Page 6 of The Official Problem
Kieran knew exactly what he was doing when he said it. That didn’t stop the guilt from twisting in almost immediately. So he let Matthieu lash out. Welcomed the bruises and barely fought back, just enough to look like an active participant, not enough to stop Bouchard from overpowering him and driving him to the ice.
He wanted to take the words back the second they left his mouth. Since he couldn’t, he did the only thing he could think of: he took the fall.
“You really won’t tell me.” Cole’s persistence was relentless.
“There’s history there.”
“History…” Cole said it like the word had a thousand layers he was trying to unravel. “Goddamnit, Kieran! Did you sleep with the guy?”
Kieran cringed. He hated reducing what he had with Matthieu to that, but he wasn’t about to give Cole more than he needed to know.
“It was a long time ago.” That much, at least, was true.
Cole muttered something under his breath, a curse, or maybe a prayer to some higher power neither of them believed in. Kieran let him finish.
“You will be the death of me, kid.”
A grin tugged at Kieran’s mouth at the affection slipping through the cracks of Cole’s usual gruffness. He might grumble and get frustrated with Kieran more than he’d admit, but Kieran knew how much he cared. These rare moments of genuine affection made the near-constant reprimanding worth it.
“I should probably get packing,” Kieran said, eager to steer the conversation away from squishy, uncomfortable territory.
“You flying with the team to DC?”
“Nah, they’re sending me back to Seattle early.”
Coach probably meant it as a punishment, cutting him from the rest of the road trip. He didn’t mind, though. He was more than happy to return to his own time zone and sleep in his own bed.
“Well, if you could get there without making the front pages again, I’d appreciate it.”
“Love you too, Cole.” Kieran hung up before he could respond, knowing full well it would make him grumble some more.
Six hours later, Kieran was wedged into a window seat far too small for his long frame—one more sign of how pissed off Coach was about what had happened. Getting sent back to Seattle early on a commercial flight was one thing; getting dumped into economy was something else entirely.
Kieran wasn’t the tallest guy on the team, but at six-foot-one, he was taller than average. Even if he wasn’t, the legroom still wouldn’t have been enough. Everyone else on the plane seemed just as uncomfortable.
After a lot of wiggling, Kieran finally found a position that didn’t completely cut off his circulation. He popped in his earbuds, hoping to catch some much-needed sleep on the flight home. He just had to pray the person in front of him didn’t recline their seat after takeoff, or he’d be right back where he started.
A woman across the aisle caught his eye as he slid his phone into his backpack, currently jammed onto his lap thanks to the lack of space. She kept glancing over before turning to her friend and whispering something excitedly.
Kieran figured it was one of three things.
First, maybe she was a Seattle hockey fan—this was a direct flight, after all.
Second, maybe she was curious about his bruised face. It hadn’t looked this bad last night or even this morning; now he looked like he’d been hit by a truck. At least he hadn’t lost a tooth.
Or third, his least favorite, she might find him attractive despite looking like he'd gone ten rounds and be trying to get his attention—or worse, his phone number. If it was the latter, she was barking up the wrong tree. Kieran hadn’t been with a woman in fifteen years, and even a Victoria’s Secret model couldn’t turn his head at this point.
After a few moments, she worked up the nerve to wave. Kieran gave her his best “Hi, please don’t talk to me” head nod, making sure to keep a polite smile, like Cole had taught him. When he first joined the league, he’d gotten plenty of lectures about not being rude to fans. Even the ones with vaginas. Ew.
The woman said something, but the music blasting in Kieran’s ears drowned her out. When she realized he hadn’t heard her, she motioned for him to take out his earbud, like she was entitled to his full attention. Kieran complied, not wanting to cause a scene.
“You’re that guy, the one from the fight last night.”
Ah. A fourth option after all. She recognized him asthat guy.
“Yep, that was me,” Kieran said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, hoping to shut the conversation down.
The two older women between him and the girl already looked irritated by the brief interaction. The flight was long enough as it was. He didn’t need to spend it trapped against the window by pissed-off seatmates.
