Chapter 6 Matthieu #2
Matthieu stood in line at a small organic coffee stand outside Keystone Arena.
The morning air was warm, but a cool breeze swept through the streets, a reminder that fall, and the NHL season, was rapidly approaching.
It wasn’t too crowded yet, but the noise of busy commuters buzzed around him.
He didn’t usually stop at the stand. Spending five bucks on coffee he could make for cents at home was the kind of frivolity Matthieu couldn’t really afford.
But this morning called for an extra shot of espresso and the comforting heat of it warming his palms through the paper cup.
The line moved slowly, to Matthieu’s discomfort. He hoped to get a quick workout and a skate in before the Inferno descended for today’s training camp. Better to get in and out before any blonde hockey players with chocolate-brown eyes showed up.
He hadn’t seen Kieran since the charity event two weeks ago, which had been by design.
Playing with him again had been a shock to the system, and Matthieu’s mind kept wandering to the man more than he cared to admit.
The way it felt skating together. The weight of Kieran’s hand in his.
The cling of his base-layer, damp with sweat, when he chased after him.
His laugh—how it rumbled from deep in his chest, so familiar Matthieu swore he could still hear it.
No, wait—he could definitely hear it.
Fuck.
Kieran Lloyd stood three people ahead, leaning against the cart, chuckling at whatever the barista said as she made his drink.
It was almost like the universe was playing some sick and twisted joke.
Matthieu shifted, trying to block himself from Kieran’s view behind the much shorter woman in front of him.
She seemed to think he was up to no good, dramatically sidestepping right as Kieran glanced over his shoulder.
His eyes caught on Matthieu. His lips twitched into a smirk before he turned back and said something else to the barista.
Matthieu decided coffee wasn’t so important after all and muttered his apology to the woman as he slipped out of the queue.
He’d made it all of ten steps when Kieran appeared next to him, two paper cups in his hands.
“I presume your order hasn’t changed,” he said, offering Matthieu one of the cups.
It hung awkwardly between them as Matthieu tried to get his brain to catch up with what the hell was happening.
Had Kieran really bought him coffee? Was this some sort of caffeinated olive branch after what he’d done?
Matthieu couldn’t decide whether to knock it out of Kieran’s hand or take it, only to throw it back in his face.
How dare he—after all this time?
Finally, Matthieu calmed his racing heart long enough for his limbs to cooperate. He took the cup from Kieran, who watched with quiet curiosity.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered into the cup.
The sweet scent of vanilla and caramel floated out of the hole in the lid. He hadn’t had one of these in years. His sweet tooth had dissipated sometime around when Kieran had broken his heart.
“I usually drink my coffee black.” He liked the scalding bitterness against his tongue.
“Oh.” Kieran didn’t have the right to look so saddened by that. “I can have them make you something else.”
Kieran started to turn back toward the coffee cart, but Matthieu grabbed his arm.
His fingertips tingled at the contact, like they had at the event a few days ago.
Matthieu really hoped this wouldn’t be the physical reaction he had every time he saw Kieran.
Otherwise, it was sure to be a long season.
“Don’t worry about it. There’s a line. This is fine.”
Kieran nodded. His cheeks flushed the slightest shade of pink. “Are you heading in to skate?”
Matthieu tried to think of a lie—literally any reason he might be standing outside the facility with skates hooked over his shoulder—but it was no use.
“Yeah, I’ll be out of the way before practice starts, though.”
“Cool. I was going to hit the ice early myself, work on my speed.”
Matthieu scoffed. “You’re plenty quick enough.”
Kieran was known for being one of the fastest players on the ice. He flew over its surface with the speed and grace of someone who didn’t believe in things like wind resistance. Matthieu had always been in awe watching him play.
And boy, had Matthieu spent a lot of time in recent years watching Kieran play.
Clips of him racing up and down the ice were always on ESPN, and even if they weren’t, Matthieu couldn’t pretend he hadn’t gone out of his way to watch highlights. Spent hours staring at a screen, wondering who that boy he’d loved had become. Wondering if Matthieu ever crossed Kieran’s mind.
Now he was standing before him, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue. Every one of them started with why.
“I should get going,” Matthieu finally managed to say.
He felt like his throat was closing in on itself. If he didn’t get away from Kieran soon, he might do something incredibly foolish like cry. Being around him again shouldn’t hurt this badly. He didn’t wait for Kieran’s response. He turned and fled like the coward he was.