“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “Now.”
Something about his tone made my stomach drop. “What’s wrong?” I asked, though I suspected I knew.
“Not here.” Michael glanced down the hallway, then led me toward the coaches’ conference room. He closed the door firmly behind us.
“You need to be more careful,” Michael said without preamble.
“Careful about what?”
“About how friendly you were with that PR manager.” Michael’s voice was harsh. “Wesley Hutton. He’s gay, Griffin. Openly gay. And you’re standing in a hallway letting him touch you like?—”
“Like what?” Anger flared hot in my gut. “Like he’s offering professional support? Like he’s a colleague who’s trying to help me navigate a difficult situation?”
“You know what it looks like.”
“I know what you think it looks like,” I shot back. “What am I supposed to do, Michael? Refuse to work with gay people? Keep a three-foot radius at all times? Maybe I should just avoid associating with anyone who might make narrow-minded people uncomfortable.”
Michael’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t about prejudice. It’s about protecting your image.”
“My image,” I repeated bitterly. “God forbid anyone thinks I might actually respect and work well with my PR manager.”
“Griffin—” he said, a warning edge to his voice.
“What do you think is going to happen, Michael? That I’m going to catch the gay? Newsflash—” I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I’m already gay. Have been my whole life. So your concern about me being ‘too friendly’ with gay men is about thirty-four years too late.”
Michael’s grim expression didn’t change. He’d known I was gay since I was eighteen. I’d been there for his conversation with my father before cancer took Dad. He had hand-picked Michael to take over as my agent, trusting him with both my career and my secret. Michael had known through every girlfriend my mother had tried to set me up with, through every carefully constructed public image. But hearing me say it out loud, with frustration and anger bleeding through, seemed to catch him off guard.
“That’s exactly why you need to be more careful.” Michael’s lips formed a thin line. “No one can know. Not teammates, not management, not fans. If people find out you’re gay?—”
“My career would be ruined,” I finished flatly. “Yeah, I’ve heard this speech before.”
“Because it’s true.” Michael’s voice firmed. “Think about everything you’ve accomplished. The awards, the records, the respect you’ve earned. All of it would be overshadowed by one detail. You’d stop being Griffin Lapierre, elite NHL player and team captain, and become Griffin Lapierre, the gay hockey player. That’s all anyone would talk about. That’s all you’d be.”
The words hit like physical blows because part of me—the part that had spent sixteen years carefully constructing a public persona—believed he might be right.
“Your effectiveness in the locker room would disappear overnight,” Michael continued. “Players would question your authority. Some would refuse to shower with you in the room. The media would make every game about your sexuality instead of your play. Everything you’ve worked for would be reduced to a single headline.”
“So, I’m supposed to do what? Avoid my PR manager because he’s gay and someone might notice we work well together?”
“I’m saying you need to maintain professional distance. No private conversations in hallways. No casual touches. Nothing that could be misinterpreted or photographed out of context.”
I thought about Wesley’s hand on my arm, the simple gesture of support that had meant more than Michael could possibly understand. The idea of treating Wesley with professional coldness, of maintaining artificial distance just toprotect an image built on hiding who I was—it made something bitter rise in my throat.
Part of me wanted to tell Wesley the truth, wanted someone besides Michael and my mother to know. I knew instinctively that I could trust Wesley with my secret. My gut told me he understood discretion, understood the weight of private information, understood what it meant to guard something precious. After years of carrying this alone, the urge to unburden myself to someone who might actually understand was almost overwhelming. But Michael was right—that kind of honesty was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
“Wesley is good at his job,” I said carefully. “One of the best PR managers I’ve worked with. I’m not going to treat him differently because of his sexual orientation.”
“I’m not asking you to treat him differently. I’m asking you to be smart about appearances.”
“Appearances,” I repeated, the word tasting bitter. “That’s what matters, right? Not reality, not actual relationships or respect. Just how things look to people who are looking for reasons to judge. Including you.”
Michael reared back like I’d struck him. “I know this is hard. I know you’re tired of hiding. But we’re so close, Griffin. After a few more years of playing, you can retire with your reputation intact and live however you want. Date whomever you want. But right now, while you’re still playing?—”
“I need to stay in the closet,” I finished. “Stay hidden. Pretend to be something I’m not. Continue the performance.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I know.” And that was the worst part—Michael genuinely believed he was helping, genuinely thought that staying closeted was the only path to preserving everything I’d worked for. “But Wesley is my PR manager. We’re goingto be working closely together all season. That’s not negotiable.”
