Page 18 of The Official Problem
It used to bother him. The narrative implied that simply because they were two queer players on the same team, they must have hooked up. What did the league expect? The never-ending homophobic stereotype that if two gay men exist within each other’s orbit, they must be sleeping together. It left Kieran sick to his stomach, second-guessing what they were doing more times than he could count. When he really looked at it, he realized—fuck—the media might’ve had a point.
Kieran and Ivan had been good friends first. They’d hit it off almost from day one. Ivan took him under his wing, like he did with every rookie, but being two out players in the league deepened their bond even more. One night, after Kieran scored his first league hat trick, they had one too many drinks and ended up in bed together. After that, it became a habit.
Kieran had seen other people, dated a few casually, but Ivan never showed much interest in any kind of relationship, at least not publicly. From the beginning, he’d made it clear that what he and Kieran did was just about getting off. It was casual. Comforting, even. Ultimately unimportant in the grand scheme of Kieran’s life.
When he was traded to Seattle, their hookups came to a screeching halt, and Kieran hadn’t lost a moment’s sleep over it. Not like the sleep he lost over another former teammate.
“Married, remember?” Ivan cut in smoothly, flashing the wedding ring that hung from the chain around his neck. His tone had enough edge to shut the rookie down.
Kieran swallowed hard. He hadn’t considered how his history with Ivan could affect the team. Was there tension he hadn’t picked up on? Did the other guys resent him for being here? Everyone had been pleasant enough to his face, but hehadn’t settled in here the way he had in Los Angeles or Seattle. Who knew what these guys were saying behind his back?
Ivan gave him a questioning look. Kieran responded with a raised eyebrow and a glance toward Bergstrom, now facing his locker and peeling off his gear. Ivan shrugged and mouthedcocky shitback at him. Kieran smothered a laugh. If Ivan wasn’t concerned, neither was he.
“Speaking of husbands,” Ivan called out, turning to address the whole room.
The chatter hushed, every player instinctively pivoting toward their captain.
“Jasper and I host BBQ this Sunday. Partners and kids welcome. Come hungry.” He leaned around a row of lockers, spotting Elis, the equipment manager, sorting jerseys. “Staff too. More is better. Da?”
Elis gave him a grateful smile. “I’ll let everyone know. Thanks, Ivan.”
“You come,” Ivan said to Kieran. Not a question.
“I don’t know, I…”
“Kieran, I know changing teams is hard. I do it a few times. You remember? But this is home now. For five years, at least. The season starts soon. Guys need to trust you on ice.”
Kieran couldn’t quite pinpoint what held him back. Something about New Jersey didn’t feel like his. He felt unmoored. Adrift. Like, even with a signed contract, he shouldn’t let himself get too comfortable. He couldn’t put his finger on the cause.
Well. That was a lie.
If he let himself think about it longer, the answer was obvious. It was Matthieu—his phantom presence slipping back into Kieran’s life—that made him uneasy. It hadn’t hit until Kieran ran into him at the coffee cart outside the practice facility a few days ago. Sharing ice time this season had felt manageable.Seeing Matthieu outside that structured bubble, existing in the same universe as Kieran again, had rattled him to the core.
Now Kieran caught himself looking for Matthieu around every corner. He held his breath walking into every room at the facility, dread—or maybe hope—tightening in his chest that Matthieu might be there. He lined up at the same coffee cart each morning, torturing himself with the idea that Matthieu was a few people behind him.
It was unsettling.
Maddening.
Fucking distracting on a level that left Kieran feeling brittle at every edge.
Ivan was right: if Kieran wanted the team’s trust, he had to make an effort. Whether or not New Jersey felt like it, it was home. The sooner he settled in, the better his chances of shaking whatever hold Matthieu’s sudden return had on him.
“I’ll be there, don’t worry.”
Kieran pulled up outside Ivan’s ridiculously large Maplewood home just after two on Sunday. It looked like he was the last to arrive. Cars lined the street in every direction, and finding a spot for his Jeep was harder than he’d expected.
He was about to give up when a white Toyota, not flashy enough to belong to any of his teammates, pulled away from the curb a few blocks up. Lucky, because the only thing Kieran wanted less than this BBQ was having to face Ivan at practice the next day if he bailed.
He parked reluctantly, grabbed the bottle of wine he’d brought to avoid showing up empty-handed, and followed thevoices around the side of the house into a sprawling backyard. The place was packed. Kids tore across the grass, playing a wildly uncoordinated game of soccer with a few rookies, while the vets clustered nearby, chatting amongst themselves. Up on the patio, a gaggle of wives held court, Jasper among them, hands flying as he spoke.
Kieran spotted Ivan manning the biggest grill he’d ever seen, an apron stretched over jeans and rolled-up flannel. It wasn’t until Kieran got closer that he saw the phrase stamped across Ivan’s chest.
“‘I like my butt rubbed and my pork pulled?’” Kieran scoffed, stepping up beside him.
“You know better than anyone.” Ivan grinned, throwing him a wink.
“Other than Jasper, of course.”
