My chest went tight, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “Fuck. You keep making me cry.”
“Sorry.” But he was smiling.
“No, you're not.”
“No, I'm not.” He leaned in, kissed me soft and slow. “But I mean it. Whatever you decide, however you want to do this, I'm with you.”
I kissed him back, tasting smoke and want and the promise of something I'd been too afraid to name. When we pulled apart, I rested my forehead against his and just breathed.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Parents first. Then team. Then we see what happens.”
“Okay.”
“And Grant?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For this. For giving a shit. For not making me feel crazy for wanting to do this.”
His hand tightened in mine. “You're not crazy. You're brave. And I'm proud of you.”
I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just held his hand and stared into the fire and let the decision settle into my bones. I was going to do this. Tell my parents. Tell the team. Maybe tell the world. Not because I had to. Not because it was the right PR move or the brave thing everyone expected. But because hiding was starting to cost more than being seen ever could.
The fire crackled, sending sparks up into the dark sky. Grant's thumb traced patterns on the back of my hand, grounding me, reminding me I wasn't doing this alone.
“You know what's funny?” I said.
“What?”
“A month ago, I would've told you coming out was career suicide. That no one in hockey would accept it. That I'd lose everything.” I looked at him. “And now I'm more scared of losing myself.”
Grant's expression softened. “That's how you know it's the right call.”
“Yeah.” I leaned into him, feeling his solid warmth against my side. “Yeah, I think it is.”
We sat there for a long time, watching the fire burn down to embers, and I let myself imagine what came next. It was terrifying. It was necessary. And maybe—just maybe—it would be okay.
“Did you always know? That you were bi?” The question came out quieter than I intended. “Or was it... gradual?”
Grant was quiet for a moment, thumb still tracing patterns on my hand. “College,” he said finally. “I was nineteen, maybe twenty. Had a girlfriend I thought I'd marry someday. Then I met this guy on my team—defenseman, cocky as hell, had this smile that made my brain go stupid.” He paused. “Took me three months to realize what I was feeling wasn't just friendship.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I was too scared to say anything. Buried it. Convinced myself it was a phase or confusion or whatever bullshit excuse I could find.” His voice went rougher. “Dated women. Got married. Spent years pretending I'd figured it out.”
“Your ex-wife. Did she know?”
“Eventually. I told her before we filed for divorce.” He shifted slightly, and I felt the tension in his shoulders. “She'd suspected for a while, I think. Said some things made sense in hindsight. We tried to make it work anyway, but... you can't build a life on half-truths.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. It wasn't fair to her. Wasn't fair to either of us.” He exhaled slowly. “We didn't have kids, which made it cleaner. She never wanted them anyway—said they'd be too much hassle, too much disruption to her career. I didn't push it.”
“Did you want them? Kids, I mean.”
Grant was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was softer. “Someday. Yeah. With the right person, at the right time. But that's...” He trailed off, like he'd said too much.
“That's what?” I pressed.
