Page 33 of The Official Problem
Kieran stared down at the shredded napkin Louis had turned into confetti, searching for something reassuring to say. He’d never gone through anything like what Louis had. When he came out to his parents and friends in high school, no one told him to keep quiet about who he was. When it came time to find an agent, they lined up to meet him, but he refused to consider anyone who didn’t support him being out.
When he was drafted to LA, he told their head coach, Lars Edstrom, in just their second conversation that he was gay and wouldn’t play in the closet. Edstrom marched him into the locker room and told the team there’d be zero tolerance forhomophobia. They’d barely batted an eye. It turned out Ivan had already been out to the team for years.
Kieran’s longest stint in the closet during his career had been freshman year at Michigan, and only for Matthieu’s sake, not his own. It ended in disaster.
“So, we need to find you a new agent, and then you’ll come out how you want to. Preferably using a clothes-on method.” Kieran dug into his pocket for his phone, pulled Cole’s contact information, and forwarded it to Louis. “Call my agent and tell him I sent you. Play up that whole poor, closeted queer kid, ‘Kieran Lloyd is my hero’ act. He will eat that shit right up.”
Louis clutched his phone to his chest, his relief unmistakable. “I knew you’d have an answer for me.”
Kieran hoped he hadn’t overpromised here. Cole probably wasn’t taking on new clients, but Kieran doubted he’d turn down Louis’ sad tale.
“You need to tighten up your game on the ice, though, Louis. I won’t sit here and pretend it’s all unicorns and rainbows. The league and fans have come a long way—” Jesus, it was like Cole’s voice was coming out of his mouth. “—but you’ll be under a microscope, at least for the next few years. Cut down on the penalty minutes. Don’t lead photographers into places you’ll regret being seen. You should probably do more charity work. Strengthen your image.”
Louis nodded furiously, as if he was scribbling every word down in a mental notebook. “I can do that.”
“In fact,” Kieran added, “I might know just the thing. Remember the community center where we did that event? I’m trying to set something up over the summer, a camp or program for LGBTQ kids. Maybe you could come up for a few weeks and lend a hand.”
“I’d love that,” Louis said, grinning.
Kieran couldn’t tell whether it was the charity work or the idea of spending a few weeks with him that excited Louis more.
“Great. Have your new agent give me a call.”
Louis threw back his head and hit Kieran with another of his abrasive laughs.
The following night, Louis racked up seven minutes of penalties. As a result, Kieran turned on his phone to a disgruntled Cole after the game.
Cole
You have to be kidding me.
Kieran, what the fuck.
Because one arrogant troublemaker wasn’t enough, huh?
And Kieran’s personal favorite.
What do you think I am? A fairy fucking godmother?
Kieran got the feeling Cole and Louis Kessler would get along swimmingly.
SECOND PERIOD
THIRTEEN
MATTHIEU
Matthieu lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The weight of the blankets pressed down on him, but it wasn’t the cold that chilled him. It had been years since he’d shared his bed with another person. Years since someone’s touch had sparked anything in him. He’d convinced himself he didn’t need it.
But lately, he woke tangled around his pillow, like it was a stand-in for something, or someone, he wasn’t brave enough to name. He didn’t know when it had started. Maybe it was when Kieran slipped back into his life.
Ugh, Kieran.
Matthieu couldn’t stop thinking about that moment at the practice arena. The way Kieran had looked at him, with a hint of something dangerous in his eyes. Something irresistible. Matthieu would give anything to go back and take what Kieran had offered.
He needed it so badly. Now, that moment was gone.
That morning, Matthieu had seen Kieran again at the rink. Just a passing encounter, a casual “Hey,” but it had been enough. Enough to ignite a familiar ache inside Matthieu’s chest.
