“I have a question,” he said, his voice cold and level.
“Go ahead,” Coach Wilson said, though his tone carried a warning.
Boucher looked directly at Marco “How are we supposed to know this isn’t some PR stunt? Or worse—how are we supposed to trust them in the locker room now? Knowing they’re?—”
“That’s enough.” Coach snapped. “Morelli and Savard’s relationship is not up for debate and is none of your business They’re your teammates. They’ve been your teammates. That doesn’t change. And if you have a problem with that, you can come talk to me privately. But right now, in this room, we treat each other with respect,Captain.Clear?”
Boucher’s jaw tightened, but he sat down. “Clear, Coach.”
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut.
“Anyone else?” Coach looked around. “Questions? Comments? Concerns?”
Silence. Then Reid spoke up. “I mean, I don’t really care who you guys date. As long as you play well, we’re good.”
A few chuckles broke the tension.
“Thanks, Reid.” I managed a small smile.
“All right.” Coach Wilson looked around the room. “Here’s the deal. Morelli and Savard are going public on Tuesday. That means for Wednesday’s game, there’s going to be media. Probably protesters. Definitely scrutiny. We need to be ready for that. We need to have their backs. Because that’s what teams do. We protect our own. Got it?”
A chorus of agreement rose from most of the team. Not everyone—Boucher was silent, and a few others looked uncomfortable—but enough.
“Good. Morelli, Savard—anything else you want to say?”
Marco shook his head. “Just… thank you. For your support.”
“Okay. Get out of here. Light practice in the morning. Game tomorrow night.”
The meeting broke up, players showering, dressing, and dispersing. Some clapped Marco on the shoulder as they left—quick, supportive gestures. Jensen stopped to say something encouraging. Kinnunen stayed close.
But Boucher stalked to Coach’s office without a word, his expression dark.
Harris lingered near Marco’s stall. “Hey, man. For what it’s worth, I don’t care. You guys are good players. That’s all that matters to me.”
“Thanks, Harris,” Marco said.
“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
Eventually, it was just Marco, Kinnunen, and me in the locker room.
“Well,” Kinnunen said. “That could have gone worse.”
“Boucher,” I said.
“Coach will handle Boucher.” Kinnunen squeezed my shoulder. “You guys did great. Really.”
“Most of them seemed okay,” Marco said, though he sounded uncertain.
“Most of them are,” Kinnunen agreed. “The rest will get there. Or they won’t. Like you said, they just need to be professionals.”
We finished changing in the quiet locker room, the weight of what we’d just done settling over us.
Management knew. The team knew.
In two days, the world would know.
We drove home in silence, processing. Inside, Marco collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands.
