Because I loved him. Because despite every rational reason to walk away, despite Nashville’s lessons and my own boundaries and the very real risks, I’d chosen Griffin.
And now we were both paying the price.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Griffin
The door closed behind Wesley with a soft click that sounded impossibly loud in the silence of Davidson’s office. Something cracked in my chest.
This is my fault. All of it.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Davidson’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and controlled. “You haven’t just violated team policy, Griffin. You’ve put Wesley’s entire career at risk.”
The words landed like physical blows. I’d known, abstractly, that getting caught would have consequences. But hearing it stated so baldly—that Wesley’s career was in jeopardy because of my inability to keep my hands to myself, because I’d gotten careless and comfortable and stupidly convinced we were invincible after last night’s win—made guilt twist viciously in my gut.
“I know.” My voice came out rough. “Sir, I’ll take full responsibility. Whatever consequences you need to impose, they should be on me, not Wesley. I pursued him. I?—”
“Stop.” Owen held up a hand, his expression still hard. “You both made choices. But you’re the team captain, Griffin. You’re supposed to set an example, demonstrate leadership. Instead, you’ve created a situation that could damage this entire organization.”
The condemnation hit exactly where my fears lived—you’ve failed, you’re not worthy of the captain’s C, you’ve proven yourself valueless beyond your performance on the ice. My jaw tightened as I fought to maintain composure even as shame threatened to overwhelm me.
“Why?” Owen leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made me want to look away. “Why would you risk everything—your captaincy, Wesley’s career, the team’s reputation—for this relationship? Help me understand what you were thinking.”
The question demanded honesty I’d been avoiding. Maybe since the moment I’d met Wesley and felt something shift in my carefully controlled world.
“Because I love him.” The admission came out quiet but certain, the first time I’d said it out loud to anyone, not even to Wesley. I should have told him, and now it might be too late. “I’m in love with Wesley Hutton. And I know that doesn’t excuse violating policy or putting him at risk or being reckless. But that’s the truth. I love him.”
Something in Owen’s expression softened fractionally—not forgiveness but understanding. A recognition that this wasn’t just about physical attraction or breaking rules for the thrill of it. This was about something deeper, more complicated.
“Griffin—” Owen’s tone was gentler now, though still serious. “I understand you have feelings for him. But love doesn’t exempt you from consequences.”
“I know. And I’ll take them. Whatever they are.” I leaned forward, desperate to make him understand. “But Wesley shouldn’t be punished for my mistakes. If you need to firesomeone, terminate someone’s contract, let it be mine. He tried to maintain boundaries. He knew the risks better than anyone. I’m the one who kept pushing, who couldn’t stay away, who?—”
“Griffin.” Owen cut me off, his voice firm. “Do you understand how many problems this creates? The non-fraternization policy exists for a reason. The power dynamic between captain and staff member. The potential for harassment claims, for favoritism, for conflicts of interest. Legal is going to have a field day with this.”
My stomach dropped. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we might have to break both of your contracts.” Owen’s expression was grim. “Terminate them for cause. You both violated a policy you signed acknowledgment of. That gives us grounds.”
Break my contract.The words echoed in my head, abstract and terrifying all at once. Sixteen years of professional hockey. Sixteen years of building a career, establishing myself as an elite player, earning the respect that made me valuable. All of it potentially gone because I couldn’t keep my relationship secret.
“If you’re lucky,” Owen continued, “we’ll just fine you. Substantial fine, formal reprimand. But Griffin, I can’t promise anything until I talk to legal, HR, and ownership. This is bigger than just a policy violation. This is about the organization’s liability and reputation.”
“I understand.” The words came out steady despite the panic clawing at my throat. My fears screamed I was worthless without hockey, without the captain’s C, without the image and success I’d built. That being exposed as gay—as someone who’d violated policy for a secret relationship—would destroy whatever value I’d established.
“Give me twenty-four hours.” Owen’s tone was final, decisive. “Don’t talk to the media. Don’t talk to yourteammates. And definitely don’t contact Wesley. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Though the idea of not contacting Wesley—of leaving him alone and suspended and probably terrified—felt wrong on every level.
“This meeting is over. I’ll call you tomorrow with the next steps.” Owen stood, signaling my dismissal. “Griffin—I hope we can resolve this in a way that’s fair to everyone. But I can’t make any promises right now.”
I left his office feeling hollowed out, gutted by shame and fear and the devastating knowledge that I’d destroyed Wesley’s career along with my own. The facility felt hostile as I walked through it—staff I’d worked with for months now potential witnesses to my failure, teammates who might soon learn their captain had been lying to them about fundamental aspects of who he was.
I made it to my car without encountering anyone, climbed inside, and sat in the parking lot, trying to process what had just happened.
Contract possibly terminated. Career potentially over.
And Wesley—Wesley who’d trusted me despite Nashville, who’d agreed to hide despite promising himself never again, despite every rational reason to protect himself—was facing professional destruction because I’d been careless.
