We stumbled toward my bedroom, still kissing, hands exploring familiar territory with new urgency. This felt different from previous encounters—less about physical release and more about connection, about claiming each other before the world tried to tear us apart.
Griffin’s hands worked at my shirt with trembling fingers, and I helped him, needing the contact, needing to feel his skin against mine, needing the proof that this was real and worth fighting for.
We came together slowly, deliberately, like we were memorizing each other. Griffin’s touch was reverent, exploring, claiming. I tried to give back the same attention, showing with actions what felt too big for words—that he mattered, that his courage awed me, that choosing him was the easiest decision despite all the impossibly difficult circumstances.
Afterward, drained from coming so hard it had turned me inside out, we lay spooned together. Griffin’s arm curled around my waist, and my back nestled against his chest. I listened to his breathing gradually slow. The room was darkexcept for ambient light from the street, and the silence felt comfortable rather than heavy.
“I should probably go,” he murmured, but he didn’t move. “Morning skate is at nine. I need to be at the facility by eight thirty.”
“Stay.” The word came out before I could stop it, before rational thought could intervene. “Just tonight. You can leave early tomorrow morning.”
Griffin’s arm tightened around me. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” And I was—sure that I needed him here tonight, needed the comfort of his presence, needed to fall asleep wrapped in his arms before everything changed. “We’ll set an alarm. You’ll have plenty of time.”
“Okay.” Griffin pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Thank you. For everything today. For helping me find my voice.”
“You already had your voice. I just helped you realize it.” I shifted slightly, getting more comfortable in his embrace. “You’re going to be amazing. Both the game and the press conference.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” I closed my eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with me. “And I’ll be watching. Both parts. Cheering you on.”
Griffin’s breathing gradually evened out, his body relaxing into sleep. I lay awake longer, processing the day’s emotional whiplash—caught, suspended, Griffin’s decision to come out, our love declarations, this moment of peace before the storm.
This is what healthy love looks like.Not Charles choosing his family and career over me. Not prayer vigils and public denunciations. This—Griffin being courageous, choosing us despite the cost.
Nashville’s trauma would probably never fully heal. The scars from Charles’s betrayal ran too deep. But Griffin wasproving that not all closeted men would throw me under the bus. That some people valued love and truth more than safety and image.
I fell asleep wrapped in Griffin’s arms, hopeful despite everything.
My phone alarm went off at six thirty Saturday morning and dragged me from sleep with its insistent ring. Griffin stirred beside me, groaning softly as consciousness returned.
“Morning,” I mumbled and reached to silence the alarm.
“Morning.” Griffin’s voice was rough with sleep. He pulled me closer for a moment and pressed a kiss to the back of my neck. “I don’t want to get out of bed.”
“I know. But you have to.” I turned in his arms to face him, taking in his pillow-creased cheek and the vulnerability in his expression before the day’s demands reasserted themselves. “Morning skate waits for no one. Not even captains who are coming out tomorrow.”
Griffin smiled, then sobered. “Are you going to be okay today while I’m gone? For the game?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll watch from home. Probably stress-eat an entire pizza while analyzing your every shift.” I kept my tone light despite the anxiety already building. “You focus on hockey. I’ll focus on not having a nervous breakdown.”
“Wesley—”
“I’m kidding. Mostly.” I touched his face, his stubble scraping against my fingers. “I’ll be okay. This is your moment. Both the game and tomorrow’s presser. I’m just supporting from the sidelines.”
Griffin captured my hand and held it against his face. “You’re not on the sidelines. You’re my partner. In this and everything else.”
The wordpartnermade something warm expand in my chest. Not boyfriend, not secret. Partner.
“Okay.” I leaned in for a quick kiss. “Now get up beforeyou’re late and Coach Roberts benches you for the biggest game before the biggest press conference of your life.”
Griffin laughed and extracted himself from my bed. He dressed in yesterday’s clothes but had time to go home to shower and change before morning skate.
At my front door, he paused, his hand on the handle. “Thank you. For last night. For everything.”
“Always.” I pulled him in for one more kiss, deeper this time, trying to pour reassurance and love and confidence into the contact. “Now go. Kill it on the ice tonight. Show them why you’re the captain.”
