Page 92 of The Official Problem
“Horny?” Matthieu asked dryly, though amusement tugged at his voice.
“Very.”
“Well then,” Matthieu murmured, already pushing his chair back and reaching for Kieran’s hand. “I'd better get you to bed.”
A loud knock woke Kieran before the sun had even risen. What the fuck was it with people hammering on his door while he tried to sleep? However, the usual culprit was currently curled up beside him. It was probably one of his teammates stumbling home after too much celebrating. He groaned and pulled himself to his feet, trying not to wake Matthieu, but managing anyway.
“Everything okay?” he mumbled sleepily into the pillow.
“One of the guys being drunk and disorderly. Stay in bed. I’ll send them away.” He kissed Matthieu on the forehead, then padded downstairs and yanked open the door, ready to tell whoever it was to go the fuck away.
The words caught in his throat as Cole pushed past him over the threshold. “Is he here?”
Kieran’s brain wasn’t awake enough to register why Cole was in his entryway, let alone whohewas supposed to be. Had Kieran even known Cole was in town for the game last night? He should’ve stopped by after, not at—he glanced at the clock—seven in the goddamn morning.
“What are you doing here?” Kieran asked, trying to blink the fog away.
Cole slipped off his jacket and marched toward the stairs.
He leaned against the banister and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Matthieu Bouchard, I know you’re fucking up there. I’m gonna need you down here, stat.”
Matthieu appeared a moment later, looking as startled as Kieran felt. “Hello?” he called, making his way down the stairs—still all sleep-rumpled and looking so fucking good. Cole better make this quick so Kieran could take Matthieu back to bed.
“Cole Morgan,” he said, not bothering to hold out a hand for Matthieu to shake. “Sorry to wake you both, but…” He trailed off, waving a hand in a gesture Kieran recognized asyou’re both in some serious shit. “You’re going to want to sit down for this one.”
Kieran flopped onto his uncomfortable couch while Matthieu hovered just behind him, fingertips resting on the back, not quite touching. Cole sighed and grabbed the remote off Kieran’s coffee table.
“I’m going to need an explanation for this.” He turned on the TV, the volume still cranked from the movie he and Matthieu had watched a few nights before.
“A Bud Light commercial?”
Cole glared at the TV and muttered, “That was more dramatic in my head.” He lowered the volume to a normal level, then added, “Just give it a moment.”
He and Matthieu stayed silent until the program finally cut to a familiar news show, the anchors’ faces filling the screen.
“Good morning, and thank you for joining us on this developing story that has shaken the hockey world overnight. Allegations of bribery are surfacing involving New Jersey Inferno forward Kieran Lloyd and NHL referee Matthieu Bouchard, who was on the ice during last night’s high-stakes New Jersey-Detroit matchup.”
“That’s right, Holly. While details are still emerging, multiple sources have confirmed an alleged transfer of three hundred thousand dollars from Lloyd to Bouchard. The timeline and intent of the payment remain unclear. Still, speculation is mounting that the money was exchanged in connection with a controversial game-winning call that helped send the Inferno to the playoffs.”
“The call in question came late in the third period—a breakaway goal that was reviewed for possible goalie interference and ultimately upheld by Bouchard, who made the initial ruling on the ice. Critics are already calling the moment suspicious in light of these new allegations.”
“The NHL has yet to issue an official statement, but the league’s integrity office is expected to open an investigation. Needless to say, this is a story we’ll be tracking closely throughout the day.”
“For now, we go live to Lena Zhao, who’s outside Keystone Arena in Newark. Lena, what are you hearing on the ground this morning?”
The TV flickered off, and Kieran heard Matthieu saying something to his right. He couldn’t tell if the words were aimed at him or Cole; he was too busy trying to get air back into his lungs. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a nightmare, a hallucination, some stress-induced trick of his exhausted brain.
The anchors’ words reverberated, clear as day.
Allegations of bribery.
Transfer of three hundred thousand dollars.
Suspicious.
It was too fucking much.
“Hey, hey.” Cole appeared in front of him, perched on the coffee table, one hand shaking Kieran’s knee. “Kieran, look at me.”
