“Thank you,” I manage to croak out when they finish speaking. I stand up, trying to do it with dignity, and leave.
I don’t rememberthe walk home.
I remember doors and sidewalks and the vague sensation of moving forward like my body is on autopilot and my brain has fully clocked out, because if I actually let myselfthinkabout what just happened while I’m still in public, I’m pretty sure I’d end up sitting on the curb and sobbing.
So I don’t do that.
I get home. I unlock the door. I step inside the apartment that has always felt safe in a way nowhere else really does, and I don’t even bother taking my shoes off before I’m dropping my bag on the floor and pressing my back against the door like I need it to physically hold me upright.
Hughie’s there.
He’s in the kitchen, probably just back from lift or about to head out, holding a glass of water, and the second he looks up and sees my face, everything changes.
He lowers his glass, still clutching it tightly in his hand, and his entire body goes still as he catalogues me. I wonder if I look as bad as I feel because he seems stricken.
“…What happened?” he asks quietly.
And that’s it. That’s the crack.
I open my mouth to answer him like a normal human being and instead my chest caves in on itself and this awful, broken sound comes out of me that I don’t recognize at first because I haven’t cried like this in years. I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled in, and hands fisted in my hoodie.
“I’m not-” I choke, dragging in a breath that burns. “I’m not on hockey anymore. They fired me.”
Hughie’s glass hits the counter a second later. He’s across the room before I even register movement, crouching in front of me, hands on my knees, and his face tight with fury. When he finally speaks, his voice is tight and barely restrained.
“What do you mean you’re not on hockey?”
“They-” I laugh, and it’s hysterical and awful. “They reassigned me. Coach, the AD, my advisor. They said someone was uncomfortable. That it was about perception. That it could affect Harvard. That it wasn’t punishment but-” I shake my head hard, tears spilling over now. “It feels like punishment. They said they were protecting me from a sexual harassment claim.”
Hughie doesn’t interrupt. He just listens with his jaw clenched and eyes locked on the tears spilling down my cheeks.
“They said sexual orientation…like being bi has made me a problem or made someone on the team uncomfortable,” I whisper. “They said sexual harassment. They said they didn’t want to make waves and now I’m not allowed near the team anymore.”
For a split second, I see it in his face. TheI warned you. TheI tried to protect you. Thethis is exactly what I was afraid of. But he doesn’t say it, which I am eternally grateful for.
Instead, he pulls me forward, crushing my head into his chest, one arm wrapped around my shoulders so tight it almost hurts.
“That’s bullshit,” he says low and steady into my hair. “That is absolute fucking bullshit.”
I sob harder at that, because somehow his anger feels like permission to fall apart.
“I fucked up,” I choke. “I crossed lines. I….I loved that team, Hugh. I loved working with them. I was good at it.”
“I know,” he says immediately. “I know you were.”
“I feel like he just… erased me,” I whisper. “Like I was a liability instead of a person. He went to the fucking school instead of talking to me.”
Hughie’s jaw flexes and his grip tightens just a fraction. He knows exactly who I’m talking about. I know he probably wants to say a lot of shit but right now I don’t think I could handle hearing it. I’m so fucking…broken inside.
“He doesn’t get to decide your worth,” he says. “Griffin crossed a line doing this.”
I pull back just enough to look at him, face wrecked, eyes red and swollen, chest still stuttering. “You told me to be careful.”
He exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, and yeah…there it is again, that quietI told you sositting right under the surface. He just nods once, honest but gentle.
“I did,” he admits. “Because I was scared for you. Not because you did anything wrong. Your…relationship was consensual.”
That almost hurts worse.
