Page 75 of The Official Problem
“Julie was legally too young to look after herself,” Matthieu continued. “It didn’t matter that she’d already been doing it for years. The option was foster care or me going home to petition for guardianship. I didn’t have to think twice.”
Of course he hadn’t. Matthieu had always been selfless. When a teammate needed something, he was the first to step in. When Kieran wanted to rant about a bad game or an unfair call, Matthieu always listened. Kieran had seen him take countless calls from Julie back then, speaking in low, hushed, reassuring tones.
He put everyone—strangers included—before himself. That was who he’d always been. Even when it was hard. Even when it cost him too much of himself.
“You’re a good man,” Kieran croaked.
“I’m not so sure that’s true.” Shame flickered across his face, his hand trembling slightly in Kieran’s. “When Julie called to tell me our mother had a heart attack, you know what I thought? I thought, God, I hope she didn’t make it. I hope she finally put us all out of our misery so I don’t have to play this part anymore. Who thinks like that, Kieran? What does that make me?”
What must that feel like—the tug of war between being the son Matthieu was expected to be and the reality that the person he was supposed to care for had caused him so much pain? It wasn’t the black-and-white thing Matthieu was making it out to be.
“I think it makes you human,” he said finally.
“I think it makes me no better than her.” Matthieu let out a long sigh, his jaw tightening like he was fighting the urge to argue, to reject Kieran’s compassion outright. His eyes dropped to the table. “The worst part is it’s genetic.”
Kieran’s heart stuttered.
“There’s about a thirty to forty percent chance I could develop it.” He looked up slowly, eyes glassy. “That Julie could.”
“Is there a test or something?”
Matthieu shook his head. “No. All we can do is watch for and manage the symptoms: personality changes, trouble with emotional regulation, violent outbursts.” He listed each one like someone checking off symptoms they’d already seen in themself. “I see my mother in me every day,” he whispered. “It feels like there’s a guillotine hanging over my head. I know it’s going to fall. I know it’s going to kill me, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”
“You said you could manage the symptoms, right? If you’re concerned, you need to see a doctor. You need to get help now.”
Matthieu let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “What’s the point? The ending’s the same.”
Kieran leaned forward, not letting him pull away. “You can’t seriously believe that. You can’t honestly tell me your childhood wouldn’t have been better if she’d accepted help—that her life, your life, Julie’s life wouldn’t have been different if someone had caught it early, if she’d actually tried.”
Matthieu flinched.
“You’re not her, Matty. You still have time.” He didn’t look up, but he didn’t pull away either. Kieran gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “No matter what the future brings, I’m here. You’re not doing this alone anymore.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
MATTHIEU
February 2024 - Newark
If the click of Kieran’s key in the lock didn’t give him away, the stomping feet and the crash of his duffel on the hardwood certainly did. Kieran arrived everywhere like a storm—a flurry of bags, shoes, and coats discarded as fast and loud as possible.
He’d always been the same. Back at Michigan State, the team had a running joke about it. No one knew about them romantically, but it wasn’t a secret how close they were—the best of friends. “Fire and water,” their coach would tease. Kieran, all power and destructive force. Matthieu, calm and steady like a river.
The corner of Matthieu’s mouth lifted at the irony. Kieran might have been a hurricane on the outside, but inside he was steady as they came. Matthieu was the real mess. The order he maintained was only a disguise, carefully crafted to hide the chaos within.
Kieran was the only reason Matthieu had made it through the last few weeks. His mother had been discharged shortly after Christmas, only to be readmitted a few short weeks later. It wasn’t another heart attack, but a murmur serious enough thatthe doctors kept her under closer watch. Since then, it had been a constant whirlwind of back-and-forth. She flipped from doing great to on death’s door and back within a matter of hours.
If Matthieu let himself be bitter, he’d swear she was doing it on purpose—another way to derail his life. He knew that wasn’t fair. He knew thinking that made him a terrible person.
Matthieu tried to visit when he could. With his travel schedule and his need to spend every moment with Kieran when he was home, visits happened less than they should have. Most days, the guilt still ate at him. But hearing Kieran’s calming voice—in person or over the phone—was enough to settle his anxiety.
Kieran was muttering something, still unaware of Matthieu’s presence. He’d parked around the corner, partly to surprise Kieran, mostly because it was the first open spot in the neighborhood. Not that Kieran should be surprised. Spending Christmas together had unlocked something in Matthieu, and the need to keep him at arm’s length had faded.
Matthieu spent most of his downtime at Kieran’s, whether he was there or not. It was the only way he could sleep lately—enveloped in the scent clinging to Kieran’s sheets. Something was shifting between them. Sure, they’d promised each other they’d actually try, but now Matthieu was committed. He wanted them as much as Kieran did, and it no longer scared him.
So he used Kieran’s obliviousness to admire how stunning his boyfriend was. God, that word made everything in Matthieu’s chest tumble. If you’d told him a year ago—hell, even six months ago—that he’d be sitting in Kieran’s house thinking words likeboyfriendagain,he’d have called you crazy. Yet here he was.
Kieran stared at his phone, tapping away with a furrowed brow. His tie hung loose beneath the collar of his shirt, untucked and half-buttoned, like he’d started undressing on the drivehome. Kieran’s lack of awareness was astounding. Matthieu could have been a burglar, and he’d be none the wiser.
