“Just be careful,” Michael said. “That’s all I’m asking. Be aware of how things look.”
After Michael left, I stood alone in the conference room, the weight of the evening pressing down on my shoulders. We’d lost our first game. Boucher was publicly mocking me. My agent thought my professional relationship with my PR manager was dangerous to my career. And underneath it all was the constant, grinding pressure of maintaining a perfect image while hiding a fundamental truth about who I was.
I thought about Wesley’s hand on my arm, the genuine warmth in his voice when he’d said he had faith in me. The easy camaraderie we’d developed, the way he understood both hockey culture and the pressures of public image.
Michael was right about one thing—I needed to be careful.
But not for the reasons he thought.
I needed to be careful because every interaction with Wesley Hutton made me want things I couldn’t have. Made me question choices I’d made years ago about how to live my life. Made me wonder what it might be like to stop hiding and just be myself.
And that was the most dangerous thought of all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Wesley
My phone rang while I was three paragraphs deep into a press release about the team’s charity initiative. The caller ID showed an unfamiliar area code.
I saved the document and answered. “Wesley Hutton.”
“Wesley, it’s Michael Tremblay. Griffin’s agent. Do you have a few minutes?”
I sat up straighter, my curiosity immediately piqued after the previous evening’s cold reception from Tremblay. “Of course. What can I do for you?” I infused my tone with courteousness.
“I wanted to touch base about PR strategy for Griffin.” Michael’s voice was smooth and professional, a tone that probably served him well in contract negotiations. “Given last night’s game result, I’m concerned about narrative control.”
“We’re handling it,” I assured him, and pulled up my media monitoring tabs in my browser. “The coverage has been fair—most outlets are emphasizing the learning curvefor expansion teams. Griffin’s press conference performance was excellent, and we’re focusing on the positives.”
As Griffin’s agent, Tremblay surely had his own media tracking services and had already read every article published about last night’s game. So why was he asking questions he already knew the answers to?
“That’s good to hear.” There was a pause that felt calculated rather than natural. “I also wanted to discuss Griffin’s public interactions. As his agent, I’m invested in protecting his image and ensuring his professional relationships remain… appropriate.”
Something in his tone made my stomach tighten. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Griffin is under tremendous pressure right now. New team, new city, high expectations. He needs support, certainly, but it’s important that his relationships with team personnel maintain clear professional boundaries.”
The implication hit me like cold water. “Are you suggesting something specific?”
“I’m suggesting that Griffin benefits from structure and clarity. He’s the face of a new franchise, and every interaction he has reflects on the organization.” Michael’s voice remained pleasant, but there was steel underneath.
My voice came out sharp. “Are you telling me how to do my job?”
“Of course not. But in his relationship with you, for instance, as PR manager, you’ll naturally spend significant time together. But it’s crucial that the relationship remains strictly professional.”
“Itisprofessional.” Defensiveness crept into my tone. How dare he question my integrity?
“I’m glad to hear that. Because we wouldn’t want any of your interactions to be… misconstrued. In this business, perception matters as much as reality.”
My face flushed hot. “I provide professional support to all our players, Mr. Tremblay. Griffin is the team captain, so naturally?—”
“Naturally, you work closely with him. I understand. I’m simply reminding you that Griffin’s image requires careful management. He can’t afford any distractions or complications that might undermine his authority or create unwanted speculation.”
The careful phrasing, the emphasis on “unwanted speculation”—suddenly the subtext became painfully clear. Tremblay knew I was gay. He’d probably done his research, found the details of my Nashville scandal, and decided I represented some kind of threat to Griffin’s carefully maintained image.
“I take my professional responsibilities very seriously.” I kept my voice level despite the anger simmering underneath. “Griffin’s success is my success. Creating complications that would hurt the team would be counterproductive to my own career goals.”
“Exactly. I’m glad we understand each other.” Tremblay’s tone warmed fractionally. “Griffin speaks highly of your work. I just want to ensure that the working relationship remains productive for both of you.”
