“That’s why you’re so careful about your reputation,” I said.
“It was self-preservation. I understood it, even as it destroyed me.” Wesley crossed his arms. “But I can’t do it again, Griffin. I can’t be with someone who’s more afraid of being seen with me than losing me entirely.”
“This isn’t permanent.” I stood to face him. “I’m not asking you to hide forever. Just until I retire—four to six years. Then I can come out, we can be public, and the non-fraternization policy won’t matter because I won’t be playing anymore.”
Wesley stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head slowly. “That’s not—Griffin, think about what you’re proposing. Four to six years of hiding. That’s not a few months of sneaking around. That’syearsof lying to everyone we work with, constantly performing, never being able to acknowledge what we are to each other in public. Never going to team events together as a couple. Never being photographed together outside of work. No casual touches in the facility, no private jokes that might give us away.” Hisvoice grew more strained. “I did secret before. With Charles. It destroyed us. The constant hiding, the paranoia, the way we couldn’t justbetogether without calculating every risk—it poisoned everything good between us.”
Each point landed like a body check I couldn’t avoid. He was right. All of it was right.
“And that’s assuming we even last that long,” Wesley continued, something raw in his voice now. “Most relationships don’t survive four years under normal circumstances. Add in all this pressure, the hiding, the professional complications—” He broke off, and looked away. “I can’t do another closeted relationship, Griffin. I can’t go back to being someone’s secret. It nearly broke me the first time.”
“This is different.” I leaned forward, desperate for him to understand. “Charles was closeted, pretending to be straight, lying to everyone including himself. I’m not pretending anymore—not with you. You know the truth. I’m just not ready to tell the world yet.”
“But the effect is the same.” Wesley’s voice was quiet but firm. “To everyone else, you’re straight and I’m just your PR manager. We’d still be lying. Still hiding. And I’d still be the one who has to watch you maintain that performance while pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
“It would hurt you?” The question came out smaller than I intended.
“Of course it would hurt me.” Wesley met my eyes again, and I could see the conflict there—want and fear and something that looked like grief. “Watching you deflect questions about dating, knowing you can never acknowledge me, having to be professional and distant when all I’d want is to—” He stopped himself. “Yes, Griffin. It would hurt. Every single day.”
The weight of what I was asking him—what I was askingboth of us—settled fully. This was asking Wesley to go back into a closet he’d fought hard to escape, to compromise the authenticity he’d built, to risk his career and his emotional well-being for a relationship that might not survive the pressure.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “You’re right. This is asking too much.”
“I didn’t say no.” Wesley’s voice was careful now. “I’m saying—I need you to understand what you’re actually asking. Not just from me, but from yourself. Because if we do this and you decide six months in that it’s too hard, that the risk is too high, that you need to protect your career—I can’t go through that again. I can’t be someone’s experiment in authenticity who gets discarded when reality gets difficult.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Charles said the same thing.” The pain in Wesley’s voice was unmistakable. “And I believed him. Right up until he chose his career over me without a second thought.”
I wanted to argue, to insist I was different, that I’d never hurt him that way. But how could I promise that? Wesley was right to be cautious. I was asking him to trust me with everything—his job, his heart, his hard-won sense of self—while offering nothing but my word that I wouldn’t break under pressure.
“What would make you feel safer?” I asked. “What would you need from me to even consider this?”
Wesley was quiet for a long moment. “Honestly? I don’t know if anything could. The power dynamics alone—you’re the captain, I’m staff. If this goes wrong, my career is over and yours probably continues. That’s not a small thing.”
“So that’s a no.” I tried to keep the devastation out of my voice.
“That’s a—” Wesley rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t know, Griffin. I want to say yes. God, I want to say yesso badly it’s terrifying. But I also know what happens when I ignore red flags because I’m attracted to someone. I know how it feels to lose everything because I convinced myself love was worth the risk.”
“And was it?” I asked quietly. “Worth it?”
“I don’t know.” Wesley’s laugh was hollow. “Ask me again when I’m not unemployed and blacklisted from an entire industry.”
“I know it’s unfair. I know I’m asking you to sacrifice things I’m not willing to sacrifice myself. But I also know that what’s between us—” I gestured helplessly “This isn’t something I can just ignore or walk away from. You make me want things I’ve never let myself want. You make me feel like maybe hiding my sexuality isn’t all there is.”
Wesley was quiet for a long moment, his troubled expression showing the internal debate I couldn’t hear. Finally, he asked, “What happens if you get traded again? If you end up somewhere else and I’m still here?”
“Then we’ll figure it out. Long distance, me requesting a trade to come back, whatever it takes.” The words came out with more certainty than I felt, but I meant them. “I’m not Charles, Wesley. I won’t abandon you to save myself.”
“You can’t know that. Not really. When the pressure comes, when your career is legitimately threatened, you might make different choices than you think you will.”
“You’re right. I can’t guarantee how I’ll react when everything’s on the line.” I took a step closer. “But I can promise that right now, in this moment, you matter more to me than the image. More than whatever I’m supposed to be to everyone else.”
Wesley’s gaze searched mine, looking for something—truth, sincerity, proof that this time would be different.
“I told myself I wouldn’t do this again,” he said, his voicelow. “Wouldn’t risk my heart for someone who wouldn’t love me openly.”
“I understand if you can’t?—”
