Page 52 of The Official Problem
Forty-five minutes later, Matthieu sat in Kieran’s Jeep, heading north along Route 21. Some god-awful Top 40 hit played on the radio, Kieran tapping his fingertips against the steering wheel to the beat.
Matthieu could tell Kieran was doing his best to limit the nervous glances in his direction. He was also failing miserably, as if he needed to check every minute or so in case Matthieu leapt from the vehicle halfway there. The image of opening the door and rolling into traffic shouldn’t have been so appealing.
Matthieu tugged Kieran’s hoodie tighter around him. It hung loose on his smaller frame, but the lining was soft, the sort of fleece that made you want to burrow into it like a cat. Then there was the fact it belonged to Kieran—that he’d given it to Matthieu to wear. Matthieu reveled in the caveman-like act of Kieran giving him something so obviously his. It felt claiming.
God, did Matthieu want to be claimed by this man?
He shut that thought down before it gained traction.
Kieran pulled off the highway into the hospital parking lot. Matthieu had assumed Kieran would drop him at the front doors and leave. Instead, he parked in visitor parking and climbed out after him.
“What are you doing?”
Kieran glanced around him like Matthieu might be talking to someone else, then raised a questioning brow. “I’m coming in with you to see your mom.”
“Is that a good idea?” Matthieu asked. When Kieran still looked confused, he added, “What if someone sees us together and tells the media?”
“So what? Aren’t we old friends? If anyone asks, I’ll tell the truth.”
“Which is?”
“We were close in college. I heard about your mother’s heart attack and wanted to show my support.” Kieran’s tone was matter-of-fact, like he hadn’t inserted himself into the center of Matthieu’s fragile mess of a life, like his presence didn’t make everything both easier and infinitely harder.
Matthieu didn’t have the energy to argue. He nodded once, turned, and strode across the parking lot without checking if Kieran was following. He didn’t need to. Kieran’s presence clung to him like a second skin.
Inside, the familiar antiseptic chill of places like this wrapped around him. Matthieu stuffed his hands into the pockets ofKieran’s hoodie, as if the leftover warmth might insulate him from everything ahead.
At the check-in desk, Matthieu gave his mother’s name to a woman who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. The fact he was making her do her job was an inconvenience.
“I’m her son,” Matthieu added when she kept staring, nonplused. It sounded like a guilty confession.
She nodded once, clicked her long nails against the keyboard, and frowned before looking back at him. “She’s in the ICU. Only immediate family is allowed visitation right now.”
She directed that last part to Kieran. Matthieu opened his mouth, a protest already forming—He’s with me. It’s fine. I can’t do this without him.—but Kieran’s hand landed gently on his back, grounding him.
“No worries,” Kieran said easily, like he hadn’t disrupted his whole day to be here. “I’ll keep busy. Go. Take your time.”
Matthieu turned to look at him—no inconvenience in Kieran’s eyes. No pressure. Just calm steadiness, like this wasn’t a big deal, like sitting in a hospital lobby alone while Matthieu faced his demons was exactly how Kieran wanted to spend his Friday after a eight-day road trip.
“Are you sure?” Matthieu asked quietly.
“I’ll be around. Text me when you’re ready.”
Matthieu wanted to say thank you, but the words felt too small for everything Kieran was giving him by being here. He just nodded, fingers tightening around the hoodie cuffs as Kieran settled into a seat and pulled out his phone, his large frame too long for the seats crammed awkwardly together.
“This way,” said a woman to Matthieu’s right. He turned to find a new nurse beside him, kind-faced, a stark contrast to the grumpy gatekeeper from earlier. “We need to get you a visitor’s badge, then I’ll take you up.”
He handed over his ID to the security guard, which, considering the mess he’d left his apartment in last night, he was lucky to still have. A moment later, he was following the nurse through a maze of bleach-scented corridors. The low hum of machines filled the air, broken only by the occasional intercom message or distant monitor beep. The nurse made casual chatter, likely trying to fill the heavy silence that clung to Matthieu these days, but soon gave up when she realized her efforts were wasted.
Matthieu wasn’t trying to be rude. She seemed sweet enough. But he needed to save his social battery for whatever waited behind the ICU door.
“She’s been conscious since admission, but only in short bursts,” the nurse said. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re here. He’ll stop by with a full update soon.”
Matthieu managed a half smile, then pushed his way inside.
His mother looked small in the hospital bed. Smaller than she had just a few weeks ago. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her graying hair clung to her temples, fine as spider silk. Tubes snaked from her arms and her nose, trailing off the bed into machines that blinked quietly at her side.
The sight of her lying there—so tiny, so alone—knocked the breath from Matthieu’s lungs. Guilt hit him like a freight train. He should’ve come yesterday, the moment Julie called. Hell, he never should've let it get to the point where he couldn’t take the hospital’s call himself.
