Page 63 of Tempting the Teammate
“Shut up, Phoenix,” I said, my voice ripping free from whatever had been choking me. “Give him a second.”
Phoenix and I looked at each other, gazes locked. He must have seen something in my eyes that made him pause. He nodded.
Griffin continued on the screen, and my gaze returned to his face. I hadn’t seen him this happy lately. I hadn’t seen this kind of relaxed expression on his face since the early days of being together. “Quarter million is a nice, big number, y’all, especially when you’re twenty and don’t know what to do with it.” The melancholy in his voice flew over everyone else’s head, but I could hear it clearly. “I traded in my privacy three months ago for a chance at this. You know, when you offer a kid unlimited ice cream, he won’t ask about the catch. I sure never thought about the other side of fame, my friends. I never thought my lifecould be turned so thoroughly upside down by a little publicity stunt. Here we are, then. Loved by so many, but seen by many more. Every moment of my life this fall has played out before your eyes. I’ve seen the way you see me. I’ve seen what I was in your eyes. And I’ve understood things about myself I had never thought of.”
Griffin’s expression softened as he looked straight into the camera. His voice steadied, quiet but unflinching.
“I’ve seen the comments, the edits, the theories, the guesses. You all think you know me; some of you even think you own me. But there’s something about living your life under the lights that makes you start wondering if anything you feel is still real.”
He drew a breath, the sound catching on the microphone. “I used to think I could handle that. Cameras, crowds, all this attention. I thought that was all part of the game. Until I realized that somewhere in the middle of all of this, I’d stopped living for myself. I’d stopped being brave where it mattered so that I could be flashy where it didn’t.”
The crowd had gone eerily still. Even the echoing hum of the rink quieted. The only sound was his voice, raw through the speakers. He was shattering his career, his image, because he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’ve played hockey since I was five years old. I’ve taken hits, bruises, and stitches for the love of the game. But nothing,nothing, has ever scared me like this. Because this isn’t about the game. This is about something I never let myself say out loud.”
The phone wobbled slightly in his hand. He adjusted it, and for a second, his eyes darted to the door behind him, like he was checking if someone was coming.
“I’ve spent the last two months pretending I could keep something beautiful hidden. Pretending that privacy was protection and that silence was safety. But I’ve learned that lovedoesn’t survive in the dark. It deserves to be seen. It deserves to breathe.”
My chest constricted. The words weren’t for the crowd anymore. They were for me. Every syllable trembled with truth.
Griffin continued, his tone deepening. “The truth is, I fell in love this fall. And it wasn’t some easy, polished thing. It was messy, terrifying, and real. I fell for someone who made me better. Someone who doesn’t play for the cameras, who doesn’t pretend to be perfect, who just…is. And I’m done pretending that it isn’t the best thing that ever happened to me.”
A wave of whispers rippled through the stands, as if ten thousand people had collectively realized what he was about to do.
He set the phone down for a moment, stepped back, and the camera caught his full frame, from the skates, over the hoodie with the team logo, to the trembling hand combing through his hair. He looked both nervous and certain.
“I don’t know how to make this sound perfect,” he said, leaning closer again, “so I’ll just say it the only way I can.” He swallowed, gaze steady now. “I’ve kissed this person in secret. I’ve laughed with him in the dark. I’ve woken up next to him before sunrise just to talk about nothing. And I’ve been too much of a coward to hold his hand in daylight.”
The crowd’s collective breath drew in.
“But tonight,” Griffin said softly, “I don’t want to be a coward. Not anymore. Because he deserves the world to know he’s the best part of mine.”
My knees weakened. The stick in my hand felt weightless. Damon muttered something like “holy shit,” but I couldn’t hear anything anymore.
Griffin began walking. The video jolted with each step. The background changed from the locker room to the narrow concrete tunnel that led toward the rink. The clink of hisfootsteps merged with the crowd’s murmurs as the feed stabilized again.
“You all think you know what courage looks like,” Griffin said. “You think it’s winning, scoring, fighting through pain. But sometimes courage is just telling the truth and hoping it’s not too late.”
He reached the mouth of the tunnel now. The stadium lights caught him from behind, framing him in a halo of white. The jumbotron filled with that image, Griffin, small against the vast light, walking toward the ice.
“I’m terrified right now,” he said with a shaky laugh. “But I love him more than I fear this. I love him enough to risk everything. The game, the season, the fame, all of it. Because what’s the point of winning anything if you can’t share it with the person who makes you want to be better?”
My throat closed. My vision blurred.
“I’ve had a lifetime of trying it out, finding the right tune to play to. I’ve had prom dances and secret kisses, but he hasn’t. And in trying to keep some of my life away from the cameras, away from the world, I had denied him the innocent romance that he had never been given. The romance I owed him. The romance he deserved.”
Griffin stepped out onto the ice. The sound of his blades hitting the surface carried through the speakers, sharp and definitive. He looked straight ahead, eyes locked on mine. The camera swung slightly, catching the stunned faces of players and coaches, before Griffin raised the phone again.
“I love you, Andrei Sokolov,” he said, voice steady, echoing through the rink and across a thousand screens. “You’re my favorite part of the day, my calm in the noise, my reason to wake up. You make me braver than I’ve ever been. And I’m done hiding. So here it is. I love you.”
The silence that followed was complete, an entire arena holding its breath.
I was silent, too. Drowned in the quiet.
Then the crowd erupted.
The sound was tidal, crashing, unstoppable. Players slammed sticks on the boards. Fans screamed. Phones flashed from every section.
