Page 82 of The Official Problem
He stared himself down in the mirror, trying not to focus on all the parts that didn’t look like his mother. Today was about her, not the deadbeat son of a bitch who’d given her a child she hadn’t wanted, then skipped town like he was just passing through.
Matthieu took a deep breath. His tie still hung, a thin piece of fabric around his neck. He’d never been especially good at tying them, and now he was out of practice.
“You ready?” Kieran said from the doorway.
“No,” Matthieu answered. But also yes.
Yes, he was more than ready to lay his mother to rest. To put this chapter behind him, once and for all—or as far behind him as he could with the mounting pile of bills arriving daily. He’d taken to shoving them in a kitchen drawer, hoping that ifhe couldn’t see them, maybe they’d pay themselves. That was a worry for another day.
“Let me get that.”
Kieran’s hands came up, strong and capable, long fingers wrapping around the silk. This he’d allowed Kieran to lend him, the only pop of color in his mourning palette: a soft lilac, his mother’s favorite.
“I wish I could come with you,” Kieran muttered.
Matthieu wished that too. He needed him more than anything today. If he had any hope of getting through the next few hours, he’d have to draw his strength from someone else. It couldn’t be Kieran. Alexei and his sister would have to do, even though only one of them was currently speaking to him.
Julie had arrived two days earlier. Matthieu had asked for her flight details so he could pick her up from the airport. Instead, he got a text: she’d arrived and was staying with a friend, not in the room she’d called home since she was a teenager.
Matthieu ground his teeth.
She blamed him. For what exactly, he wasn’t sure. Their mother had been in the hospital, for God’s sake, when she passed—a myocardial infarction, her heart too weak to keep going. In the end, there was nothing they could do. Matthieu not being at her bedside wouldn’t have made the slightest difference.
Maybe it was what he’d said to Julie the last time they spoke. Maybe she thought his callous words had somehow spoken this into existence.
“You’ll be here when I get back?” he asked as Kieran straightened the knot he’d tied. It was perfect. A decade of pro sports had made tying a tie something he could do in his sleep.
“Of course, Matty. If you’ve changed your mind, I could at least wait in the car so you don’t have to drive yourself.”
“Alexei’s got it handled.”
Kieran didn’t argue, just nodded. They both knew he couldn’t stand by Matthieu’s side today.
Matthieu didn’t expect a large crowd, just Julie, Alexei, and himself. A few nurses from the care home had promised to come, and Scott had flown in from Toronto to show his support. That was a phone call he hadn’t expected. “The league and I want to share our deepest condolences, Matthieu. We are so very sorry for your loss.”
People kept saying that.So sorry for your loss.
The platitude rubbed him the wrong way. The fact that it rubbed him the wrong way rubbed him the wrong way. Sylvie Bouchard would be buried outside the city, in the graveyard of a small church she’d never set foot in, by a son who had not loved her. No one wassorry for the loss.
Matthieu looked up. Kieran’s dark, sincere eyes were already on him.
Who would be there when Matthieu died? A similar, thin crowd. Alexei. Julie. A scattered collection of medical staff who’d cared for him in his final days. Certainly no children. Matthieu would not, could not, risk passing his broken genetic code to anyone else. Would Kieran come? Would he even be ableto come?
“I wish I could take some of this away.” Kieran smoothed the tension between Matthieu’s brows with the pad of his thumb.
“You do,” Matthieu said, the lump in his throat ten days thick. “It would’ve been worse without you.”
Kieran hadn’t been able to be there as much as either of them would’ve liked. Apart from the one-day break, he’d managed to negotiate with his Coach to fly halfway across the country for twenty-four hours. That day had been a blur, Matthieu experiencing it like a third party. Kieran had called the funeral home and made arrangements to get Julie back to the U.S. He’d ordered from his food service, stocking Matthieu’s fridge withready-made meals and his pantry with snacks and drinks. He’d spoken in hushed whispers with Alexei while Matthieu sat there, staring at the gray wall, trying to feel anything but numb.
Then he left for Miami, then Tampa Bay. Matthieu didn’t know if they’d won either game. By the time Kieran got home, he was exhausted. He’d spread himself too thin, giving up hours meant for rest and prep to hold Matthieu’s pieces together. The Inferno had dropped the last three at home.
A knock came at Matthieu’s door, Alexei this time. “We need to head out. Julie just got here.”
Matthieu nodded and let Kieran give his shoulders one last reassuring squeeze. “I love you,” Kieran said.
Matthieu couldn’t say it, but Kieran knew he loved him too.
He followed Alexei into the living room. Julie was nowhere in sight.
