I have to fix this. I have to find a way to protect him.
But how? Davidson had been clear: no contact, wait twenty-four hours, let legal, HR, and ownership figure out the consequences. I was powerless, suspended in uncertainty, while Wesley suffered alone.
I drove home on autopilot, my mind spinning through scenarios and possibilities. By the time I reached my apartment, I’d made one decision: I needed to call Michael. Not for advice—I already knew what he’d say—but as a courtesy. He was my agent and had been part of my life sinceI was eighteen. He deserved to hear this from me before word spread through back channels.
Inside my apartment, I stood in my living room—the same space where Wesley and I had watched a movie and fallen asleep wrapped together just days ago—and dialed Michael’s number.
He answered on the second ring. “Griffin. Good timing. I was just reviewing your endorsement contracts. The outdoor sporting goods company wants to extend?—”
“Michael, I need to tell you something.” I cut through his business talk, unable to delay the inevitable. “I was caught today. In a relationship with Wesley Hutton, the team’s PR manager. Owen Davidson walked in on us kissing in Wesley’s office.”
Silence on the other end of the line. Long, heavy silence that felt like judgment and disappointment and fury all compressed into the space between heartbeats.
“You were caught.” Michael’s voice, when he finally spoke, was deadly quiet. “In a relationship. With a male staff member. At the facility.”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ, Griffin.” Anger exploded through the phone, and Michael’s control shattered. “Do you understand what you’ve done? You’re outed. Your career is on the line. The team’s reputation is at stake. Everything I’ve worked to protect for sixteen years—everything your father wanted for you—destroyed because you couldn’t keep your fucking hands to yourself!”
Each word hit like a fist, landing on bruises already tender from Davidson’s condemnation and my guilt.
“I know—” I started, but Michael wasn’t done.
“I warned you. I specifically told you that being gay was fine as long as you stayed closeted. That relationships were too risky. That coming out would destroy your career. Andyou did it anyway. You pursued a relationship with a staff member, violated team policy, got caught, and now everyone’s going to know.”
“Being gay isn’t ‘fine,’ Michael.” Anger flared hot in my chest, cutting through the shame and guilt. “It’s not something you tolerate as long as I hide it. It’s who I am. It’s not a flaw to be managed or a problem to be solved. It’s me.”
“That’s not what I meant?—”
“Yes, it is.” My voice was hard now, years of swallowing Michael’s casual dismissal of my identity finally breaking through. “You’ve spent sixteen years treating my sexuality like a liability. Something acceptable only if it stays invisible. That’s not acceptance, Michael. That’s shame dressed up as career strategy.”
Silence on the other end, Michael clearly not expecting my anger.
“I love him.” The words came out defiant despite the shame. “I’m in love with Wesley. And yes, I fucked up. Yes, I violated the policy. Yes, I got caught. But I don’t regret loving him.”
“You don’t—” Michael’s voice broke with frustration. “Griffin, love is a luxury you can’t afford. Your career depends on your image. Your value to teams is wrapped up in being the perfect captain, the elite player, the face of the franchise. Being openly gay—especially being caught in a workplace relationship—destroys all of that.”
“Maybe.” I moved to my window and stared out at Beaverton’s afternoon traffic. “Or maybe I’ve been wrong about what makes me valuable. Maybe authenticity matters more than image.”
“Authenticity doesn’t pay your salary. Doesn’t keep you in the league. Doesn’t honor your father’s legacy.” Michael’s tone was bitter, disappointed. “Nic would be devastated to see you throw away everything he worked for.”
The invocation of my father hit harder than anything else. The man who’d told me at sixteen to stay closeted, to protect my career, to never let anyone know. The legendary Nic Lapierre who’d built a Hall of Fame career on his public image and carefully controlled narrative.
“My father’s dead.” The words came out harsher than I’d intended. “And I’m tired of making decisions based on what he might have wanted eighteen years ago. Times have changed and I’m thirty-four fucking years old. I get to decide what matters to me.”
“And you’ve decided that this Wesley Hutton is worth destroying your career for? Worth breaking your contract, losing endorsements, becoming a media circus? Worth proving Colorado right about letting you go?”
The mention of Colorado hit exactly where Michael knew it would, damn him: my fear that I was expendable, that being traded proved I wasn’t valuable enough, that I needed to be perfect to have any worth at all.
“Wesley is worth it.” My voice was steady now, certain. “And maybe my career isn’t destroyed. Maybe there’s a way through this that doesn’t end in total disaster.”
“How?” Michael’s laugh stung. “Management could terminate your contract. Media will find out. Sponsors will drop you. Other teams won’t want the distraction. You’ll be radioactive, Griffin. The first openly gay NHL player—not by choice, but by scandal. That would be your legacy.”
His words painted a picture of professional destruction that should have terrified me. And part of me was terrified—the part that measured my worth through achievement and image and success.
But another part—the part that had fallen in love with Wesley despite all the risks, that had felt more alive and authentic in the past couple of weeks than in sixteen years of hiding—recognized a truth I’d been avoiding.
I didn’t want to hide anymore.
