Chapter 12 Kieran
TWELVE
KIERAN
Kieran’s heart hammered in his chest. If he hadn’t been in peak physical health, he might’ve worried he was having a heart attack. Every insane reaction his body had lately was tied to Matthieu.
He didn’t have a plan when he pulled Matthieu into that supply closet.
He just wanted to make sure Matthieu was okay, to look into his eyes and make sure the chaotic energy from the club had passed, that some trace of the boy he’d once known and loved was still there.
But within moments of being crammed into that small space, seeing how lost Matthieu looked, words he never thought he’d say in a million years began pouring out.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t meant every single one of them.
Kieran hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Matthieu all week.
The slightest touch against his skin catapulted him back in time.
Memories of being manhandled, of how good it had felt, overwhelmed his senses.
He knew he should’ve felt violated. Wasn't that how people usually felt when someone used them in a seedy backroom? Instead, all he wanted was more.
Apparently, his face didn’t do a great job of hiding the mess in his head, because Ivan clocked him the second he stepped into the locker room.
He stood shirtless off to one side, a towel wrapped around his waist. A silver chain held a wedding band, half hidden by the fur on his chest. There was a time when seeing Ivan like that would have triggered a Pavlovian response in Kieran.
Today, he wasn’t interested, which was for the best. Ivan was a married man, even if his husband had been shoving his tongue down someone else’s throat a few days earlier. Kieran wondered if they had left together, if they had all left together. He pushed it aside.
“Penny for a thought?”
Ivan tugged on his jeans and pulled a hoodie over his bare torso. There wasn’t a game tonight, so they could leave the stadium however they wanted.
Kieran applied a mask he hoped came across as smug arrogance. “I wouldn’t bankrupt you like that.”
Ivan didn’t push. “You have plans for tonight?”
Kieran saw where this was heading. He didn’t mind Ivan’s company, but if he let Ivan get him drunk, he might let slip some of his muddled thoughts. That couldn’t happen.
“Actually, yes.” It surprised him that it wasn’t a lie.
Ivan looked just as surprised. He’d teased Kieran more than once about leaving his social life in Seattle and the boring doppelg?nger who had landed in New Jersey.
“Boston flew in this morning. Louis Kessler wants to grab a bite. Says he has something to pick my brain about.”
Honestly, Kieran had no clue what kind of wisdom the cocky twenty-one-year-old expected from him.
It probably had something to do with all the time he’d been racking up in the penalty box lately.
Kessler was making a name for himself as an enforcer.
Sure, every team needed a guy who could throw down, but Boston already had one.
Louis was way too talented to waste his career in the penalty box.
“Kid’s a live wire.”
“Kid’s gonna get his ass traded if he’s not careful.”
Ivan hummed and clapped Kieran on the back. “Have fun.”
Louis was already at the restaurant when Kieran arrived.
He sat in a corner booth, staring at the menu like it was written in a foreign language, nursing a pint of something horrifically orange.
He looked young. Kieran had thought so at the community center, and again when they’d played Boston earlier this season.
Both times, Louis had seemed bulkier in his pads.
Now, in an oversized t-shirt and jeans, clean-shaven and baby-faced, he looked small.
It didn’t add up that this lanky, barely-adult was making a name as a quick-tempered, rough-playing defenseman. Kieran knew what trying to prove yourself, at such a young age, was like. It was a shame Louis was going about it all wrong.
“You old enough to drink?” Kieran joked as he slid into the booth across from Kessler. The kid dropped his menu and flashed a toothy grin, making Kieran grateful he still had all his own teeth. “Bet you still wet the bed.”
Louis laughed, loud and a bit too abrasive.
“Kieran Lloyd! If you’d told me when I was sixteen that one day I’d be sitting across from you in a Red fucking Robin, I probably would have cum in my pants.”
“Overcooked burgers with shitty toppings get you that excited? Might want to see a doctor.”
Louis reached across the table for a complicated half-fist bump, half-handshake greeting. Kieran butchered it, his age shining brighter than a neon sign. Luckily, Louis didn’t call him on it.
They chatted about their seasons, team dynamics, and swapped locker room gossip while they waited for their food.
Their over-eager waitress, who clearly recognized them, took a little too long to get the hint and leave them alone.
Kieran could tell Louis hadn’t invited him here just to catch up, but whatever he wanted to say kept getting stuck behind his teeth.
Not wanting to let the night drag on, Kieran tried to nudge him toward the point. “What did you want to talk to me about?” It came out more blunt than he meant it, but Louis gave him a grateful look like he needed this forced out of him.
“My management team dropped me,” he muttered, pushing a fry through the last of his ketchup like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Because of all the penalty minutes you’ve been racking up?”
Some agents decided a player wasn’t worth the trouble if all he did was cause problems. But as far as Kieran knew, the Boston fans adored him.
Sure, his style of play wasn’t helping his career, but at least his trouble stayed on the ice.
It wasn’t like he was in the tabloids every other weekend, drunk and disorderly.
He had a quick temper on the ice, sure, but off it, at least the two times Kieran had met him, Louis was a total sweetheart.
“Officially, yes,” Louis said with a sigh.
Kieran could read between those lines. Obviously, Louis thought he could help, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. However, bratty managers were a bit outside Kieran’s expertise.
“And unofficially?”
“Ran into a tricky situation a few weeks ago in Vegas. Some fucking photographer caught me pants down in the backroom of a club. Was gonna splash the pics everywhere. My firm got tipped off and managed to bury it, but a few days later, they dropped me.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem fair. It was Vegas, for fuck’s sake.”
Kieran doubted any fan would care about Louis’ seedy hook-up, as long as it was consensual.
Honestly, with some NHL fans, even that might not have been a dealbreaker.
Plenty of older guys in the league had questionable histories with women, and still had the full backing of the NHL and their fan bases.
It wasn’t right, but it was the way things had always been.
“I’m sure half your team was doing the same thing. The only difference is you got caught on camera, and for all we know, they did too. Covering that shit up is literally half your agent’s job.”
“You’re not wrong. That’s the problem—I’m done covering it up. I’m tired of hiding who I am.”
“A red-blooded man who has sex in backrooms of Vegas bars?” Kieran was starting to feel like he’d missed a major plot point.
“Gay, Kieran. I’m tired of covering up that I am gay.”
“Oh.”
“I figured out I was queer when I was twelve. I thought I’d have to choose between that part of me and hockey—but then you came along.
Do you understand how much that meant to kids like me?
Watching a star player be unapologetically out?
For the first time, my sexuality didn’t feel like a price I had to pay to play the sport I loved.
“I came out to my family, who were supportive in the ‘we love you, but keep it to yourself’ kind of way. So I listened. I didn’t push that part of myself down, but I kept it quiet—afraid it would affect my chances of getting drafted.
I keep telling myself, ‘This is the week I’ll do it.
’ But the week passes, and I stay firmly in the closet. I didn’t want to do it anymore.”
Kieran blinked, caught off guard by Louis’ words.
Sure, people had said similar things to him before.
He hadn’t been the first openly gay player in the league, but somehow he’d become the most famous.
Kieran knew he was a role model among queer athletes, whether he liked it or not.
Which meant he should probably have something more meaningful to say.
Louis was wearing his heart on his sleeve, coming out to a guy he’d idolized since he was a kid. Heck, he still was a kid. Kieran’s inspirational speech skills, however, were sorely lacking.
“You knew those photographers were there?”
Louis nodded and took a long sip of his now-warm beer.
“I saw them following me a few blocks from the gay bar, but I went in anyway. I didn’t mean to get photographed like that—maybe subconsciously I wanted to.
I was sick of biding my time. I just wanted to be out as quickly and painlessly as possible.
Nothing screams gay quite as loudly as getting caught sucking dick. ”
Louis let out a broken laugh. His face was stricken, maybe even a little relieved. Saying it out loud seemed to have eased some of the pressure on his chest. Kieran held back the opinion that having photos of you sucking dick plastered across every media outlet might be the worst way to come out.
“So, you asked your agent to let them leak the photos?”
“No. They were bad. I told my team I wanted to come out and asked them to schedule a press conference. Two days later, they dropped me.”
Kieran stared down at the shredded napkin Louis had turned into confetti, searching for something reassuring to say.
He’d never gone through anything like what Louis had.
When he came out to his parents and friends in high school, no one told him to keep quiet about who he was.
When it came time to find an agent, they lined up to meet him, but he refused to consider anyone who didn’t support him being out.
When he was drafted to LA, he told their head coach, Lars Edstrom, in just their second conversation that he was gay and wouldn’t play in the closet.
Edstrom marched him into the locker room and told the team there’d be zero tolerance for homophobia.
They’d barely batted an eye. It turned out Ivan had already been out to the team for years.
Kieran’s longest stint in the closet during his career had been freshman year at Michigan, and only for Matthieu’s sake, not his own. It ended in disaster.
“So, we need to find you a new agent, and then you’ll come out how you want to.
Preferably using a clothes-on method.” Kieran dug into his pocket for his phone, pulled Cole’s contact information, and forwarded it to Louis.
“Call my agent and tell him I sent you. Play up that whole poor, closeted queer kid, ‘Kieran Lloyd is my hero’ act. He will eat that shit right up.”
Louis clutched his phone to his chest, his relief unmistakable. “I knew you’d have an answer for me.”
Kieran hoped he hadn’t overpromised here. Cole probably wasn’t taking on new clients, but Kieran doubted he’d turn down Louis’ sad tale.
“You need to tighten up your game on the ice, though, Louis. I won’t sit here and pretend it’s all unicorns and rainbows.
The league and fans have come a long way—” Jesus, it was like Cole’s voice was coming out of his mouth.
“—but you’ll be under a microscope, at least for the next few years.
Cut down on the penalty minutes. Don’t lead photographers into places you’ll regret being seen.
You should probably do more charity work. Strengthen your image.”
Louis nodded furiously, as if he was scribbling every word down in a mental notebook. “I can do that.”
“In fact,” Kieran added, “I might know just the thing. Remember the community center where we did that event? I’m trying to set something up over the summer, a camp or program for LGBTQ kids. Maybe you could come up for a few weeks and lend a hand.”
“I’d love that,” Louis said, grinning.
Kieran couldn’t tell whether it was the charity work or the idea of spending a few weeks with him that excited Louis more.
“Great. Have your new agent give me a call.”
Louis threw back his head and hit Kieran with another of his abrasive laughs.
The following night, Louis racked up seven minutes of penalties. As a result, Kieran turned on his phone to a disgruntled Cole after the game.
Cole
You have to be kidding me.
Kieran, what the fuck.
Because one arrogant troublemaker wasn’t enough, huh?
And Kieran’s personal favorite.
What do you think I am? A fairy fucking godmother?
Kieran got the feeling Cole and Louis Kessler would get along swimmingly.