, but he stood, followed me to the kitchen.
We made spaghetti bolognese from my grandmother’s recipe. Simple, comforting, familiar. I moved around the kitchen and pulled ingredients without needing to think—olive oil, garlic, crushed tomatoes, basil. I’d made this recipe enough times to know it by heart.
“My mother texted me,” I said as I browned the beef.
He looked up from washing lettuce. “What did she say?”
“That she loves me. That she doesn’t understand, but she loves me.”
Something shifted in étienne’s expression. “That’s great, Marco. Progress.”
I drained the excess fat from the browned beef into a small bowl. “What about your father?”
étienne’s hands stilled, the water washing over them. “Nothing. I didn’t expect anything.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He turned off the water, his movements deliberate. “He made his choice. I made mine. I don’t regret it.”
We ate at the kitchen bar, the same place where we’d had breakfast that morning when we were still closeted. That felt like a lifetime ago.
“Tomorrow afternoon.” étienne twirled pasta on his fork. “New Year’s Eve. First game as openly out players. Are you ready?”
“No.” I met his eyes. “But we’ll do it anyway.”
After eating dinner and cleaning up the kitchen, we moved to the couch. The Christmas tree lights blinked in the corner, the same lights we’d watched for the past week. But everything felt lighter. Freer.
“I can say it now,” étienne said quietly. “Out loud. To anyone. You’re my boyfriend. My partner.”
The words hit me square in the chest. “Yeah. And you’re mine.”
“Marco Morelli is my partner, and everyone knows it, and I don’t have to hide it anymore.” He turned to look at me. “That’s insane. In the best way. But insane.”
I pulled him closer, and he settled against my side. “Seventeen years I’ve been hiding. And now I don’t have to. It’s…”
“Overwhelming?”
“Liberating.”
We sat in the quiet, watched the tree lights, and processed everything that had happened in the past six hours
“Thank you,” I said finally.
étienne lifted his head. “For what?”
“For pushing me. For not letting me hide forever. For making me believe we could do this.” I cupped his face, ran my thumb along his cheekbone. “I wouldn’t have done this without you.”
“Yes, you would have. Eventually.”
“Maybe. But not now. Not this soon. You gave me courage.”
“You gave me courage too.” He leaned into my touch. “I was terrified my whole life of my father’s rejection. And when it happened, when he actually said those things… it destroyed me. But you were there. You held me through it. That’s why I could keep going.”
I kissed him. Soft, gentle, grateful. When I pulled back, his eyes were dark, his breathing slightly uneven.
“I want you,” he said quietly.
The words sent heat through me. “Yeah?”
“I want—” He stopped, swallowed. “I want all of you. I want to be with you. Really with you. The way we haven’t been yet.”
Understanding hit me. “étienne—”
“We’ve been together for two months. We’ve… done other things. But I want this. Tonight. I want—” He gestured helplessly. “I don’t know how to say it without being crude. And nothing we’ve ever done was crude. But I want to feel you inside me.”
I took his hand. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” But I could see the nervousness in his eyes, the way his fingers trembled in mine. “I’ve never—I mean, I’ve never done that before. Of course I haven’t.”
“I know.”
“But I want to. With you. I want everything with you.”
I stood, pulling him up with me. “Come on.”
We climbed up the stairs to the bedroom, and I felt étienne’s tension in the way his hand was tight on mine, the way his breathing had gone shallow. In the bedroom, I turned to face him.
“We don’t have to do this tonight,” I said gently. “There’s no rush. We have time.”
“I want to.” He stepped closer, his hands coming up to frame my face. “I want this. I’m just—I’m nervous.”
“That’s okay. Being nervous is okay.” I kissed him softly. “We’ll go slow. And if you want to stop at any point—”
“I won’t want to stop.”
“But if you do, we stop. No questions, no pressure. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I kissed him again, deeper this time, pouring reassurance into it, and he relaxed into me with a sigh that felt like surrender.
His hands slid down to my shoulders, tentatively at first, then found the hem of my shirt and tugged gently.
We undressed each other slowly, carefully, each piece of clothing a deliberate choice.
My shirt. His. Soft kisses between each reveal—his collarbone, my chest, the curve of his shoulder.
When we were both naked, standing in the dim golden light spilling from the hallway, I took a moment just to look at him.
All lean muscle and nervous energy, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths.
I could see the uncertainty still flickering in his eyes—the fear of the unknown—but beneath it, something stronger.
Desire. Trust. Love that made my chest ache with the weight of it.
“Come here,” I said softly, guiding him to the bed with gentle hands.
We lay down together, the sheets cool against heated skin, and I took my time.
No rush. No urgency. Just my hands skimming the landscape of him—the dip of his waist, the sharp angle of his hip, the sensitive skin of his inner thigh that made him shiver.
My mouth followed, pressing kisses to his sternum, his ribs, the hollow of his throat where his pulse hammered against my lips.
Caressing every inch of skin, cataloging every place that made him gasp or arch into my touch, every sound that told me I was doing this right.
Building the heat slowly, patiently, letting the nervousness dissolve into want.
“Marco,” he breathed, my name broken and desperate, and his hands fisted in the sheets like he needed something to hold onto. “I need—”
“I know.” I kissed him softly, then reached for the supplies in the nightstand. My hands were steadier than I expected. “I’ve got you. I promise.”