“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“About how different this feels from the last time I tried to get sober. Back then I was doing it because I thought I had to prove I wasn't a mess. Now I'm doing it because I actually wantto be here. Want to be present for all of it.” He looked over at me. “That's because of you. You know that, right?”
“It's because of you,” I said firmly. “I'm just here for the ride.”
He smiled. “Well, thanks for riding along. Even when it's boring community centers and bad coffee.”
“Especially then.”
We got home and I made us dinner while Soren sat at the kitchen island and told me about the conversation he'd had with the woman from the meeting. She'd been sober for eight years and had just gotten her kids back after losing custody during her worst period. Hearing stories like that gave him hope, he said. Reminded him that recovery wasn't a straight line but it was possible.
I listened and chopped vegetables and felt grateful that this was what our life looked like now.
“Big day tomorrow,” Soren said, watching me work. “You ready for the interview?”
“As ready as I'm gonna be.”
“You nervous?”
“A little. But mostly I just want it done. Want to stop splitting myself in half every time I walk into a room.”
“You're gonna be great,” he said. “And if the internet loses its mind, fuck 'em. We've survived worse.”
“Yeah. We have.”
I finished cooking and we ate dinner on the couch with some action movie playing in the background that neither of us were really watching. Soren fell asleep halfway through with his head on my shoulder, and I sat there listening to him breathe and thinking about how far we'd both come.
Tomorrow was going to be a good day.
The morning talkshow host had perfect teeth and the kind of enthusiasm that felt weaponized at seven in the morning. I sat across from her in a chair that was too low and definitely designed to make guests feel slightly off-balance, and tried to look like a professional athlete instead of a man who'd been up half the night rehearsing what he was about to say.
“So, Captain Kincaid,” she said, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “The Wolves are heading into the conference finals. How are you feeling about your chances?”
Hockey questions first. Safe territory. I could do this part in my sleep.
“Feeling good,” I said. “The team's playing well, our goaltending has been solid, and we've got momentum. It's going to be a tough series, but we like our odds.”
We went back and forth about the playoffs for a few minutes — my hat trick in Game Two, the defensive adjustments we'd made against the Raiders. The conversation flowed easily, and I started to relax into the chair despite its psychological warfare design.
Then she shifted gears.
“You've been getting a lot of attention lately, both for your play and for your personal life,” she said, and I felt my pulse kick up. “There's been speculation in the media about your relationship status. Do you want to address that?”
This was it. The door I'd known was coming, the question I'd agreed to answer when my publicist had set up this interview.
“Yeah,” I said. “I'm bisexual. And I'm in a relationship with Soren Vale.”
The words came out simpler than I'd rehearsed them, and the second they were in the air I felt a thing in my chest loosen. Not all the tension. But enough that I could finally breathe without feeling like I was constantly bracing for impact.
The host's eyebrows went up slightly, but her smile stayed professional. “That's wonderful. Thank you for sharing that. How has the team responded?”
“The team's been great. Supportive. They've known for a while now, and it hasn't changed anything that matters.” I leaned back in the chair and let myself sound certain. “I'm the same captain I was before anyone knew. Same player. Same person. The only difference is I'm not hiding anymore.”
“And Soren — he was the emergency player activation in Game Two, correct? That must have been quite a moment for both of you.”
