“There’s nothing to forgive.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “We’re both to blame. We knew what we were getting into. And Griffin—” I paused, gathering courage to say what I’d been afraid to acknowledge even to myself. “I love you too.”
His eyes widened, hope and disbelief warring in his expression.
“I know it’s fast,” I said. “Two weeks is nothing. We barely know each other in a lot of ways. But it’s real. What I feel for you—” I struggled to articulate something I didn’t fully understand myself. “I never felt a fraction of this for Charles. Never. With him, I was constantly waiting for theother shoe to drop. Always wondering when he’d inevitably choose his family over me. I knew deep down that I was his secret, not his partner.”
“Wesley—”
“But you—” My hand still rested on Griffin’s chest, feeling his heart thumping, grounding myself in his physical presence. “You chose me. You’re coming out, risking everything, choosing truth after sixteen years of self-preservation. That’s not what Charles did. That’s not what anyone’s ever done for me.”
His hand covered mine and held it there. “I’m not doing this just for you. I meant what I said in the text. I need this for myself too. I’m tired of hiding. Tired of acting and measuring my worth through other people’s perception instead of just being myself.”
“I know.” And I did know—could see it in his expression, hear it in his voice. This wasn’t just Griffin trying to be a hero or protect me from consequences. This was him finally choosing himself. “But that doesn’t make it less meaningful that you’re doing it now. That you’re not letting me take the fall alone.”
We stood in my entryway, hands clasped between us, and processed the enormity of what we’d just acknowledged. Two weeks together. In love. About to face a media firestorm that could destroy his career.
This is insane, the rational part of my brain whispered.You barely know him. You’re both in crisis. This could still end badly.
But my optimism—battered by Nashville but not quite broken—saw the possibilities instead of just the problems. Saw that Griffin was different from Charles. That this ending might be different too.
“Okay.” I shifted gears deliberately, channeling professional focus to ground us both. “Let’s craft yourstatement. We have two days before the press conference. That’s enough time to prepare if we’re smart about it.”
Griffin blinked at the transition, then nodded. “Right. The presser. That’s why I came over.”
“Partly why you came over.” I managed a small smile despite the weight of everything. “But yes, let’s work. Come sit.”
We moved to my dining table, and I grabbed my personal laptop and a notebook. Griffin settled across from me, and I studied him for a moment—the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw, the way his hands moved restlessly on the table like he needed something to do.
“First question.” I poised my pen over the notebook. “Why are you coming out? And I don’t mean the immediate situation with Davidson catching us. I mean deeper. What do you want people to understand about this?”
He was quiet for a long moment, considering. Finally, he said, “I want them to understand that I’ve been hiding who I am my entire career. That being gay isn’t a flaw or a scandal—it’s just part of who I am. And that I’m tired of living a version of myself that isn’t real.”
I wrote notes and analyzed his words. “Good. That’s sincere and heartfelt. What else?”
“I want them to know this doesn’t change my commitment to the team. That I’m still their captain. That being honest about my sexuality doesn’t make me less of a leader.” His voice gained certainty as he articulated his thoughts.
“So this is about truth and authenticity.” I wrote faster. “About leadership through honesty. About being a pioneer not because you wanted to be first, but because you needed to be yourself.”
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
“Okay.” I looked up from my notes. “Here’s what we’renot going to do. We’re not mentioning me specifically. We’re not talking about the relationship or the policy violation or any of the circumstances that led to this moment. This statement is about you—your truth, your courage, your decision to live authentically.”
“I agree.” Then he frowned. “But people will find out. Davidson caught us. The investigation?—”
“Will reveal what it reveals. But your coming-out statement isn’t about scandal or relationships or violations. It’s about you claiming your identity publicly.” I leaned forward, needing him to understand. “If you frame this as ‘I got caught, so I’m being forced out,’ you lose control of the narrative. But if you frame it as ‘I’m choosing to be honest about who I am,’ you own it. You make it powerful instead of shameful.”
He nodded. “I’m not explaining whynow. I’m just saying that this is who I am and I’m done hiding.”
“Exactly. The media will speculate about timing and reasons. Let them. Your message is bigger than the circumstances.” I tapped my pen against the notebook. “I’m sure you’re not the only gay NHL player. You’re just the first to have the courage to say it publicly. That’s the story.”
“Agreed. But what about questions? They’re going to ask about relationships, about whether something forced this.”
“And you’ll deflect gracefully. ‘This is about my personal truth, and I’m not going to discuss specific circumstances beyond that.’ Or ‘My private life is private, but my identity is something I’m no longer willing to hide.’” I met his eyes. “You control what you share. They can ask anything. You only answer what serves your message.”
“Which is truth and authenticity.”
“Which is truth and authenticity,” I confirmed. “Griffin Lapierre, team captain, elite player, leader—who is gay. NotGriffin Lapierre, gay player whose sexuality is a distraction or scandal. Do you see the difference?”
“I do.” His mouth hardened into an expression of determination. “I’m not apologizing for who I am. I’m just finally being honest about it.”
