Chapter 1 Matthieu #2
The game had ended long ago. Matthieu heard the muffled sounds of the stands emptying above him shortly after he got out of the shower. He’d been sitting in this cold, lifeless office ever since, waiting for the consequences to come crashing down.
Jamison had come and gone. As usual, he gave Matthieu nothing more than a passing glance, more interested in getting away from the aftermath than sticking around.
Alexei, however, hovered for a while, like he thought he might need to offer moral support.
Eventually, he left too, with a pitying look, a pat on the shoulder, and the usual instruction to call once Matthieu heard his verdict.
They both knew that call probably wouldn’t happen.
Alexei was Matthieu’s closest friend, but theirs wasn’t a friendship built on long phone calls or emotional heart-to-hearts.
It was easy, a friendship that fit neatly into the tight corners of Matthieu's life. They chatted at work, grabbed the occasional drink, and met up for dinner when schedules aligned. It wasn’t the kind of relationship that needed constant tending, and in the life Matthieu had carved out, he didn’t have the energy for much else.
Minutes dragged by in the room’s sterile silence. After what felt like an eternity, Harvey finally appeared, still in his black and white stripes. His sweat-soaked hair stuck up in wild spikes, making him look like an electrified chipmunk.
“I hope you’ve spent this time thinking of how to talk yourself out of this mess,” he said, dropping into the chair across from Matthieu and dragging the old office phone closer.
The device beeped loudly as Harvey jabbed at the buttons, muttering under his breath when they didn’t cooperate. “This fucking thing.”
Matthieu leaned over to help connect the call, earning a quick, grateful nod.
“You still there, Scott? Got Matthieu with me now. You’re on speaker.”
The voice down the line was loud and booming, as if announcing Matthieu to a packed stadium. “Matthieu Bouchard!”
Scott Murray, the NHL’s director of officiating, never did subtle. Matthieu had only spoken to him a handful of times in two years, yet the greeting’s enthusiasm never dulled.
“Quite the show you put on tonight, lad. I’ve seen plenty of players throw hands at refs in my career, but I think this might be the first time a referee’s taken the first swing.”
Embarrassment prickled beneath Matthieu's skin. “Er… yes, sir… about that…”
“I know you’re sorry, no point wasting breath on it now.” Scott cut him off, and Matthieu snapped his mouth shut, letting him continue.
This could be either a very good sign or, more likely, a terrible one. Harvey's pursed lips and the way he glared at the phone gave Matthieu the sinking feeling he was about to be fired.
“What’s more interesting,” Scott went on, “is what Kieran Lloyd had to say about you to the media.”
Of course reporters grabbed Kieran for a post-game interview. What surprised him was that Seattle’s PR team had allowed it. If it were up to Matthieu, he would’ve made sure Lloyd stayed as far from cameras and microphones as humanly possible.
“I’m almost afraid to ask what he said,” Matthieu muttered.
“You haven’t heard, then?”
“No, sir, I haven’t left the dressing room since… I’ve been waiting for your call.”
Scott hummed thoughtfully. “Well, you can replay it on your own time. I’m a busy man. But the short version is, Mr. Lloyd took full responsibility for what happened out there.”
That didn’t sound right, though Harvey’s confirming nod said it was true.
“He said he taunted you with something he knew would offend you and forgives you for what he calls a proportional reaction. Naturally, despite the press’s best efforts, Kieran refused to say what was said.
I pulled the tape and your mic feed, but I couldn’t make it out in the preliminary run-through.
I don’t suppose you’d like to share now? ”
Matthieu frowned. There was no way he could tell Scott, not without revealing too much. Things better left buried. “Would it make a difference, sir?”
Scott sighed, long and exasperated. “I don’t suppose it would.” After a pause he added, “Kieran Lloyd’s been suspended for three games…”
Oh. Shit.
“…including the match you’re set to officiate between Seattle and Boston on Thursday night. You’ve had a great season, Matthieu. You’re a competent official despite your age and lack of experience. A fair ref. You take critique well, rarely miss or make a bad call, and work hard.”
Some of the weight in his chest lifted. This hadn't been the full reaming he'd expected.
“Thank you, sir,” Matthieu said, exhaling a shaky breath.
“We’ll still be conducting a more thorough investigation. Officials can’t go around punching star NHL players in the face over a minor on-ice disagreement…” he trailed off.
Muffled noises picked up in the background, Scott’s voice drifting farther from the phone.
“At this time, we’re not suspending you from your duties. Officials in this league are already stretched thin, and with the regular season winding down, and Lloyd out, tonight’s game was the last you were scheduled to officiate with him on the ice.”
Matthieu nodded, though Scott couldn't see him. “Thank you for the second chance, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“No, I expect you won’t,” Scott replied, paper rustling faintly on the other end. “Keep your head down. Stay focused. Stay out of trouble. I’ll be in touch soon.”
The line went dead. Matthieu stayed frozen, staring at Harvey. Both of them looked equally stunned by the outcome. He couldn’t decide what was harder to believe: that he’d dodged the bullet… or that Kieran Lloyd had been the one to push him out of its way.
Harvey finally broke the silence. “He’s always had a soft spot for you.”
Matthieu stood and offered a handshake, but Harvey clapped a hand to his shoulder instead, giving it a brief squeeze.
“You got lucky. You know that, right? If Lloyd hadn’t said what he did in front of a full press room, that conversation would’ve gone very differently. He forced the NHL’s hand by taking the blame.”
The words sobered him.
“You know better than anyone there’s a mile-long line of young refs dying to take your place. One more slip, and they’ll pull someone up from the AHL to replace you in a heartbeat.”
Boy, did Matthieu know it. He'd fought hard for this spot, against older, more seasoned guys with years on him. He couldn’t afford to screw it up now. Too many people were counting on him, people he refused to let down.
He grabbed his backpack and skates, slung them over one shoulder, and pulled out his phone.
As he walked toward the arena exit, he typed Kieran Lloyd post-game interview into the search bar.
It didn’t make sense that Kieran had come to his defense after everything.
While, like Harvey, Matthieu knew he owed his career’s continuation to that defense, it still left a sour taste in his mouth.
He didn’t like owing anyone.
Least of all, Kieran Lloyd.