Chapter 9 Kieran
NINE
KIERAN
From the moment Kieran stepped onto the ice, he could tell something was wrong with Matthieu.
He looked distracted, eyes glazed and red-rimmed, like he’d been crying.
His usual sharp focus was gone. He’d hovered near the edge of the rink until play started—pale, posture limp, as if the weight of his thoughts were too heavy to bear.
Kieran wasn’t the only one who noticed Matthieu’s mood.
One of the linemen watched him closely throughout the game, concern etched across his face.
There was clearly some unspoken understanding between them.
It made no sense that the growly creature in Kieran's gut, something that stirred only when Matthieu was involved, bristled at their bond.
He tried to shake it off. Whatever was going on with Matthieu wasn’t his business.
He had a hockey game to win. They were down two goals heading into the third period, and tensions were high.
Ottawa was skating circles around them, outmatching every play.
No matter how hard Kieran and the team pushed, Ottawa had more energy, more drive.
Kieran hated this. Getting out-skated on home ice was embarrassing, and if he didn’t get his head back in the game, Coach would tear him a new one. He took several deep breaths and forced his focus back to the game as he made his way to center ice.
Matthieu was already there, puck in hand, staring into space like the world around him didn’t exist. The fragile resolve Kieran had spent the entirety of intermission building cracked clean in two.
He couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t ignore that the version of Matthieu before him was barely a shell.
He didn’t have the right to ask what was wrong, but if he didn’t try, the look on Matthieu’s face would haunt him all night.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
The sound still startled Matthieu, who looked up with hazy eyes, a question furrowing his brow. “Fine.” The word sounded anything but.
“You’re barely here with us, Matthieu. You’ve been missing calls all night.” Then, like he had a death wish, Kieran added, “It’s not like you.”
That snapped Matthieu back to reality. His eyes focused, darkening with a cold fury Kieran had never seen in them before.
“You don’t know shit about me, Lloyd.”
“Don’t I?”
There was a time when Kieran had known everything about the man before him. Although Matthieu now seemed unrecognizable, Kieran was certain he’d find pieces of the man he once loved beneath those walls.
Matthieu’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Back the fuck up, Lloyd, before I give you a penalty for interference.”
Kieran should’ve taken the warning. Should’ve let Matthieu be. But he’d never been good at walking away, ten years apart hadn’t broken the habit.
“You can talk to me,” Kieran muttered, aware that his fellow teammates were starting to notice the whispered exchange delaying the period’s start.
The other officials had noticed too. The same lineman who’d been watching Matthieu all night was skating toward them, his expression unreadable.
Kieran knew how this looked from the outside—barely an inch apart, Matthieu’s face scolding.
He tried to ignore the attention, focused only on Matthieu, though the tightness in his chest threatened to crush him.
“Meet me after the game. I want to help.” It was the wrong thing to say.
Before Kieran could react, Matthieu slammed both hands into his chest and shoved him back with surprising force. Kieran hit the ice hard. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, pain shooting up his arms as his palms hit ice to break the fall.
He braced for Matthieu to crash down on him like he had in March, for a fist to follow, but Matthieu was already skating away, head hung low. The lineman placed a hand on his back, murmuring something Kieran couldn’t hear.
“You hurt anything?” the other ref asked, standing in the face-off zone, watching him.
“Just my ego,” Kieran muttered, pushing himself up with a wince. His palms stung, but the sting in his chest was worse.
“I don’t know why you two don’t leave each other the fuck alone. You’ll get the man fired if you keep getting in his face like that,” the ref barked. “Now, can we please get this game started?”
Kieran nodded, took his position, and made himself look anywhere but at Matthieu for the rest of the period.
Club music thrummed through Kieran’s veins, his heartbeat syncing with the rhythm. Vodka buzzed in his bloodstream, leaving him slightly floaty. Ivan hadn’t needed to do much persuading to get Kieran to join him and Jasper after the game.
Since the season started, Kieran hadn’t put much effort into being social and even less into exploring the hook-up scene.
It had been too long. The need to fall into bed with someone—or hell, a bathroom stall would do—itched at him.
He needed to scratch it if he had any hope of forgetting a certain dark-haired man taking up far too much mental space.
However, since arriving an hour ago, he’d barely left Ivan’s side, just stood at the bar while his old friend contributed little to the conversation.
Jasper had disappeared to the dance floor ages ago, with Ivan showing no interest in following.
It didn’t take long for another man to approach Jasper, slipping behind him to grind against his ass.
Kieran was sure Jasper would step away, but instead he tossed a sexy smile over his shoulder, looped an arm around the guy’s neck, and started grinding back.
Kieran glanced at Ivan, expecting to find jealousy. All he saw was burning lust. Ivan’s gaze was locked on Jasper, tracking every place his lithe body pressed against the stranger. Was Ivan turned on?
“That doesn’t bother you?” Kieran asked, raising a brow at his friend.
Ivan shook his head and let out a low growl—animalistic in a way Kieran couldn’t quite define. Well, that was an interesting development. Kieran suddenly felt like a third—maybe fourth—wheel.
“Wait.” Something about the man dancing with Jasper felt familiar. Kieran was almost sure he’d seen him before. “Is that the lineman from tonight’s game?”
Ivan’s brows shot up, but the concern that flicked across his face vanished just as quickly. “Shit, I think you’re right.” Ivan chuckled, shaking his head again. “Your friend probably around here somewhere, too.”
It took Kieran less than a minute to find him.
Across the dance floor, Matthieu stood off to the side, eyes locked on his phone, his expression tight with distress.
Kieran wondered if whatever he was reading had anything to do with how distracted he’d been all night.
Matthieu’s whole demeanor had been off—uncharacteristic, at best.
Kieran shouldn’t even know what was or wasn’t characteristic of Matthieu Bouchard, not anymore at least. Since Matthieu had re-entered his life, Kieran had spent way too many minutes—scratch that, hours—obsessing over the man he used to know so well.
He’d even watched replays of games Matthieu officiated last year, admiring his style and swelling with pride at how confidently he commanded the ice.
Matthieu had always been meticulous, yet that version of him hadn’t shown up tonight.
Before he could stop himself, Kieran was striding away from Ivan, murmuring, “Good luck with that,” as he passed.
Jasper was now making out with the mystery lineman, his wedding ring catching the club lights as he gripped the man’s face. Ivan seemed oddly pleased with the development.
Matthieu looked up from his phone when Kieran stopped in front of him. “What do you want?” His deep, scratchy voice sent a ripple of memory through Kieran.
Nice to see you, too.
“Just checking in. My offer still stands.”
Matthieu looked him up and down, cataloging every detail, comparing the man before him to the boy he used to know. Kieran sensed Matthieu didn’t like what he saw.
“I’m fine.” They both knew it was a lie.
“We can go somewhere…”
“Kieran,” he almost broke hearing his name on Matthieu’s lips again, “drop it. Please. I can’t do this tonight. Not with you.” Matthieu’s sharp tone had softened into something almost pleading.
Fine. Kieran saw how it was going to be.
Matthieu had always kept things guarded, just never with him.
It seemed the last ten years had only strengthened the walls Matthieu built around himself.
Kieran would have to try another way. Before he could speak, Matthieu turned on his heels and walked away.
Kieran knew he should let him go, knew he had no right to follow. Still, it didn’t stop him from wanting, desperately, to make things better.
Fuck that.
If Matthieu wanted to be moody and hostile, so be it. The more Kieran pushed Matthieu into a corner, the worse things would get between them.
He was in New York City, goddamnit. At one of the top gay clubs. Surrounded by hundreds of gorgeous men. Any one of them would be willing to scratch the itch curling in Kieran’s gut. None would make him work as hard as Matthieu did for a single conversation.
Kieran needed to get his head on straight. Forget whatever that exchange had been.
He’d head back to the bar and order another drink. Find a man, preferably dark-haired and darker-eyed. Flash that smile that always got him exactly what he wanted. Then he’d go home, sleep deeply, and absolutely not think another second about Matthieu fucking Bouchard.
Kieran retraced his steps to find Ivan and Jasper had disappeared sometime during his run-in with Matthieu.
He waited in a short line at the bar, trying to look patient despite the thrumming energy building inside him.
When the bartender finally reached him, Kieran ordered vodka with lime and downed it in one go, then ordered another before the man could move on.
Clutching his new drink, Kieran slipped onto a recently opened bar stool and turned to face the dance floor. He didn’t have to wait long before someone approached.
“Can I join you?” the man asked, his accent one Kieran couldn’t place. His tongue rolled around the words, making them almost melodic.
Kieran smirked, gesturing to the filled seats on either side. “There’s nowhere to sit.” He widened his knees enough for the man to slip between them, which he did without hesitation.
“Pity,” he drawled, sliding a hand unabashedly up the inside of Kieran’s thigh, pulling a shudder from him as fingertips grazed dangerously close to his cock.
The man was blonder than Kieran liked. His long hair was gelled back from his face, his suit far too formal for the pulsing club around them. He was the right height, though, and when he leaned in to whisper, the strong scent of expensive cologne washed over Kieran.
“If there’s nowhere to sit out here,” the man murmured against the skin beneath Kieran’s ear, “perhaps we can find space in the back?”
Bingo.
This was what Kieran needed. No preamble. No beating around the bush. No pretending it was anything it wasn’t. No dark, piercing stare to flay him alive.
Kieran downed the rest of his drink, set the empty glass on the bar, and rose to his feet, tugging the man toward him by the arm.
A small gasp left his lips as he fell against Kieran’s chest. Kieran wasn’t sure if it came from eagerness or the sudden press of his hardening cock against the man’s thigh.
“Names?” the stranger asked.
“Do you know mine?”
Kieran wasn’t arrogant enough to assume everyone in this town would recognize him. Sure, hockey fans would in a heartbeat, but outside that world, he was just another handsome face.
The man clearly wasn’t a fan, as he shook his head. “Should I?”
“No. It means we can keep things even. No names.”
“Fine with me.”
With that, Kieran was tugged around the edge of the dance floor and down a hallway that presumably led to the bathrooms and private rooms. Having sex in clubs wasn’t Kieran’s favorite.
The rooms were dirty, and “private” didn’t always mean alone.
Hooking up with someone while others were fucking feet away wasn’t exactly Kieran’s kink. Tonight, it would have to do.
Still, Kieran’s heart pounded harder the farther down the hallway they went. The stranger seemed to catch his hesitation and stopped, turning back.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, gotta take a leak first. I’ll meet you back there.”
The man let him go without much protest. Kieran tried to be quick—tricky, considering he was half hard. He leaned over the sink, staring at his reflection as he gave himself a silent talking to.
Get your head out of your ass.
Go through with this.
Don’t go home hard up thinking about a certain someone.
His pep talk was cut short by a giggling body bumping into him, jostling him away from the sink. “Jeez, move it along,” a pink-haired twink barked. He reminded Kieran of a chihuahua—short, cute, yappy as shit.
Kieran had stalled as long as he could. He moved farther down the hallway. There were three rooms. The first two overflowed with grinding, humping bodies, pants, and moans, the scent of sex sharp against Kieran’s nose. A quick glance confirmed his stranger wasn’t in either.
He reached the door at the end. It was noticeably quieter as he pushed it open. Empty, even. Kieran scanned the dark, hunting for the slightest movement.
“Are you in here?” he asked the darkness. No reply.
Fuck.
He’d taken too long. The guy had probably sensed his hesitation and decided to cut his losses, find what he needed elsewhere. Kieran would have to try again.
He took a moment to reset, breathing deep into the near silence. The club music didn’t reach back here, though Kieran could still feel the beat pulsing through the floor. The notes were barely more than a hum. Maybe he should just head home. As much as he needed this, his energy was shot.
He decided to give up before embarrassing himself and turned toward the door, only to stop in his tracks.