Then the room fell quiet.
Every reporter waited.
Every camera remained fixed on me.
I cleared my throat and leaned slightly toward the microphone.
"Thank you all for being here today."
My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
"I want to start by thanking the Seattle Orcas organization, my coaches, my teammates, and our fans. I've been fortunate enough to spend my entire professional career with anorganization that has believed in me from the beginning, and I don't take that for granted."
A few pens immediately began moving across notepads. Several reporters glanced down at their laptops while others never looked away from me.
I continued anyway.
"Hockey has given me more than I ever thought possible. It's given me friendships, opportunities, experiences, and memories that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life. I've been lucky enough to play alongside incredible people, and I've had the privilege of representing a city and a fan base that have supported me through every stage of my career."
The familiar words helped.
They were safe.
Practiced.
The part of the statement I had rehearsed dozens of times over the previous week.
The next part was different.
I felt my pulse thudding against the side of my neck as I looked out across the room. Faces blurred together beneath the bright lights. Cameras waited. Reporters waited. The entire hockey world seemed to be waiting.
For years, I had imagined this moment.
I had imagined saying the words.
I had imagined avoiding the words.
I had imagined every possible outcome except the reality of sitting here and knowing that the next few sentences would change my life.
I took a slow breath.
Then another.
When I spoke again, my voice was quieter than before, but somehow it carried through the room even more clearly.
"For a long time, I've carefully controlled which parts of myself the world was allowed to see."
The words settled over the room. No one interrupted. No one moved. I lowered my gaze briefly before looking back up.
"I told myself that was part of being a professional athlete. I told myself that some things were private and that keeping them private was easier."
My fingers remained interlocked beneath the table. It was the only reason nobody could see them shaking.
"The truth is that I've spent years separating pieces of myself. There was the version people saw in arenas, on television, and in interviews. Then there was the version that existed everywhere else."
The silence in the room felt absolute.
The fear was still there.
