Epilogue
IVAN
Ivan looked down at his phone. It had been a day.
A long one. One that started with news he still couldn’t make sense of and ended with the unimaginable.
It didn’t matter how long today had been; the next one would be longer.
Tomorrow, he’d have to walk into a fractured locker room and somehow try to put it back together—at least long enough to make it through the playoffs.
Not that they had a real shot at the Cup.
Even if, by some miracle, they rallied enough to play, without Kieran on the front line, it was pointless. The hole he’d left in their offense was too big. The betrayal he’d left in their hearts was too painful.
A shuffle of feet signaled Jasper’s presence. He slipped into the room, approaching like someone might approach a bear. Ivan didn’t have the energy for this. If Jasper was here to deliver another lecture, it might push him over the edge he’d been walking all day.
To his surprise, his husband said nothing, only held out a folded sheet of paper.
Ivan took it. His eyes tracked the lines, brain struggling to arrange and decode the kind of complicated language Jasper liked to use in his writing.
Reading English had always been hard. When he was this exhausted, he might as well not bother.
Still, he forced himself through it—better that than ask Jasper to read it aloud, like he was a child.
The words writhed across the page, but he managed enough to get the gist, at least. It hurt. “You are publishing this?”
“It’s already done.” Jasper glanced away, knowing better than to meet Ivan’s gaze.
Ivan didn’t get angry often. He was a huge man: tall, muscular, with sharp green eyes, a dark beard, and shaggy hair—a look that put the fear of God in people, even when he smiled. Yet he felt anger now.
Sensing it, Jasper added, “I wanted you to hear it from me instead of reading about it tomorrow. I didn’t have to show you.”
Ivan crumpled the paper. It was that or shake his husband. He would never lay a hand on Jasper, but he wanted to—and not in the passionate way he’d been dreaming about for weeks, either. Not right now.
Kieran was more than a teammate. He was a good friend. They’d shared so much over the years, but Ivan hadn’t seen this coming.
Hadn’t he?
Sure, he might’ve suspected something. He’d noticed the shift in Kieran, seen happiness creep into his life.
If Ivan had let himself believe what was right in front of him, he would’ve seen what those longing glances across the ice had really meant.
That secret smile Kieran only wore when a certain official was near.
It had been right in front of him, but he’d been too wrapped up in his own mess to notice.
It wasn’t his own blindness that stung. No—it was that Kieran hadn’t told him about the man making him so damn happy.
If Kieran had valued Ivan the way Ivan valued him, Kieran would’ve come to him before it all exploded.
He’d thought they’d meant more to each other than that, which wasn’t fair.
Ivan hadn’t told Kieran the truth either.
“What if this was us?” He turned to Jasper, pressing the crumpled paper into his palm. “What if someone else write this about you and me? Hm? How would you feel?”
Jasper sighed again.
“Next article could be us… Then what?”
The media sharks were circling now. Even with Kieran stepping away, the investigation wouldn’t end. The whole team was under a microscope. Half the country didn’t think the Inferno deserved a playoff spot. There was no room for error. No room for…
“They know we’re married, Ivan.” The lack of emotion in Jasper’s voice shouldn’t have shocked him. Jasper was a damn shark, too. “That’s ridiculous, and you know it. It’s not the same thing.”
“They do not know about him,” Ivan snapped, meeting Jasper’s eyes. Sadness filled them—something Ivan rarely saw.
Uncomfortable with Ivan’s sudden focus, or maybe his words, Jasper shifted on his feet, adjusting his glasses. But he didn’t look away. “No, they don’t.” The words were quiet, almost bitter.
The bed behind them creaked as weight shifted, springs loosening and contracting again.
“And what if they did, hockey player,” that goddamn voice purred. The words raced up Ivan’s spine, igniting every nerve ending as he walked to Ivan’s side. “A chto, yesli oni obo mne uznayut?” What if they found out about me? “Would you walk away from hockey, too?”
His hand rested lightly on Ivan’s shoulder, the touch burning through layers of fabric. “Would you claim me, or would you cast me aside?”
Ivan met those ice-blue eyes.
It was a good question—one he wasn’t sure he had the answer to.
Hockey was Ivan’s entire life, the only thing he’d clung to as a child.
His ticket out of a country that would’ve thrown him in prison—or worse—if they’d known the truth.
Hockey wasn’t just his livelihood; it had been his entire existence for so long.
At thirty-six, it was no secret these were his last years playing. He’d already been asked casually if he’d consider coaching. Ivan was one of the defensive greats. Just because his days suiting up and skating out were ending didn’t mean his relationship with hockey would.
That changed when Jasper was forced into his life, derailing that path and making Ivan question every plan he had.
He looked at his husband, then at the man just over his shoulder. The words were hard to say—not because his English failed, but because Ivan hadn’t found the courage to voice them. To admit them to himself, let alone out loud.
“Alexei,” he started slowly, voice thick. “You should know this by now… I’d do anything for you… for both of you.”
Thank you so much for reading The Official Problem.