Page 89 of The Official Problem
“Everything okay?” Matthieu asked, coming to a stop beside him. Kieran flinched at the sound of his voice.
“Yeah.” Kieran exhaled. “Big night, you know.”
“How’s the team feeling?”
Kieran let out a short laugh. “No one’s saying it, but it feels like they’re already bracing for the worst. Like we’ve already lost.” He shrugged. “Ivan’s trying to rally them now.”
“You didn’t think you could use a little rallying yourself?” Kieran’s teammates weren’t the only ones who had already accepted defeat. It practically radiated off him.
“I just wanted to see you.”
Matthieu offered a small, careful smile, checked the hallway, then stepped a little closer. Not close enough. Never close enough. He wanted to reach for his face, hold it steady, tell him it would be okay, even if he didn’t know it was true. He wanted to kiss him, like all the other players’ partners probably had tonight, whisperingGood luck,I love you,go get ‘em, sweetheart.
They didn’t get that. Not here. Not yet.
He hated it, even though he understood it, even though they were only keeping this secret to try to protect his career. Ten years had passed, and somehow things were still the same, only now with higher stakes.
“Is it terrible to say part of me wants to lose?” Kieran’s voice was so soft that Matthieu barely caught it.
“You don’t want a shot at the Cup.”
Kieran smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course I do. Eight years in the league, and it’s the one thing I’ve never touched. Did you know LA won the year after they traded me to Seattle?” He shook his head. “Felt like it was stolen from me.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Honestly, if we won this year, I’d be tempted to retire.”
“You don’t mean that?”
Kieran didn’t answer right away. He looked back up at the ceiling, jaw working as if he were chewing the thought down before it escaped.
“Maybe I do. Or maybe I’m just tired. I always get a little morose near the end of the season.”
He was probably exhausted. The last few months had pushed him hard, and that was without Matthieu’s drama bleeding into their relationship. Kieran took it all on without complaint, like he always did. He was spreading himself too thin, not that he’d ever let Matthieu tell him that. A win tonight meant a week off before nearly nonstop hockey until they either won the Cup orgot knocked out. If they went all the way, it meant eight more weeks of the most intense hockey the sport could offer.
Kieran’s whole world had been hockey since he laced up his first skates at six. From the stories, it had been obvious, even as a kid, that he was destined to go far on the ice. So his parents had put him in every hockey camp and program known to man; early mornings before school, travel teams on weekends, billeting through juniors, then Michigan, straight into the NHL. Twenty-five years of nonstop competitive hockey, going up against the best in the sport.
“All you can do is play your best sixty,” Matthieu murmured. “Tomorrow we can sleep in.”
Kieran gave a faint smile, but he didn’t move. Matthieu saw the nerves rippling beneath his skin, the pressure threatening to crack him open. He wished he had the right words, something soothing to say. Kieran always knew how to calm him. Matthieu had never been good at returning the favor. He’d never hated that fact more than in that moment.
“You should get back,” he said at last, once it was obvious Kieran had nothing more to say. “Before they send a search party.” He didn’t want him to go, but they’d been lucky to steal the few minutes they’d already had without being caught.
Kieran nodded. “See you tonight?”
“Of course.”
Kieran extended his hand. Matthieu hesitated for a beat, glanced both ways, then reached out and twined their fingers in a quiet, lingering squeeze.
“Go kick ass, superstar. I’ll be silently cheering you on.”
Kieran chuckled. “Careful what you say. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re biased.” He brushed a kiss against Matthieu’s cheek and slipped away.
The words weren’t meant to wound, but they landed like a bruise all the same. They’d barely made it through half a seasonlike this—meeting in shadows, holding hands behind closed doors. How were they supposed to survive four more years in secret? How could he stay quiet when, every time he looked at Kieran, it felt like his heart clawed out of his chest?
Alexei always teased that Matthieu’s feelings were written all over his face. But how long until someone else caught on? How long could he hide how in love he was with this man?
He shook the thought away as Harvey pushed through the changing room door. “Okay?” the older ref asked, pausing long enough to catch the tension in Matthieu’s face.
“Yeah,” Matthieu lied, offering the kind of half-smile that fooled no one. “Just thinking about my mom,” he added, because that’s what Harvey, no doubt, expected him to say.
The league had given him two weeks off for bereavement after her death. Tonight wasn’t his first game back, but if he were a normal grieving son, she’d still weigh on his mind.
