Page 133 of Mending Hearts
Eric nods. “Good.”
“It also means,” Rafe adds, voice firming, “we decide what boundaries look like. We don’t let TMZ decide. We don’t let Ollie’s parents decide.Wedecide.”
Something in my chest loosens. A fraction. Like hearing him saywein that voice is a hand steadying me.
Rachael taps the pad. “Okay,” she says. “Then we build around that. Joint statement, no interviews, privacy request. Then we’ll have one controlled follow-up option if necessary—like a short written Q&A for a reputable outlet—to address the retirement timing so it doesn’t get tied to shame.”
Rafe’s eyes narrow. “No interviews,” he repeats.
“Written Q&A isn’t an interview,” Rachael counters calmly. “It’s controlled. It lets Ollie address the narrative about retirement without being cornered by someone with a microphone.”
I swallow. “I don’t want to label anything,” I say quietly. “Not my sexuality. People already assume I’m gay. That’s fine. But I don’t want to be forced into a version of myself that exists for strangers.”
Eric nods. “We can state that you’re not discussing labels. That your private identity is your own.”
Rachael adds, “And we can say you’re focused on your season, and once your retirement is announced, that it has nothing to do with any of this.”
I flick my gaze to Rafe. “It hasn’t.”
It’s a reminder—a promise—that I will be retiring, no matter what.
Miles calls from the kitchen again, deliberately loud. “Also, just to be clear, if anyone tries to do a ‘shock confession’ interview, I will personally throw pasta at them.”
Rachael’s head turns. “Excuse me?”
Miles walks into view, wooden spoon in hand, wearing the apron like he’s trying to win an argument through domestic intimidation. “I’m saying,” he continues, very seriously, “that you are both allowed to have boundaries. And if anyone crosses those boundaries, I’ll become a carbohydrate-based weapon.”
Eric looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned. Rafe snorts once. I can’t help it. I laugh, too, the sound rough but real. It releases tension in my body I’ve been holding too carefully.
Rachael exhales, a little smile tugging at her mouth. “Thanks, Miles.”
“Anytime,” he says, and goes back to the stove like he didn’t just threaten assault with linguine.
Eric clears his throat, refocusing. “We also need to talk about the team,” he says. “Ollie, you’ve already spoken to PR. They’re supportive, which is what we all expected. Now we need to touch base with the GM. Today.”
I nod. “I know.”
“And you’ll need to talk to the team,” Rachael adds, “but not right now. Not while you’re in shock. We can schedule that. You’ll do it in your own words.”
Rafe’s grip intensifies. “He’s not losing his captaincy,” he says, voice sharp.
Eric blinks. “No one said?—”
“I’m saying it anyway,” Rafe replies, and there’s a flare in his eyes that makes me want to touch his face just to calm him. “Because if anyone tries, I will?—”
“Murder,” Miles calls from the kitchen.
Rafe’s mouth twitches despite himself.
Rachael holds up a hand. “No one is removing his captaincy,” she says. “The team’s statement was supportive. The GM is supportive. The League has multiple out players, including Ollie’s team. It would be a PR nightmare to punish him.”
I swallow. “I told HR that I would understand if they did,” I admit quietly.
Rafe’s head snaps toward me. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’ve been trained to accept consequences,” I say, and I hate the truth of it. “To preemptively offer what they might take anyway. It’s a defense mechanism.”
Eric’s expression shifts—recognition, maybe. “We’re not doing that anymore,” he says firmly. “You don’t negotiate against yourself.”
