Chapter 22 Andrei
TWENTY-TWO
Andrei
I looked over my shoulder as we formed a line, ready to step onto the ice. Griffin wasn’t here. My fingers trembled, and I squeezed my stick harder. He wasn’t with me. He was somewhere behind, all alone, splitting at the seams.
I could feel my heart tearing, too, because I knew that he wasn’t okay. Not with all the pressure mounting. Not with so many people so deeply invested in him, with so many expectations, even from me.
However hard I’d tried to disguise it, Griffin read me like an open book, and he knew that I needed more from him. Needed it, yet never dared ask for it.
The marching band finished their performance on the ice.
The lights flickered dramatically in the rink, music cueing into the speakers from the control booth and the massive jumbotron displaying the close-ups of eager players from both teams as we restlessly moved from one foot to the other, waiting for the doors to open so we could skate out before the crowd.
The rink was full, its capacity filled with more than half the crowd still outside. The hockey phenomenon was happening before the live crowd, and the crowd was ferocious.
The doors opened, and we got our cue, stepping onto the ice one after another, following Phoenix and riding the high of the swelling cheers and screams and calls from the audience.
The dramatic music and flashing lights didn’t help at all.
My unease was only growing, its wiry coils twisting around my guts.
Where was he? I shouldn’t even be here. If the pressure had reached the critical point, he needed me, even if it meant admitting defeat.
Even if it meant hurting and crying and agreeing that we had done the right thing at the wrong time.
Admitting that we had blown our one chance.
“Where the hell is Griff?” Damon asked.
I shook my head. “Dunno. I’m looking for him.”
“You should go,” Damon said, his voice loud enough for me, uncaring about the fact that he had a hot mic taped to his chest, as did I. “Game’s not worth it, Andrei.”
Yet I was stuck, ice reaching up my skates, freezing me in the spot.
The crowd lit up. It was a few of them at first, then more, as the cheers quieted awkwardly, artificially, and the screens glowed.
For a moment, I thought something had happened on the ice, something people felt the need to film, but then I realized nobody was pointing their cameras at us.
Instead, people were looking at their phones.
So was Coach Neilsen just off the ice, a frown deepening on his face, which turned more red with each second.
The jumbotron flickered, the image switching from the views the cameras caught live in the rink into a vertical video, taken with the front camera, phone held in a shaky hand, and the wild curls flying around his gorgeous face as his hazel eyes glimmered under the neon lights of the locker room.
“…little delay, but I’ll make it worth your while, even if it costs me my future. ”
The encouraging calls from the crowd swelled to an unbearable level, and my heart sank into my stomach.
Griffin must have heard the noise, too, because his head turned away from the screen of his phone, live-streamed on Instagram straight into the jumbotron, and his lips dragged into an uncertain smile.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Phoenix demanded.
“Hush,” Damon said firmly. “This is gonna be good.”
“Right, that means I’m in front of all your faces,” Griffin said. “Make some noise if you can see me.”
Shoes stomped the floor behind the boards, and cheers grew deafening.
Griffin’s playful voice crackled with excitement as he glowed in the locker room.
“I was asked to thank you for a quarter million followers on Instagram,” Griffin boomed, giving the crowd a moment to cheer again.
“Now?” Phoenix demanded, while Damon boomed with laughter. “He’s doing it now? We’re starting the game in a minute.”
“Shut up, Phoenix,” I said, my voice ripping free from whatever had been choking me. “Give him a second.”
Phoenix and I looked at each other, gazes locked. He must have seen something in my eyes that made him pause. He nodded.
Griffin continued on the screen, and my gaze returned to his face.
I hadn’t seen him this happy lately. I hadn’t seen this kind of relaxed expression on his face since the early days of being together.
“Quarter million is a nice, big number, y’all, especially when you’re twenty and don’t know what to do with it.
” The melancholy in his voice flew over everyone else’s head, but I could hear it clearly.
“I traded in my privacy three months ago for a chance at this. You know, when you offer a kid unlimited ice cream, he won’t ask about the catch.
I sure never thought about the other side of fame, my friends.
I never thought my life could be turned so thoroughly upside down by a little publicity stunt.
Here we are, then. Loved by so many, but seen by many more.
Every moment of my life this fall has played out before your eyes.
I’ve seen the way you see me. I’ve seen what I was in your eyes.
And I’ve understood things about myself I had never thought of. ”
Griffin’s expression softened as he looked straight into the camera. His voice steadied, quiet but unflinching.
“I’ve seen the comments, the edits, the theories, the guesses. You all think you know me; some of you even think you own me. But there’s something about living your life under the lights that makes you start wondering if anything you feel is still real.”
He drew a breath, the sound catching on the microphone.
“I used to think I could handle that. Cameras, crowds, all this attention. I thought that was all part of the game. Until I realized that somewhere in the middle of all of this, I’d stopped living for myself.
I’d stopped being brave where it mattered so that I could be flashy where it didn’t. ”
The crowd had gone eerily still. Even the echoing hum of the rink quieted. The only sound was his voice, raw through the speakers. He was shattering his career, his image, because he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’ve played hockey since I was five years old. I’ve taken hits, bruises, and stitches for the love of the game. But nothing, nothing, has ever scared me like this. Because this isn’t about the game. This is about something I never let myself say out loud.”
The phone wobbled slightly in his hand. He adjusted it, and for a second, his eyes darted to the door behind him, like he was checking if someone was coming.
“I’ve spent the last two months pretending I could keep something beautiful hidden. Pretending that privacy was protection and that silence was safety. But I’ve learned that love doesn’t survive in the dark. It deserves to be seen. It deserves to breathe.”
My chest constricted. The words weren’t for the crowd anymore. They were for me. Every syllable trembled with truth.
Griffin continued, his tone deepening. “The truth is, I fell in love this fall. And it wasn’t some easy, polished thing.
It was messy, terrifying, and real. I fell for someone who made me better.
Someone who doesn’t play for the cameras, who doesn’t pretend to be perfect, who just…
is. And I’m done pretending that it isn’t the best thing that ever happened to me. ”
A wave of whispers rippled through the stands, as if ten thousand people had collectively realized what he was about to do.
He set the phone down for a moment, stepped back, and the camera caught his full frame, from the skates, over the hoodie with the team logo, to the trembling hand combing through his hair. He looked both nervous and certain.
“I don’t know how to make this sound perfect,” he said, leaning closer again, “so I’ll just say it the only way I can.
” He swallowed, gaze steady now. “I’ve kissed this person in secret.
I’ve laughed with him in the dark. I’ve woken up next to him before sunrise just to talk about nothing.
And I’ve been too much of a coward to hold his hand in daylight. ”
The crowd’s collective breath drew in.
“But tonight,” Griffin said softly, “I don’t want to be a coward. Not anymore. Because he deserves the world to know he’s the best part of mine.”
My knees weakened. The stick in my hand felt weightless. Damon muttered something like “holy shit,” but I couldn’t hear anything anymore.
Griffin began walking. The video jolted with each step. The background changed from the locker room to the narrow concrete tunnel that led toward the rink. The clink of his footsteps merged with the crowd’s murmurs as the feed stabilized again.
“You all think you know what courage looks like,” Griffin said. “You think it’s winning, scoring, fighting through pain. But sometimes courage is just telling the truth and hoping it’s not too late.”
He reached the mouth of the tunnel now. The stadium lights caught him from behind, framing him in a halo of white. The jumbotron filled with that image, Griffin, small against the vast light, walking toward the ice.
“I’m terrified right now,” he said with a shaky laugh. “But I love him more than I fear this. I love him enough to risk everything. The game, the season, the fame, all of it. Because what’s the point of winning anything if you can’t share it with the person who makes you want to be better?”
My throat closed. My vision blurred.
“I’ve had a lifetime of trying it out, finding the right tune to play to.
I’ve had prom dances and secret kisses, but he hasn’t.
And in trying to keep some of my life away from the cameras, away from the world, I had denied him the innocent romance that he had never been given.
The romance I owed him. The romance he deserved. ”
Griffin stepped out onto the ice. The sound of his blades hitting the surface carried through the speakers, sharp and definitive. He looked straight ahead, eyes locked on mine. The camera swung slightly, catching the stunned faces of players and coaches, before Griffin raised the phone again.
“I love you, Andrei Sokolov,” he said, voice steady, echoing through the rink and across a thousand screens. “You’re my favorite part of the day, my calm in the noise, my reason to wake up. You make me braver than I’ve ever been. And I’m done hiding. So here it is. I love you.”
The silence that followed was complete, an entire arena holding its breath.
I was silent, too. Drowned in the quiet.
Then the crowd erupted.
The sound was tidal, crashing, unstoppable. Players slammed sticks on the boards. Fans screamed. Phones flashed from every section.
At first, I couldn’t move a finger. My body felt suspended in heat and disbelief. Then my teammates shoved me gently forward, yelling my name, and pushing me toward Griffin.
I skated out to meet him.
Griffin lowered the phone, still live, and smiled. It was a devastatingly nervous smile, relieved, glowing under the lights. When I reached him, I dropped my stick and my helmet, and for the first time in my life, I wrapped my arms around someone I loved in front of everyone.
The crowd didn’t fade. The world didn’t end. The only thing that mattered was the warmth pressed against me and the truth that no longer had to be hidden.
I whispered against Griffin’s ear, “You really are insane.”
“Clinically, my love,” Griffin said. His quiet laugh brushed my neck. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”
I smiled, eyes burning, heart hammering against my rib cage. “I love you, too, Griff. Always have.”
The crowd roared again, drowning out everything but the sound of the two of us.
When Griffin pressed his lips against mine, the cheers rose so high that the roof of the rink trembled.
Moments later, Griffin and I weren’t alone in the spotlight.
Arctic Titans crowded around us, a team of brothers who stood by one another without conditions and without questions.
They formed a wall of protection, letting Griffin’s kiss last a while longer.
Tears streamed down my face as my ears hurt.
Griffin pulled back and looked at me, his eyes glimmering with tears, his dimples large and beautiful when he smiled. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
I shook my head. “You haven’t.” I held on to him, held on to his jersey like I would be drowned in the crowd if I let go. “You’ve made me happy, Griff. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Forgive me,” he said, pulling me closer into his arms.
“Griffin,” I said. “There has never been anything to forgive. Not a thing. And I’ll spend my life proving it.”
“Then I will spend mine making you happy,” he said.
He kissed me again. The noise in the rink lifted us up first, and then our teammates did, quite literally. They pulled us apart, lifting us high up for the swarming cameras to capture the moment.
And I didn’t mind it. Because we weren’t playing anymore. We weren’t pretending. We were just ourselves at last.
Finally, finally free.