“Yeah, my career, but not only that. It’s the team dynamic and media attention, and sponsorship deals and . . . shit . . . however the fans might react. They’re a fucking wild card.” He met my eyes. “But it’s also about your privacy and your safety. It’s not just about me and my life, but about the wayyourlife changes when you become ‘the Lightning captain’s boyfriend’ instead of just Jacks.”
He was thinking about my privacy and my safety in the middle of his own crisis?
Dear God, who was this man, and what had I ever done to deserve him?
He’d confirmed everything I needed to know about who Skyler Shaw was as a person to let myself fall hopelessly—hopefully—in love with him.
I think I did in thatexact moment.
“The transition for me,” he continued, “wasn’t about discovery. It was about mapping. The whole thing is like looking at a route on GPS and trying to figure out which way gets you where you want to go with the least traffic and the fewest accidents. Does that make sense? I’m not making any sense, am I? Shit.” He buried his face in his palms and rocked back and forth.
But that was such a Skyler way to think about it. It was strategic, analytical, and focused on finding the optimal path rather than the easiest one.
“So, where do you want to go from here? What’s that road look like?”
“I want to go public with this. With us.” The certainty in his voice surprised me. “I want to stop hiding. I want to be able to take you to team events and hold your hand in restaurants and kiss you whenever and wherever I feel like without worrying about who’s watching or what they might think.”
My heart did something complicated my Oura ring would berate me for later. “But?”
“But I want to do it right, onourterms, with the right support, and in a way that protects both of us from the worst of whatever comes next.”
God, I was so gone for this man.
His thoughtfulness, the way he was approaching this like a problem to be solved rather than a crisisto survive was beyond anything I ever imagined. I’d been waiting for him to have a very different crisis. He’d call one day telling me he can’t do the double life anymore and hockey came first. Or he’d text and tell me he didn’t want to settle down, that he wanted to play the gay field before committing to any one person, that he was too new to jump headlong into a relationship. I’d concocted so many ways he would end things that I almost never considered how he might make them work.
Almost.
“So what did they say? The front office?”
His face brightened. “They were incredible, actually, completely supportive. They said they’d follow my lead on timing and messaging, and that the organization is behind me one hundred percent.” He paused. “But they also said that after tonight, we might not have the luxury of taking our time anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“They think someone might already be putting pieces together, that there might be questions coming whether we’re ready for them or not. They were surprised I didn’t get hit with any of this in my presser.” His eyes found mine. “They suggested I consider making some kind of statement before others start making it for me.”
“Okay,” I said, stretching the word into more syllables than was legally allowed. “What kind of statement?”
“Nothing dramatic. Just . . . acknowledging that I’m in a relationship . . . with a man. They think I should set the narrative rather than letting someone else control it.”
I could see the logic in that. It was better to get ahead of speculation than to be forced into reactive denials or confirmations.
“And you’re terrified because?”
He went quiet for a long moment, and I could almost see him wrestling with whatever he was afraid to say.
“I’m terrified of what you think, of what you want,” he said. “Because this affectsyourlife as much as mine, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re being pushed into something you’re not ready for. If we do this, there’s no going back, and I need to know you’re really, truly okay with that.”
Oh.
He wasn’t scared of the media or the fans or the potential fallout.
He was scared of me.
Scared that I’d bail when things got complicated.
Scared that I wasn’t as committed to this as . . . as he was becoming.
Oh.
