Page 54 of The Official Problem
“Have you eaten?” Kieran asked as they stepped into the late afternoon. “We can stop somewhere on the way. My treat?”
Matthieu knew what this was. Kieran was trying to take care of him in the gentlest way he knew how, slipping comfort into casual suggestions so it wouldn’t feel like pity. Part of Matthieu wanted to resist it, to fight Kieran’s interference like always. Hewanted to push Kieran away because it was routine, because it was safe, because it was what Kieran expected. But Matthieu was too tired, too wrung out to keep pretending he didn’t want someone to hold him up for once.
He let out a long breath. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Okay. That sounds… good.”
Kieran glanced at him, maybe expecting a caveat, maybe even a fight—the familiar push and pull, the tug of war that had become their norm. Kieran offering his hand. Matthieu slapping it away. Kieran didn’t question it. He just gave a slight nod and unlocked the Jeep. Matthieu climbed in, trying not to think too hard about the fact that, for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe he wasn’t entirely alone.
Suzy’s Diner was a Newark staple. For as long as Matthieu could remember, it had sat on the corner a few blocks from his childhood home. Try as he might, he couldn’t recall a single time it had ever been closed. Rain or shine, under feet of snow, the little OPEN light had been a permanent fixture beside the stainless steel doors.
He’d spent countless nights in high school crammed into a booth, working on schoolwork, avoiding home. Suzy herself would serve him extra slices of pie.It’ll have to be tossed anyway,she’d say whenever he protested. She knew why he haunted the place. He knew she knew. But she never said a word—just kept his drink filled, casually pointing out mistakes in his math homework as she bussed tables around him.
Suzy had passed away years ago, and the little diner was inherited by a son who never set foot inside. Still, the loyalworkers who’d once served under Suzy had kept it much the same.
Kieran, of course, had no idea what this place meant to Matthieu when he pulled into the parking lot and muttered, “Does this place look okay?” as if he hadn’t stumbled into Matthieu’s refuge during the most challenging years of his life.
“Yeah. Looks good.”
They slipped into a booth along the back wall. The server who’d greeted them dropped off plastic menus before disappearing to grab waters. It was quiet at this time of day—a lull between the lunch and dinner crowds. Matthieu was grateful for the peace, grateful Kieran didn’t seem in a rush to break it. Matthieu pretended to study the menu, flipping the laminated sheet front to back before setting it on the scratched tabletop. Kieran mirrored him, draping his arm along the back of the booth as he gazed out at the street beyond the smudged window.
It wouldn’t be long before the snow started falling again. The mid-afternoon sky had turned that pale, vast gray that always foreshadowed bitter cold. The world felt still for a moment: just the quiet chatter from the only other occupied table a few booths over, and the soft, steady breaths drifting from Kieran’s plump lips.
Matthieu wanted to reach across the table and take Kieran’s hand, his fingertips curled over the edge like an offering. It would be so easy, Matthieu thought—so easy to slip their fingers together. A small act they’d done a thousand times before: on tabletops and laps, under jackets on the team bus, between sheets in cheap hotel rooms. Hands always reaching, always finding each other.
Now, after all this time, it would mean everything. Change everything.
“What can I get you, boys?” Matthieu was grateful for the server’s well-timed return. He’d been moments away from doing something incredibly foolish.
“Can I get a double cheeseburger, medium? Extra bacon, if that’s possible, and a side of onion rings,” Kieran rattled off.
She pulled a pencil from her hair bun with a flourish, jotted down the order, and turned to Matthieu.
“A Cobb salad, please,” he said quietly.
“Sure thing, hun. Anything else to drink?”
“Do you have milkshakes?” Kieran asked, lighting up like an overexcited child.
“Vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, or peanut butter.”
“Peanut butter.”
She scribbled another note before whisking away with a breezy, “It’ll be right out.”
“You still eat like a rabbit, then?” The corners of Kieran’s mouth tugged into that cocksure grin that did insane, tumbly things to Matthieu’s insides.
“You still eat like shit?”
“I’m a professional athlete, fuck you very much. I need calories to burn.”
“I’m sure your team nutritionist would have a lot to say about what calories you should be consuming. I’m also fairly certain saturated fat, pumped full of sodium, isn’t on the list. I don’t know how you skate so fast with all that in your system.”
Kieran had always eaten that way. Before every game, at every team dinner, he’d find the most unhealthy item in the buffet and pile his plate high like he was daring the food to slow him down.
Kieran chuckled. They’d had this debate countless times before.
“Wait,” Matthieu said suddenly. “You were supposed to report for weight training today. You’ll get fined.”
Kieran waved a hand like it was no big deal. “I borrowed the hospital’s gym.”
