“But there is backlash. Boucher’s post, the hateful comments, the sponsor who dropped me?—”
His head snapped up. “A sponsor dropped you?”
“One sponsor. Who got replaced by three others.”
Wesley set down my phone and took my hands. “You knew there would be consequences. But you’re also seeing that those consequences aren’t what you feared. You’re not being destroyed. You’re being celebrated.”
“By strangers who’ve made me into a symbol. I didn’t ask to be the first openly gay NHL player. I just wanted to stop hiding.” The frustration bled through despite knowing it was irrational.
“I know. But you are the first, whether or not you wanted to be. And that means something to a lot of people.” Wesley’s thumbs traced circles on the backs of my hands. “Those texts from unknown numbers—they matter, Griffin. Your courage gives other people hope. That’s not a small thing.”
“It’s a lot of pressure.” A new fear crept in—the terrorthat I’d fail to live up to this new role, that I’d prove unworthy of the symbol people were making me into.
“You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be an icon or activist or representative. You just have to be yourself. That’s all anyone’s asking.” Wesley leaned in and pressed his forehead against mine. “And you did that today. Beautifully.”
I closed my eyes and let his certainty wash over me, trying to internalize the truth of what he was saying. I’d been honest. I’d been myself. That had to be enough.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “For helping me prepare. For believing I could do this. For being here now when I’m falling apart.”
“You’re not falling apart. You’re processing something enormous. That’s allowed.” Wesley kissed me softly, tenderly, then pulled back with a small smile. “Besides, where else would I be? You just made history. I’m not missing out on the outcome.”
I smiled back. “History. That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“You’ve got time. And you’ve got me.
“Your post—” I pulled back to look at him. “Wesley, you didn’t have to do that. Expose yourself like that.”
“Yes, I did. You weren’t facing this alone.” Wesley cupped my jaw. “We’re partners. That means standing together, not you protecting me from the bench.”
“It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said about me.”
“It’s true. All of it.”
“That’s what makes it beautiful.” I paused, trying to articulate something I’d never let myself feel before. “I spent sixteen years hiding. Then I came out and tried to protect you by keeping you out of the narrative. But you didn’t want to be protected. You wanted to stand with me.”
“Always.”
“I’m not used to that. Someone choosing me—not my captaincy, not my image, not what I can do for them. Just me.”
“Get used to it.” Wesley’s smile was tender. “Because that’s what this is. Partnership.”
I kissed him then—deep and grateful and full of emotion I couldn’t articulate. His hands slid behind my neck, holding me close, and I poured everything into the contact. Love and fear and gratitude and hope.
When we broke apart, both breathing harder, Wesley took my hand. “Come on.”
He led me to his bedroom, and we left a trail of clothes along the way, needing the connection, needing to prove this was real and worth everything we’d risked.
He stopped beside his rumpled bed—did the man ever make it?—and ran a finger along my cheekbone. I shivered, even though the room was pleasantly warm. “Make love to me.” He cupped my jawline.
I sucked in a breath. We hadn’t yet crossed that line, but the rightness of it, the inevitability, settled in my chest. “I’d love that.”
I pressed my lips to his, the kiss soft and slow but becoming urgent when he opened for me.
He drew back, but I still felt the ghost of the contact. His brown eyes warmed when he asked, “Bed?”
In answer, I slipped under the mussed covers and opened my arms. He slipped into my hold, his furry chest against my smooth one, his erection rubbing against mine. Our connection clicked into place, and we were just getting started. “How do you want me?” I asked, my voice low and rough with need.
“I want to look into your eyes when I feel you deep inside me.”
