Chapter 33 Kieran
THIRTY-THREE
KIERAN
Kieran found Matthieu holed up at the dining room table when he got home, still in his NHL quarter zip, though it looked like he’d been tugging at the collar. He was on the phone, laptop open, the screen paused on something that looked suspiciously like game highlights.
Kieran hovered in the doorway, unsure whether to interrupt.
He was still a little buzzed thanks to Ivan lining up shots in the locker room, but not so far gone he missed the tension in Matthieu’s face—brow tight, jaw working.
Matthieu’s fingers tapped absently against the side of his water glass as he nodded along with whatever the person on the other end said.
Kieran padded to the fridge and poured a glass of water, the faint clink of ice the only sound he dared make.
After another minute of silence, Matthieu finally said, “Thank you, sir. Always appreciate the feedback.”
His voice was calm, even, but clipped at the edges. He hung up without a goodbye, leaned back, and pinched the bridge of his nose like it physically hurt to think. Kieran was grateful he hadn’t crashed through the door, demanding Matthieu force him to his knees, like he’d originally planned.
He waited a beat, but when Matthieu stayed lost in thought, he said, “Everything okay?”
Matthieu startled slightly, like he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. The tension in his features softened quickly into something warm and familiar. A small, tired smile broke across his face.
“Oh yeah, all good. Just game review.” He closed the laptop with a quiet click and slid it across the table.
“Any issues?”
“Not really,” Matthieu said, scratching the back of his neck. “Scott had some notes about that trip I called in the second, but otherwise all’s good.”
Kieran snorted. “Well, you do suck at calling tripping.” It was easy to tease him about it now. That terrible tripping call last year had set off the chain of events that brought them back into each other’s arms.
Matthieu rolled his eyes, though the smile stayed. “Noted.”
“Nothing about the goal?”
He didn’t need to clarify. It was the only goal that mattered—the one that sealed the game, the one Matthieu had called good on ice despite the commotion in the crease.
Matthieu exhaled, long and slow. “I was worried,” he admitted.
“Yeah, me too.”
“It was reviewed by Toronto when it was challenged,” Matthieu continued, sounding more like he was reassuring himself for the hundredth time than Kieran. “They backed it. It was the right call. I made the right call.”
Kieran nodded. “I know you did.”
“Did you have a good time with the guys?”
“Mhmmm,” Kieran hummed.
Matthieu tilted his head, watching him more closely. “Are you drunk, sweetheart?”
Kieran leaned in, nuzzled into Matthieu’s hair, and murmured a laugh against his temple. Then, not exactly subtly, he pressed his very hard cock against Matthieu’s thigh.
“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 who he was 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 as you’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.”
He couldn’t. If he looked at Cole, if he saw the disappointment on his face, he’d crack wide open. His chest already felt like it was caving in.
“Obviously, these allegations are false. Slander. I’ve already got a lawyer looking into our options, but we do need to figure out how to navigate this given your relationship—”
“Not false,” Kieran murmured.
“I think… wait—what did you just say?”
Kieran finally looked up. Matthieu, pacing behind Cole, froze mid-step. His eyes locked on Kieran. “I…” He couldn’t say it. The words caught in his throat, no matter how hard he tried to force them out.
“Kieran,” Cole said slowly, firmly. “What do you mean, not false?” His voice didn’t waver, but Kieran felt the tension in the press of his fingertips, now stilled on his knee.
“It wasn’t a bribe,” Kieran said finally. “I hadn’t even told Matthieu. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how it would look if someone found out. I just wanted to help.”
Matthieu’s eyes went wide. “Help? What did you do?”
Kieran swallowed hard against the dryness in his throat. “A week ago, when you were in Montreal… I went to the hospital, and Oakcrest. I paid off your mother’s debt—the past due bills, the ones about to go to collections. All of it.”
“But… Kieran. That was almost…”
“Let me guess,” Cole cut in, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Three hundred thousand dollars?”
Matthieu nodded, exhaling hard. “How did you even know about it?”
“I overheard you talking to Julie after the funeral. Matthieu, I couldn’t do nothing. I have all this cash sitting in a bank account I don’t touch. It just piles up.”
Matthieu’s face went blank. “So what? You went through my mail?”
“Julie sent everything to me.”
Cole shot to his feet. “I can’t believe this.” His earlier softness gone. “You made a financial transaction that size to a referee’s family member and didn’t think to tell your agent? Your financial advisor? Anyone? Do you understand what you’ve done?”
The words hit like a slap.
“I didn’t think anyone would find out. How did this even get out?”
“Jesus, Kieran.” Cole paced, one hand on his hip, the other gripping his phone like he might hurl it at the wall.
“You’re the face of the fucking franchise.
You think you can throw that kind of money around and no one will say anything?
I’m sure someone in medical billing just cashed in on a ridiculous payday for leaking that information to the media. ”