“Ask me in an hour,” I said.
“You’ll do great. I’ll be right there.”
In the locker room, guys were stripping off gear, guzzling water, settling onto benches. The energy was curious but not tense—just another team meeting.
I sat at Marco’s stall, like I always did. He sat beside me, unlacing his skates with mechanical precision.
“You ready?” I asked quietly.
“No. You?”
“No.”
Kinnunen took his usual spot a few stalls down, but his eyes were on us. Supportive. Steady.
Coach Wilson walked in, and the room quieted.
“Listen up,” he said. “Morelli and Savard have something they want to tell you. Something important. I want everyone to listen respectfully, and we’ll talk after.”
Every eye in the room turned to us.
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
Marco stood. I stood beside him.
We’d talked about this last night—about what we’d say, how we’d say it. Keep it simple. Direct. Honest.
Marco cleared his throat. “Thanks for listening. This isn’t easy to say, but you deserve to hear it directly from us.”
The room was completely silent.
“Most of you know Étienne has been living with me since the fire at his apartment and helping me recover from my foot injury. During that time, our friendship became something more. We fell in love. We’re going public with this on Tuesday, and we wanted you to know first. From us. Not from social media or the news.”
I watched the reactions ripple through the room.
Jensen’s eyebrows shot up—surprise, but his expression wasn’t hostile. Harris looked startled. Reid blinked, processing. A few guys shifted uncomfortably.
Boucher’s eyes were cold. Calculating. I’d been right—he’d suspected. And now he knew.
“We know this might be uncomfortable for some ofyou,” I added, finding my voice. “But we’re still the same players we’ve always been. We’re still professionals.”
“And we’re asking for your professionalism, if not your support,” Marco said, “as we navigate this.”
More silence. Then Jensen raised his hand slightly, like he was in class.
“Yeah, Jensen?” Coach Wilson said.
“I just want to say—” Jensen glanced back and forth between us. “That’s dope. Thanks for trusting us with this.”
My muscles loosened a bit. I could breathe.
“Anyone else?” Coach asked.
Kinnunen spoke up. “They already told Alyssa and me earlier this week. We support them completely. And I think we should all remember—they’re our teammates. That’s what matters.”
A few nods around the room.
Then Boucher stood. My stomach dropped.
