Chapter 4 Kieran
FOUR
KIERAN
On the Thursday before training camp, Kieran arrived at what would be his home for the next five years, only to discover New Jersey was, unfortunately, still New Jersey.
He couldn’t quite figure out how he’d ended up here, a foolish thought, considering it was ultimately his decision.
That summer, Kieran and Cole sat down over lunch to review the three offers he’d received from teams to join their rosters.
The first came from Seattle, the most logical choice given Kieran was already a seasoned player with the team. He had great chemistry with the coaching staff and a home in the area. However, as Cole predicted, the offer was below Kieran’s worth and lacked the no-trade clause he wanted.
Kieran didn’t particularly care about being traded.
He’d moved across the country to Jersey on barely a moment’s notice, yet knowing where he’d call home for the next few years was appealing.
It also struck a chord with Cole’s romantic belief that it was time for Kieran to settle down, though he found the idea laughable.
Still, the whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth.
This sort of thing wasn’t unusual in the league, yet Kieran would be lying if he said it didn’t sting.
He’d put in five solid years with Seattle, rarely injured, always high-scoring, an assistant captain, and well-liked by his teammates.
But with vets eating up the salary cap and new talent coming in, Kieran got tossed the scraps.
The second offer came from Nashville, and it was everything Kieran could ask for.
The money wasn’t just right; it was unbelievable, and the two-year contract was decent for a player his age.
It also included the no-trade clause he wanted, and Nashville made it clear that, while the contract was a trial period, if Kieran played like he had in the past, an extension was basically guaranteed.
The city also had a surprisingly decent LGBTQ+ scene, a definite plus. On paper, it was the best option.
Then there was New Jersey. The money was less than Nashville but still more than Kieran had ever made in Seattle. The contract longer—five years guaranteed—again with a no-trade clause, meaning he’d have a team to call home until he was thirty-six and ready for retirement.
Sure, some played longer, but finishing his career with one team was appealing.
It meant hanging up his skates with dignity instead of bouncing from team to team, chasing one last year.
Kieran tried not to get ahead of himself.
Retirement was a long way off, and New Jersey wasn’t exactly his dream destination.
Still, New York City was right there, about as close to a gay paradise as you could find in the Northeast. He’d considered living in the city until finding a place last-minute proved to be a nightmare.
He opted for a townhouse a short drive from the arena, and much to his relief, it came fully furnished.
Standing in the open-plan kitchen and living room, Kieran tried to convince himself this was home even though he felt like a trespasser.
The place was modern and tastefully done, though a little boring.
He missed his penthouse apartment in Seattle.
It had taken years to decorate and furnish it the way he’d envisioned his dream home when he first joined the NHL.
It had been a bachelor pad in every sense, and now the thought of the couple moving in next week, sitting on his old furniture, sleeping in what had once been his bed, left him homesick.
Kieran’s phone buzzed with a text.
Ivan
McAllister’s, 8 pm. I’m buying.
He couldn’t help but grin. Ivan Petrov, captain of the Inferno, had been a good friend since Kieran’s rookie season in LA. Ivan had stayed with the team for a year after Kieran was traded to Seattle before moving east.
Kieran was excited to play alongside him again.
They’d had great on-ice chemistry, and, for a while, pretty great off-ice chemistry too, falling into bed together more times than he could count.
Not that it was ever romantic; just convenient.
It had been nice having another queer player in the locker room.
Would be nice again, Kieran supposed. Not that they were about to rekindle whatever that had been.
Four months ago, Ivan had eloped with some journalist. Kieran hadn’t even known he was seeing someone.
He figured they were close enough that he’d at least get an invite.
But nope. He found out the same way everyone else did: Ivan and his new husband grinning on the cover of People magazine. The whole thing was… bizarre.
Kieran
I’ll be there. Will Jasper be joining us? I’m dying to meet the man who tied the great Petrov down.
Kieran had to Google him to remember the guy’s name.
Dots popped up, then disappeared and reappeared, as if Ivan was overthinking his answer. When the reply finally came in, it just said:
Ivan
Sure.
At least he wasn’t spending his first night here alone.
A little after eight, Kieran stepped through the doors of McAllister’s and spotted Ivan with Jasper, presumably, sitting at a high top off to the right.
The contrast between them was almost comical.
Ivan stood an inch or two taller than Kieran, with long scruffy hair pulled into a man bun, thick brows, and Slavic features sharp enough to cut ice.
A shadow of stubble covered his jaw, the dark hair making his green eyes pop.
He was striking in a slightly terrifying sort of way.
Jasper, on the other hand, was a foot shorter, with a slender frame, large brown eyes behind hipster black frames, and blonde hair sticking out from under a seasonally unnecessary wool beanie.
Impeccably dressed, he was the polar opposite of Ivan, who had one hand hovering stiffly behind his husband’s back, not quite touching.
Kieran blinked, realizing he was staring. “Nice to see you, old friend.” He turned to Ivan with his friendliest grin.
Something about Ivan’s energy felt off. Too tight around the edges. Was he worried Kieran might bring up their past? Did Jasper even know? He hoped it wouldn’t be a problem, him and Ivan back together on the same team.
“Not as nice as seeing you. We could use fresh talent on roster, da?” Ivan said with a grin of his own. “Although, you too old now to call fresh.”
Kieran feigned offense. “You didn’t miss me?” He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “You’re just using me for my talent.”
Ivan huffed and rolled his eyes. “Is not your jokes I miss, trust me.” His accent had softened since LA, though only slightly. “Kieran, this is Jasper. Jasper, meet Kieran.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jasper said flatly, his expression suggesting he’d rather be anywhere else.
Ivan gestured to the empty seat across from them, and Kieran took it, already searching for something, anything, that might cut through the tension radiating between them.
“So, what do you do, Jasper?” Kieran asked—because that was a standard first-meeting question, not because he didn’t already know.
Jasper’s lips pursed as he answered stiffly. “I write for Q-NYC. It’s a digital magazine covering queer life, politics, culture, and sports.” He said that last word almost pointedly at Ivan, who suddenly became very focused on peeling the label from his drink.
“Oh, right,” Kieran said. “My agent, Cole, mentioned doing a feature once I’m settled.”
He could’ve sworn Jasper rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he did.”
Kieran was starting to think that inviting Jasper had been a mistake, but he pushed ahead. “Is that how you two met?”
“In a roundabout way. I wrote a piece on Ivan, and—”
Ivan cut him off with a loud thud as he set his bottle down a little too hard.
“Eh… maybe we don’t talk about this?” He gave Jasper a warning look.
Jasper looked ready to bite back. Then his whole demeanor shifted, softening right in front of Kieran’s eyes as a practiced smile slid into place.
“Yes, of course, babe.” He patted Ivan’s arm and slid off his stool. “How about I grab you both a round and let you catch up.”
He didn’t wait for a response or Kieran’s order before disappearing into the crowd. Ivan watched him go, brow furrowed, a flicker of something—not quite sadness, but close—crossing his face.
“Everything okay?”
Ivan’s gaze snapped to him. “Sure,” he said, dragging the word. “Long day for him.”
The conversation shifted once Jasper returned with their drinks.
Ivan launched into a stream of dining recommendations, most of which Kieran knew he’d forget by morning.
He seemed a little too eager to talk up the joys of living in New Jersey, probably because he could tell Kieran had been second-guessing his decision since stepping off the plane.
“How’s the team looking this year?” Kieran asked, steering them into safer territory.
The Inferno had missed the playoffs last season.
A few key losses and a January flu outbreak that sidelined half the first line had set them back beyond recovery.
At one point, they had to call up both the third- and fourth-string goalies from the farm team.
Ivan grimaced, clearly remembering the same disaster.
“Good, I think. We’ll see more Monday, when team is back on ice together. For now? Everyone is healthy.”
That was something, at least.
“I can’t wait to meet the guys.”
“If you stay longer, maybe someone shows up. This place is team favorite during the season.”
As good as that sounded, tonight wasn’t the night. It had been a long day filled with travel and regret.
“Damn. I’ll probably head out soon. I’ve got a lot to unpack.” In truth, he had nothing left to unpack. The three suitcases he’d brought were already stowed, and the handful of boxes he’d shipped wouldn’t arrive for another week.
“Got plans for tomorrow?” Ivan asked as Jasper reappeared at his side. He’d been off in a corner booth, scrolling through his phone since dropping off their drinks earlier.
“Some charity thing my agent signed me up for. You going?”
He still wasn’t sure what had possessed Cole to sign him up for a PR event one day after moving to a new state and three days before the season started.
He wished Cole had thought twice. Kieran hadn’t even been able to chew him out.
Cole’s text arrived right as the pilot warned them to switch devices to airplane mode.
He’d conveniently been “in meetings” ever since Kieran landed.
“Nah,” Ivan said. “I think Nixy said he go. Youth center, right?”
Andre Nix was the Inferno’s starting goalie, and Kieran had spent more than one All-Star weekend getting drunk with him.
“Yeah.”
“Is a fun place. Nixy goes often. Always asking for gear, give to kids.”
On a typical day, Kieran would’ve been excited for something like this.
Back in Seattle, he’d visited a similar youth center about once a month.
Whenever his game felt off or hockey felt distant, one visit was usually enough to reset him.
Right then, he decided to quit sulking about the timing and look forward to tomorrow.
Even the shittiest situations could turn around with the right attitude, at least that was what his mother always told him.
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it,” he said, mostly to himself. “It’ll be a good chance to meet some of the guys.”
“I ask Andre to send you the list,” Ivan said, already tapping at his phone.
“Thanks.” Kieran yawned, making a show of it before standing and shrugging on his jacket. “I’d better head out. Nice meeting you, Jasper. We’ll do this again soon, yeah?”
“Sounds good. See you at practice bright and early Monday morning,” Ivan said, giving Kieran a hug. Jasper gave his arm a light squeeze. “Nixy said he’ll get you list in a minute,” Ivan added as Kieran made his way to the door.
Not long after Kieran stepped into the eerily quiet townhouse he apparently lived in now, a text pinged from an unknown number.
Unknown
Welcome to the team.
He saved it under Andre’s name, then opened the attachment, eyes skimming the list. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to it, just a disorganized collection of players seemingly thrown together last minute.
Blake Stirling and Trent Vahlgreen both played for New York. Logan Mercier, Andre Nix, and Kieran Lloyd from the Inferno. Louis Kessler, a Boston rookie, seemed a long way to drive for a one-morning event. And...
Fuck.
Matthieu Bouchard.
It suddenly clicked. The last-minute PR event. Cole dodging his calls. This was a setup. He was going to barbecue Cole alive for this.