What if Wesley was right to be cautious? When my career was actually threatened, would I make the same choices Charles had made? The possibility haunted me. I could end up hurting Wesley exactly the way I’d promised I wouldn’t.
The questions circled through my mind as I got ready for bed. I lay staring at my ceiling and replayed the evening, Wesley’s kiss, and the way he’d looked at me like I was worth the risk.
I’d wanted this—wanted Wesley, wanted the connection, wanted to just exist as myself with someone who knew the truth.
Now I had it.
And the weight of that responsibility felt heavier than any captain’s C I’d ever worn.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wesley
The hot water pounded against my shoulders and steam filled my bathroom as I replayed last night in my head for what must have been the hundredth time. Griffin’s kiss. His hands around my back. The way he’d looked at me like I was worth every risk he was taking.
This could work.
I reached for the shampoo and worked it through my hair while my brain spun possibilities. We could be careful. Meet at Griffin’s place or mine, never in public. Keep our professional interactions completely neutral. Separate our work from our relationship like a sharp blade cutting through fresh ice.
Unlike with Charles, there was an end date. Four to six years seemed like forever, but it was still a timeline, a plan, something concrete to work toward. Griffin would retire, come out, and we could have a real relationship. No more hiding, no more closet.
I rinsed my hair and reached for the body wash, thefamiliar ritual grounding me even as my thoughts raced ahead.
At least I knew what I was getting into this time. Eyes wide open, full awareness of the risks. That was agency, not victimhood. That was choosing rather than being chosen, deciding rather than having it decided for me.
Charles had never acknowledged what he was asking of me, had framed it as temporary until it became permanent through inertia and cowardice. Griffin was different. Griffin understood exactly what he was asking and had said it out loud, had given me every opportunity to walk away.
I rinsed, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel, my reflection in the mirror showing someone who looked more awake, more alive than he had in months. Despite the fear, despite the very real risks, something about last night had felt right in a way nothing had since Nashville.
This was my choice. Not forced, not manipulated, not discovered and weaponized. Mine.
I moved to my closet and selected a charcoal suit, white dress shirt, and a burgundy tie. Professional armor for a day that would require careful handling. As I buttoned the shirt, I thought about how this time, the hiding felt strategic rather than shameful. With Charles, I’d felt dirty, like our relationship was something to be embarrassed about. With Griffin, the secrecy felt like protection—temporary, necessary, but not reflective of any shame about who we were.
I was in control this time.
The tie went on smoothly, my hands steady despite the nervous energy thrumming through my system. I was good at crisis management—that’s what I did professionally, constantly anticipating problems and spinning solutions. If anyone could navigate a secret relationship with a closetedNHL captain while maintaining perfect professional boundaries, it was me.
I just had to treat it like any other complex PR challenge. Assess risks, develop strategies, execute flawlessly.
In the kitchen, my bagel popped up from the toaster and I slathered it with cream cheese while acknowledging the truth I’d been dancing around since I’d awakened: I was already in deeper than I’d expected. Already more invested, already more vulnerable than was probably wise after one evening of officially being together.
I took a bite of the bagel, the familiar yeasty and creamy tastes comforting as I let myself imagine the future. Griffin retiring, coming out, us being public. Attending team events together openly. Meeting each other’s families. Normal relationship things that other couples took for granted.
If I walked away now to protect myself, would I always wonderwhat if?
After all, what if this was the best thing that ever happened to me and I walked away because of fear?
The answer was obvious. I didn’t want to spend the next however-many years wonderingwhat ifabout Griffin.
I deserved to take this risk for love.
Griffin made me happy. Genuinely happy in ways I’d almost forgotten were possible. That was worth fighting for, worth the careful choreography we’d have to maintain, worth the fear that occasionally spiked through my optimism.
I finished the bagel, rinsed my plate, and checked my watch. Seven forty-five. Time to head to the facility and face our first day of faking normalcy while everything had fundamentally changed.
As I grabbed my messenger bag and keys, I thought about how I’d come to Portland for a fresh start. Maybe this was part of that—not running from my past with Charles, but running toward something better with Griffin.Taking the lessons I’d learned and applying them to a situation where I had more control, more awareness, more choice.
And if this blew up spectacularly? If we got caught and I lost my job?
