There was a knock on my hotel room door around eleven. I quickly signed off on my text thread with Marco and opened the door to find Kinnunen holding two beers.
“Thought you might want company,” he said.
“Sure. Come in.”
He settled into the chair by the window while I sat on the edge of the bed. We drank in silence for a minute before he spoke.
“So,” he said. “What’s really going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Savard. We’ve been teammates for three years. I know when something’s up.” He took a drink. “Is it the trade rumors? Are they getting in your head?”
I hesitated. That would be the easy answer. The one he’d understand and accept.
“Maybe,” I said carefully.
“Because I get it if they are. That shit’s brutal—seeing your name all over social media, hearing speculation about where you’re going, wondering if every bad game is the one that seals it.” He paused. “But you’ve been different lately. Always on your phone. Smiling at nothing. Then looking worried. It’s like you’re two different people depending on the day.”
My heart started racing. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t fine. I said something’s up.” He met my eyes. “So, is it just the trade talk? Or is there something else going on?”
Shit. He wasn’t going to let this go.
“It’s complicated,” I said finally.
“Most things worth worrying about are.” He met my eyes. “Look, I’m not asking you to tell me what it is. But I want you to know—whatever it is, you can tell me. If you want to.”
I wanted to.Bon Dieu, I wanted to, so badly.
Wanted to have someone I could talk to about this who I didn’t want to kiss every time it came up. Someone else who knew how terrified and liberated and confused I was.
But telling him felt dangerous. Not because I thought he’d react badly—Kinnunen was a good guy, accepting, the kind of person who wouldn’t care.
But because if I told him, it might put Marco’s secret at risk.
“I appreciate that,” I said carefully. “Really. But I’m okay. Just… working through some stuff.”
“Personal stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it have to do with Morelli?”
The question hit like a punch. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’ve been living together for over a month. You left a game for him. You’re texting constantly, and I’d bet money it’s him you’re texting.” Kinnunen’s expression was gentle. “And because you get this look on your face when someone mentions him. Like he matters more than you want anyone to know.”
Merde. If Kinnunen had noticed, who else had?
“We’re friends,” I said. “Good friends. That’s all.”
“Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced. “But if there’s something you need to talk about—I’m here. No judgment. Just support.”
The offer sat between us, tempting and terrifying.
“Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot.”
