Page 49 of The Official Problem
Matthieu only sighed and nestled closer against Kieran’s side. Kieran dug his fingertips into his back, as if touch alone could keep the words he needed to say next from driving Matthieu away. It was a foolish hope, but Kieran would never forgive himself if he didn’t try.
He hoped whatever had brought Matthieu to his door last night was stronger than the push and pull they’d been stuck in for weeks—that maybe Matthieu was finally in a place where he could let Kieran in.
He had been a broken man last night. He had chosen Kieran to fall apart against. He had allowed himself to be held together, comforted, wrapped up in Kieran’s arms—and he had stayed.There had been nothing sexual about it. The rules Matthieu had set for their relationship had been obliterated, and not by Kieran. So he had to try.
“I’m going to ask you a question,” Kieran said slowly. “If you don’t want to answer it, just say that, don’t leave.”
He waited through the longest few seconds of his life before Matthieu’s chin gave a soft nod against his shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
To give Matthieu credit, he didn’t immediately bolt from the bed. He did, however, stiffen. When he drew in a huge gulp of air, Kieran thought he hadn’t been successful, but then came a whispered, “No.” So soft and quiet, Kieran would have missed it if Matthieu’s face hadn’t been so close to his cheek that he felt the breath the word carried.
Kieran kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. He wouldn’t push. He knew that just admitting he wasn’t okay was a victory in itself. If that were all the honesty Matthieu could manage in this moment, that would be enough.
The silence stretched so long that Kieran almost changed the subject, until Matthieu whispered, “It’s my mom. She—” His jaw clenched where it rested on Kieran’s shoulder, and he shifted away as if he needed the space to keep going. “She’s in the hospital.”
His voice cracked on the last syllable, and Kieran turned to meet his eyes before he could stop himself. They were more haunted than Kieran had ever seen, dark pools against the soft morning light. Kieran didn’t recognize this version of Matthieu.
The boy he’d fallen in love with all those years ago had been shy, sure, reserved in a way Kieran had found completely addictive. It hadn’t taken much for his walls to come down around Kieran. His hesitant smiles had given way to those addictive grins that lit up his whole face, tinging his cheeks a delicious rosy pink. That boy had laughed so freely, felt joy sowholly. While Kieran had always known there was a darkness in Matthieu—something he kept locked away—he’d rarely let that mask slip.
The man before him now was all cracks—an assemblage of broken pieces held together with little more than false bravado for tape—and Kieran hated it. He hated having to choose his words so carefully around Matthieu, pick apart each sentence, analyze every word for the one that might make him bolt. All he wanted was to pull Matthieu close and put him back together again. It hurt that Matthieu would never let him.
“What happened?”
Matthieu swallowed. “Heart attack.” Then, as if the words had drained him, he turned his head and closed his eyes.
“Will she be okay?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to bring myself to see her. Julie spoke to the doctors yesterday, but…” He trailed off, and Kieran didn’t need to ask why.
Matthieu’s relationship with his mother had been difficult in college. Judging by his expression, time hadn’t healed the rift between them. The first time Matthieu told Kieran what growing up had been like, Kieran had wanted to drive to New Jersey and shake the woman for treating her own son so terribly.
The more Matthieu opened up, the more Kieran realized their relationship was more complicated than he could ever understand. It was better for everyone if he kept his opinions to himself. It wasn’t like Kieran had a shining example of parents to base things on. They weren’t cruel like Matthieu’s mother often had been, but they were indifferent, and sometimes that felt worse. He’d never been stupid enough to admit that to Matthieu.
“I take it things never got better between you?”
Matthieu shook his head. “Worse, maybe.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for the right words. Then he gave up and settled on, “It’s complicated.”
“Well.” Kieran gave Matthieu one last squeeze before rolling out of bed. He grabbed a shirt from the messy pile on the armchair and pulled it over his head, swallowing a chuckle at the disgusted look on Matthieu’s face. Kieran was ninety-five percent sure the T-shirt was clean. “Complicated conversations are best had on a full stomach.”
He walked to his dresser and pulled out a pair of sweatpants that were clearly too small, one of the only items still folded. Trying to hide the smug smile tugging at his lips, he grabbed an old Seattle hoodie and handed both to Matthieu.
Matthieu took them with a questioning look. “Seriously?”
“Unless you want to put last night’s clothes back on.” Kieran pointed to the bathroom. “Shower. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.” To Kieran’s surprise, Matthieu didn’t argue.
Downstairs, Kieran quickly realized that unless Matthieu liked mayonnaise with a side of ketchup for breakfast, there was nothing in the fridge worth offering. He pulled out his phone and ordered what was sure to be too much food from a café a few blocks away. Then he set about making the one thing he could manage: coffee. Kieran loaded his own with too much cream and too much sugar, but made sure to leave Matthieu’s black.
He busied himself by emptying the road-trip duffel he’d abandoned on the floor the night before. He had just tossed everything into the washing machine when the doorbell rang. A wide-eyed Matthieu appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s breakfast,” Kieran muttered, steering Matthieu toward the counter and easing him onto a barstool. “Figured you didn’t eat last night.”
“You didn’t have to…” He trailed off as Kieran opened the door.
NINETEEN
MATTHIEU
