Page 70 of The Official Problem
The league avoided scheduling games on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, giving players and staff a chance to celebrate with their families, at least those close to home. Matthieu had lucked out and gotten the day after Christmas off, too. A fact he knew—thanks to committing the Inferno’s schedule to memory—was also true for Kieran.
“Spend them with me?”
Maybe if Matthieu hadn’t been so warm. Maybe if he hadn't been riding the high of release. Maybe if Kieran hadn’t whispered those words across the four hundred miles between them, voice full of hope and love, Matthieu would have said no. That it felt too soon. That he’d be in a terrible mood that day and would rather be alone.
Instead, he took a deep breath and promised, “Okay.”
When Matthieu’s alarm went off, his phone screen was dark. The bed was empty and cold. A message was waiting: three emojis—a Santa hat, a reindeer, and a red heart.
Kieran
See you in five days, love.
It shouldn’t have made Matthieu smile as much as it did.
TWENTY-SIX
MATTHIEU
Christmas Eve 2023 - Newark
Matthieu hesitated on the top step outside Kieran’s front door. In his left hand, he clutched the world’s crappiest present: hand towels. Because what else were you supposed to get a multimillionaire who could buy anything he wanted? Something he’d never want, apparently, since Matthieu had been alarmed to discover Kieran dried everything with paper towels. Entire rainforests had probably been felled thanks to the man’s paper goods consumption alone.
In his other hand, Matthieu clutched a key.
A key to the townhouse’s front door.
Kieran had given it to him the week prior, just pressed it into Matthieu’s palm as he was leaving, like it hadn’t been a big deal. He’d tried to push it back, stuttering something about not needing it. Kieran had smiled and curled Matthieu’s fingers around it. So Matthieu had tucked it into his pocket, unable to face the permanence of adding it to his keychain.
He hadn’t used it yet. Kieran always answered the door within seconds anyway, and Matthieu was unlikely to show up when he wasn’t home. But it had meant something to Kieran,which left Matthieu hovering now, debating whether to stick the stupid thing in the lock. He couldn’t imagine wandering in, shouting “Honey, I’m home” from the threshold.
Luckily, Kieran made the decision for him, yanking open the door and ushering Matthieu inside before he could catch a cold.
“You know, it works better if you actually use the key,” Kieran teased.
He was wearing a Christmas sweater: solid forest green, with a red Santa hat stitched on, fur lining the rim, and a pompom stuck to the top. For a man who seemed to own only workout gear and game day suits, it was a startling contrast. Matthieu tugged at the hem of his decidedly unfestive sweater and unwound his boring black scarf. He felt like he’d missed the dress code memo.
“I was working up to it,” Matthieu grumbled, letting Kieran take the tiny gift bag and scarf from his hand.
Matthieu slipped off his shoes and left them neatly by the front door, surprised to find Kieran’s already sitting tidily on the mat.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Kieran said, pulling him into a hug.
“Because I’m sure you didn’t get me anything either.”
Kieran’s smile told Matthieu everything he needed to know. He wanted to burn the stupid hand towels before Kieran could see what a foolish idea they’d been. Instead, he let Kieran tilt his chin up and press soft but frantic kisses to his lips, backing him slowly into the living room.
Matthieu was very okay with this. All he’d wanted all day—all week, really—was to lose himself in Kieran. To push him down onto the couch, crawl into his lap, and rut against him until they came apart together. To his protest, Kieran gave him a little shove, spinning him toward the?—
Matthieu stopped short, trying to make sense of what he saw. It looked like Christmas had thrown up in here. A garland wrapped around the banister, dotted with red and gold ornaments tucked between bows holding it in place. A tree stood in the corner, like it had been summoned straight from the pages ofCountry Living. Its frosted white tips screamed money, and a buffalo-plaid tree skirt circled the base. The fireplace—real wood-burning, not just for show—crackled beneath honest-to-God stockings hanging from the mantel.
He turned slowly and found Kieran grinning, clearly enjoying the look of shock on Matthieu’s face.
“Surprise,” Kieran whispered, kissing the tip of Matthieu’s still freezing nose. He ran his hands up and down Matthieu’s arms, as if he could rub the warmth back in. “What do you think, Matty?”
It took Matthieu a moment to realize he was still standing there staring. “When did you have time to do this?” he managed, his voice brittle and croaky. Hadn’t Kieran flown in this morning?
“I called in a favor with one of the WAPs. The housekeeper let her in yesterday; she did all the decorating.”
