“Genuine,” Griffin repeated, bitterness edging his tone. “That’s ironic, considering how much of my life is a performance.”
“That’s not what I meant. You care about people—your teammates, those kids at the clinic, the fans. That’s real, even if other aspects of your life aren’t… fully public.”
Griffin’s jaw tightened. “Speaking of performance—what’s the angle on this leadership speech? What do they actually want to hear?”
The pivot was obvious, but I let him have it. “Authenticity is big right now in business leadership. Bringing your whole self to work, leading with vulnerability, that kind of thing.”
“Authenticity.” Griffin’s laugh was humorless. “Right.”
“We don’t have to emphasize that angle if it’s uncomfortable?—”
“No, it’s fine. Ironic as hell, but fine.” He ran a hand over his buzz cut. “What else?”
I studied him for a moment, reading the tension in his shoulders, the way he’d deflected from anything too personal. “Griffin, we can take a different approach if talking about authentic leadership feels?—”
“I said it’s fine, Wesley.” His voice was sharp, then he seemed to catch himself. “Sorry. I just… I know how to talk about leadership. I’ve been doing it my whole career. Let’s focus on making this speech work for the audience.”
We worked for another hour, crafting an opening story about Griffin’s first day as Colorado’s captain—the weight of the C on his jersey, the responsibility of representing an organization and city, the moment he realized leadership wasn’t about being perfect but about being present.
The words flowed easily once we found our rhythm.Griffin would share experiences, I’d help him frame them for maximum impact, and then we’d refine the language until it felt natural in his voice rather than scripted. His intelligence surprised me—not that I’d thought he was dumb, but the way he grasped narrative structure, understood emotional beats, recognized what would resonate with an audience.
“You’re good at this.” I read back a paragraph we’d just completed. “Have you thought about what you’ll do after hockey? You could definitely be a motivational speaker.”
“Maybe. Though that requires being able to share your real story, not just the sanitized version.” Griffin leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made his shirt pull tight across his broad shoulders.
My pulse rate spiked, and I forced my eyes back to my laptop screen. “What would your real story include that the sanitized version doesn’t?”
Griffin’s arms came down slowly, his expression guarded. “Does it matter? It’s not a story I can tell.”
“Not publicly, maybe. But you told me.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Griffin was quiet for a long moment, his ice-blue eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made the air feel thinner. “Because you’re different. You make me want to stop acting. And that’s dangerous.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Griffin?—”
“I know. I know all the reasons this is a bad idea. You’ve been very clear about your boundaries, and you’re right to set them.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, close enough that I could smell his clean body wash mixed with coffee. “But sitting here with you, working on this together, talking about authenticity while I’m hiding who I am—it’s making me question everything.”
“Question what, specifically?”
“Whether the cost of hiding is worth it anymore. Whether I’ve spent sixteen years protecting a career at the expense of ever having a real life.” His voice dropped lower. “Whether meeting you was the universe’s way of forcing me to decide whether to come out before I retire.”
The words settled between us like a confession, raw and honest in a way that felt almost painful. I should have reinforced the boundaries, reminded him of all the very good reasons we’d established those limits. Should have kept this professional and safe.
But looking at Griffin’s expression—vulnerable and determined and terrified all at once—I couldn’t bring myself to shut him down.
“You have to want that for yourself, independent of whatever this is between us.”
“I know. But you make me want it. Want to stop hiding, stop performing, just… be myself with someone who actually knows me.”
“Griffin, the person you are when we’re alone—that’s who you should get to be all the time. You deserve to live your life openly. To have relationships that aren’t secret. To be proud of who you are instead of afraid someone might find out. But only when you’re ready. In your own time.”
He reached across the table, his hand covering mine where it rested on my tablet. The contact sent electricity up my arm, made my breath catch despite knowing I shouldn’t let this happen.
“What if I’m not brave enough?”
