“Too late. You had your pity party; now it’s time for an intervention.”
I groan, leaning back against the wall, but there’s no stopping him once he’s made up his mind. Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at the door—and then Daniel, Luke, and Eli file in like they own the place.
Luke’s the first to speak. “Holy shit, it smells like depression, dirty pits, and Doritos in here.”
“Thanks, Luke,” I say flatly.
He tosses a bag of chips onto my desk and grins. “Anytime, and now for our team meeting. We voted, we’re all still idiots, and we all still like you.”
I arch a brow. “Luke, you’re on the football team, not the hockey team.”
“Details,” he says, unbothered. “Gays unite. Besides, you hockey heathens need better PR anyway.”
Peter snorts. “Pretty sure you’re not qualified for that.”
“Sure I am.” Luke rips open the chips. “Step one:don’t let the internet make you forget who you are. Step two: carbs. Step three: call your boyfriend and make things right, because if you’re sulking like this, I assume he probably is too.”
He holds the bag out like he’s solved world peace. Daniel groans. Eli just shakes his head, smiling faintly.
I laugh under my breath, but it comes out cracked at the edges. “Yeah, because calling him right now would fix everything.”
Luke shrugs, already crunching through a mouthful of chips. “Worked for me once, when I thought I was in love… Spoiler alert, I wasn’t. That shit is obviously not for me.”
“Your solution to everything is reckless chaos,” Daniel mutters.
“Reckless chaos gets results,” Luke fires back.
Eli steps forward then, cutting through the noise without raising his voice. “You know… last year, when Coach found out about me and Max, I thought we’d ruined everything too.”
The room goes still. Even Luke stops chewing.
Eli leans against the dresser, arms crossed loosely, gaze steady on me. “We didn’t mean for anyone to know. It wasn’t public, and we kept it a secret here, until I took him home for Christmas and Coach was vacationing in the same place. He saw us, called us out… Max ran.”
I frown. “You never said anything.”
Eli gives a small, almost sheepish shrug. “Didn’t really want to. It was ugly for a while. Coach felt blindsided, Max thought he’d lose everything, and I was stuck in the middle trying to fix it all. We spent weeks not talking, both of us miserable, until Coach finally said he didn’t care whoI dated—as long as I didn’t let it mess with my game. Well, he didn’t say all that, but you get it.”
I stare at him, trying to picture it—the same kind of fallout, the same kind of fear—and realize how close it sounds to where I am now.
Eli exhales slowly, the edge of a smile ghosting across his face. “It took time, but we figured it out. The world didn’t end. People adjusted. And now? Coach makes bad dad jokes about us at team dinners.”
He looks at me again, softer now. “The noise dies down, Todd. It always does. People get tired of caring about someone else’s business. What doesn’t fade is you—the player, the person. That’s what people remember when the dust settles.”
He pushes off the dresser and steps closer, his tone quiet but sure. “You’re a damn good player, and you’re a better guy than half the ones chirping online. Don’t let this make you smaller. It’s what they want. You’re allowed to still love him. You’re allowed to still want to be the best captain you can be. Those things don’t cancel each other out.”
The room is silent for a long moment, just the hum of the heater and the sound of Luke crunching chips again because he can’t handle tension for more than ten seconds.
“Translation,” Luke says finally, gesturing with the bag. “Ignore the idiots, keep playing, kiss the boy later.”
Daniel groans. “Pretty sure that’s not what Eli said.”
“Close enough,” Peter mutters, grinning.
Eli shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “What I meant is—this doesn’t define you. You get to decide what happens next. Not the internet. Not the headlines. You.”
His words hit hard. Because they sound like the thingI’ve been waiting for someone to say since the morning that photo blew up—that I still have a choice in who I am. Maybe my dad is wrong.
I nod slowly, throat tight. “Thanks, man.”
