He clutched my shoulders. “That’s it,” he said, breathless. His fingers dug painfully into my muscles.
I took him deeper until he hit the back of my throat.
“Ungh.” His encouragement was wordless.
I sucked, bobbed, and licked until he was writhing and begging, applying myself to wringing as much pleasure out of him as I could. He bucked into my mouth, and I suppressed a gag, determined to give him everything I had.
He tapped my shoulder. “I’m going to…”
I swallowed around the head of his cock. He pulsed in my mouth and came down my throat with a shout.
And then he quickly withdrew.
And pounced.
He pushed me to my back and took my dick into his hot, wet mouth. It only took him a few hungry sucks of my cock beforeIcame with a shouted curse downhisthroat.
He collapsed to my side, both of us breathing hard. “That was…” he said.
“Yes, it was.” His enthusiasm and my competitive drive were a volatile combination in bed.
Wesley wrapped around me, tucked his leg between mine, and gripped my waist tightly. The room was dim, the only light coming from the kitchen, and the sounds of Beaverton’s evening traffic provided gentle background noise.
“I should go.” I didn’t move, didn’t want to move, wanted to stay here in Wesley’s bed.
“You should.” He squeezed me around the middle. “But not yet. It’s only seven. Not suspicious if you leave by seven thirty.”
“Okay.” I closed my eyes and savored the simple pleasure of being held. “Just a few more minutes.”
We lay in comfortable silence, and I let myself imagine what life could be like after retirement. After coming out. When moments like this wouldn’t require sneaking around and careful timing and constant vigilance. When I could just exist with Wesley without calculating every risk.
Four to six years. Then freedom.
If I could survive that long without hiding my true self destroying me first.
At seven thirty, I reluctantly extracted myself from Wesley and fumbled with my clothes. He walked me to the door, and we paused in that transition space between his private sanctuary and the public world.
“Thursday’s going to be great.” Wesley’s voice was certain, reassuring. “You’re going to lead that team to victory. The fans are going to love you. And I’ll be watching from the press box, proud of everything you are.”
“Thanks.” The word felt inadequate, but I didn’t know how to articulate the depth of what Wesley’s support meant.
“Anytime.” Wesley squeezed my hand briefly, thenreleased it. “Now go. Be careful about leaving. Text me when you’re home safe.”
“I will.”
I cracked the door, checked to make sure no one was around, then slipped outside with my pulse elevated and my mind spinning.
Back in my apartment fifteen minutes later, I stood in my living room and stared at my reflection in the darkened window. The same face I saw every day—short buzz cut, ice-blue eyes, the strong jaw and broad shoulders that made me look every inch the professional athlete. The image I’d carefully constructed and maintained for sixteen years.
But underneath, I was tired. Tired of calculating every interaction, tired of measuring every risk, tired of hiding fundamental truths about who I was while advocating for authenticity as a leader.
The couple at Beaverton Beans lived openly, posting photos with hashtags about inclusion and being themselves without fear. I’d smiled and thanked them while being devastatingly jealous of the freedom they took for granted.
Wesley thought I should be the team’s inclusivity ambassador. Should advocate for the LGBTQ+ community while being closeted myself. Should lead the “Hockey is for everyone” initiative while hiding that hockey wasn’t for me, not if I wanted to be authentic.
The irony was almost unbearable.
But the alternative—coming out now, being the first NHL player to publicly acknowledge being gay—felt impossible. My agent and mother would be devastated. Michael’s voice echoed in my head:Coming out would destroy your career, make you a distraction, overshadow everything you’ve accomplished.My father’s memory hung over every decision:You can’t let anyone know. Your career depends on hiding.
