Page 117 of Mending Hearts
He looks at me for a long moment. “Ollie,” he says quietly, “you need to brace yourself before you read it.”
I blow out a breath. “Cass, just tell me.”
He exhales slowly. “It’s bad.”
Silence stretches between us. Outside, I can still hear the faint murmur of press on the sidewalk. The hum of the city. Normal life. Inside, something shifts.
“What kind of bad?” I ask again.
Cass reaches for his phone but doesn’t unlock it yet. “The kind,” he says carefully, “that makes people pick sides.”
The words hang in the air.
And suddenly, I know this isn’t about disappointment. It isn’t about vague disapproval. It’s bigger than that.
I set my fork down slowly. “Show me,” I say.
Cass unlocks his phone like it’s a weapon he hates having to hand me. “You don’t have to read it,” he says.
“Yes, I do,” I reply, even though my stomach has already started free-falling.
He turns the screen toward me.
At first, it’s just a headline—one of those clean, clinical entertainment-news fonts that makes everything look like a product. I don’t even register the outlet. I register the names.
Marshall Family Statement
Oliver Marshall and Rafael Ortiz
My vision narrows. My pulse slams, and Cass watches my face like he’s ready to catch me if I tip over.
I scroll.
The statement is… measured. That’s the first thing that lands.
No slurs. No religious quotes. No “we do not condone.” No ranting about morality. If anything, it’s written the way wealthy people apologize—polished, curated, like the goal is to look reasonable while still cutting you open.
They start with a paragraph about privacy. Then a paragraph about “respect.” Then—like they’re dropping a fact about the weather?—
They confirm it. They confirm us.
They confirm that ImarriedRafe Ortiz, twelve years ago.
My hands go numb so fast my fingers almost stop working. I have to strengthen my grip on the phone because suddenly I can’t trust my body to do basic things.
Cass mutters, “Fucking assholes,” under his breath.
I keep reading because I can’t stop. They say they “wish Oliver happiness,” that they “hope both men find peace,” that they “respect all adults’ right to live as they choose.”
It’s all careful, clean, and unassailable.
Then the knife slides in.
They condemn me. Not for being gay, but for “deception,” for “dishonesty.” Then for “misleading his teammates, organization, and fans.” And for “building a brand on integrity while hiding major personal truths.” And finally for “betraying the trust placed in him as a leader.”
My throat closes. My vision blurs at the edges. All I can think is:They did it on purpose.
They didn’t have to say anything about our marriage. They could have said nothing. They could have stayed out of it like they’ve stayed out of my life for almost a decade.
