Chapter 32 Matthieu
THIRTY-TWO
MATTHIEU
The distant hum of the stadium crowd vibrated in the air. Even in the officials’ changing room, buried deep in the arena, the crowd’s energy buzzed like an electric current. It was the final game of the regular season: New Jersey vs. Detroit.
For most teams, the final game held little significance. Playoff spots were clinched. Matchups locked. These games were little more than fanfare, an encore for the home crowd, a send-off before the real fight began.
Not for the Inferno. For them, tonight was everything. Win in regulation or watch the season end. No overtime. No second chances. Just sixty minutes to claw into the final playoff spot, or let it all slip through their fingers.
Alexei flopped onto the bench across from Matthieu, shooting him one of those knowing looks.
It was just the two of them for now, though it wouldn’t be for long.
Harvey was off doing God knows what in the back office, and Jamison was taking his sweet time showing up.
Matthieu resisted a smile at the irony. The same guys who’d been on the ice with him that fateful night last March—the day everything changed, the day his life cracked wide open.
The day he nearly lost everything, and somehow ended up with more than he ever believed he deserved.
“Doing okay?” The question was casual, but Alexei’s look was anything but. The kind you gave someone you knew too well.
Matthieu rolled his eyes. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Alexei glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. “A lot riding on tonight.” What he meant lingered in the silence between them: Think you can stay objective?
“Not for me or you,” Matthieu replied, tone even. “Tonight’s just another night reffing hockey.”
Alexei huffed. “If you’re sure.”
“I’d like to think you know me better than to believe I’d do something stupid and tilt the game toward one team.” He hesitated. “If anything, I’ve more to gain from a loss than a win.”
It wasn’t a lie. The part of him that wanted to be a good boyfriend rooted for the Inferno. The selfish part, the louder part, wanted them to lose. Wanted Kieran’s season to end tonight, so his summer could start tomorrow.
Kieran had talked about leaving the city.
Going overseas. Maybe visiting Paris to see Julie before her semester ended.
Matthieu had never been abroad, but that wasn’t what excited him the most. In Paris, Kieran wasn’t famous.
They could be just another couple, wandering the city of love.
Matthieu could hold his hand in public. They could simply exist, no hiding, no secrecy.
“Maybe I should ask you the same.” He shot back, unfairly bitter. Alexei had asked a perfectly valid question, but it got under his skin. “Does this mutual friend of yours with a certain captain have any influence over how you’re planning to ref tonight?”
A quiet knock hit the door before Alexei could bite back a response.
Probably for the best—he looked like he’d been gearing up for a fight.
Matthieu didn’t know where the hostile energy was coming from.
They never fought. He knew Alexei well enough not to take it personally.
Something was up, but the locker room door creaked open and a sheepish head of blond hair peeked in, cutting Matthieu off before he could ask.
“Are you stupid hockey player?” Alexei snapped as more of Kieran’s torso came into view.
Kieran ignored him, eyes locked on Matthieu. “You got a minute?”
“Uh… yeah. Give me a second, I’ll meet you out in the hall.”
The door clicked closed. Matthieu stood before Alexei could launch into the lecture he was clearly preparing.
Kieran waited around the corner, back against the cinderblock wall, eyes closed, head tipped back like he was trying to steady himself.
The crowd noise was louder out here, cheers and chants echoing through the tunnels like war drums. He was fully dressed from the waist down, skates laced, pants secured, gloves tucked under one arm.
His black compression shirt stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, warm-up sweat clinging to his neck.
He looked like a man carrying something heavy on his back.
“Everything okay?” Matthieu asked, coming to a stop beside him. Kieran flinched at the sound of his voice.
“Yeah.” Kieran exhaled. “Big night, you know.”
“How’s the team feeling?”
Kieran let out a short laugh. “No one’s saying it, but it feels like they’re already bracing for the worst. Like we’ve already lost.” He shrugged. “Ivan’s trying to rally them now.”
“You didn’t think you could use a little rallying yourself?” Kieran’s teammates weren’t the only ones who had already accepted defeat. It practically radiated off him.
“I just wanted to see you.”
Matthieu offered a small, careful smile, checked the hallway, then stepped a little closer.
Not close enough. Never close enough. He wanted to reach for his face, hold it steady, tell him it would be okay, even if he didn’t know it was true.
He wanted to kiss him, like all the other players’ partners probably had tonight, whispering Good luck, I love you, go get ‘em, sweetheart.
They didn’t get that. Not here. Not yet.
He hated it, even though he understood it, even though they were only keeping this secret to try to protect his career. Ten years had passed, and somehow things were still the same, only now with higher stakes.
“Is it terrible to say part of me wants to lose?” Kieran’s voice was so soft that Matthieu barely caught it.
“You don’t want a shot at the Cup.”
Kieran smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Of course I do. Eight years in the league, and it’s the one thing I’ve never touched.
Did you know LA won the year after they traded me to Seattle?
” He shook his head. “Felt like it was stolen from me.” He dragged a hand down his face.
“Honestly, if we won this year, I’d be tempted to retire. ”
“You don’t mean that?”
Kieran didn’t answer right away. He looked back up at the ceiling, jaw working as if he were chewing the thought down before it escaped.
“Maybe I do. Or maybe I’m just tired. I always get a little morose near the end of the season.”
He was probably exhausted. The last few months had pushed him hard, and that was without Matthieu’s drama bleeding into their relationship.
Kieran took it all on without complaint, like he always did.
He was spreading himself too thin, not that he’d ever let Matthieu tell him that.
A win tonight meant a week off before nearly nonstop hockey until they either won the Cup or got knocked out.
If they went all the way, it meant eight more weeks of the most intense hockey the sport could offer.
Kieran’s whole world had been hockey since he laced up his first skates at six.
From the stories, it had been obvious, even as a kid, that he was destined to go far on the ice.
So his parents had put him in every hockey camp and program known to man; early mornings before school, travel teams on weekends, billeting through juniors, then Michigan, straight into the NHL.
Twenty-five years of nonstop competitive hockey, going up against the best in the sport.
“All you can do is play your best sixty,” Matthieu murmured. “Tomorrow we can sleep in.”
Kieran gave a faint smile, but he didn’t move.
Matthieu saw the nerves rippling beneath his skin, the pressure threatening to crack him open.
He wished he had the right words, something soothing to say.
Kieran always knew how to calm him. Matthieu had never been good at returning the favor.
He’d never hated that fact more than in that moment.
“You should get back,” he said at last, once it was obvious Kieran had nothing more to say. “Before they send a search party.” He didn’t want him to go, but they’d been lucky to steal the few minutes they’d already had without being caught.
Kieran nodded. “See you tonight?”
“Of course.”
Kieran extended his hand. Matthieu hesitated for a beat, glanced both ways, then reached out and twined their fingers in a quiet, lingering squeeze.
“Go kick ass, superstar. I’ll be silently cheering you on.”
Kieran chuckled. “Careful what you say. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re biased.” He brushed a kiss against Matthieu’s cheek and slipped away.
The words weren’t meant to wound, but they landed like a bruise all the same.
They’d barely made it through half a season like this—meeting in shadows, holding hands behind closed doors.
How were they supposed to survive four more years in secret?
How could he stay quiet when, every time he looked at Kieran, it felt like his heart clawed out of his chest?
Alexei always teased that Matthieu’s feelings were written all over his face. But how long until someone else caught on? How long could he hide how in love he was with this man?
He shook the thought away as Harvey pushed through the changing room door. “Okay?” the older ref asked, pausing long enough to catch the tension in Matthieu’s face.
“Yeah,” Matthieu lied, offering the kind of half-smile that fooled no one. “Just thinking about my mom,” he added, because that’s what Harvey, no doubt, expected him to say.
The league had given him two weeks off for bereavement after her death. Tonight wasn’t his first game back, but if he were a normal grieving son, she’d still weigh on his mind.
Harvey squeezed his shoulder gently. “I know she’d be proud of you.” Then he continued down the hall before Matthieu could say the woman had never been proud of him a single day in his life. Death likely hadn’t changed that.