Page 86 of The Official Problem
He could do it behind his back, make an anonymous donation. Kieran had seen stories like that on the news before: single mother of four overjoyed to learn her son’s cancer treatments paid for by good Samaritan.
Kieran could be a good Samaritan. Matthieu would never have to know.
He might suspect, but if there was no way to prove it, Matthieu would have to move on, right? He couldn’t hold it against him, not if Kieran was careful to cover his tracks.
He fumbled with his phone to pull up Cole’s number. These were the kinds of debates you'd talk over with a parent—the kind you’d call your dad about for steady, fatherly advice. Someone to talk you off a cliff, point you in the right direction.
Kieran couldn’t remember the last time he’d called his dad about anything important. He’d answer. They didn’t have a bad relationship. But his dad was excellent at talking about hockey—and hockey only. He could analyze the plays Kieran made and the passes he missed. He had his goal-per-game averages and assist records memorized. Trade rumors and league standings. Games with upcoming rivals. Travel schedules. The works. Once they covered those topics, though, the conversation always stalled, and the phone got passed to his mother.
She was marginally better at talking about non-hockey things, but not by much. It didn’t matter what time of day Kieran called, she was always on her way to something.Can’t talk long. Promised the neighbor I’d help with the garden.He doubted she’d ever stay on the phone long enough to give meaningful advice.
So Cole—the guy he paid to manage his career—was the only one he could talk to about things like this. The only person who seemed to care about Kieran’s decisions, probably because those decisions affected Cole’s bank account as much as Kieran’s.
However, it never felt like talking to Cole was just business. Sure, he’d go on the occasional rant about responsibilities and media-friendly behavior, but when things really mattered to Kieran, Cole stopped and listened. Heck, he’d spilled his guts to the man a few short months ago—begged him for advice, then turned around and ignored it completely. Yet Cole had set aside the well-earned scolding to support him. That went beyond what managers were supposed to do for their clients.
Kieran’s thumb hovered over the contact while he debated what to say.My boyfriend’s mom died, and now he hasridiculous debt. I could make it disappear, but I’m worried he’d hate me.
Cole would say something mature, like,Well, have you tried talking to him?
No.
Maybe start there.
Stupid Cole, and his fully developed prefrontal cortex.
Kieran’s phone buzzed in his hand. He blinked at the screen, half-convinced he’d summoned Cole through sheer angst. Instead, it was Matthieu’s name that lit up the screen. Kieran had added a little heart, followed by an eggplant and a sweat drop emoji to the end, because he was a mature adult, damnit. He pushed his worrying aside and answered with a smile, because that much he could manage.
“Hey Matty, how’d it go?” Kieran kept any sign he already knew out of his tone.
“Really good. She’s grabbing her stuff from her friend’s and coming home.” He sounded so relieved.
“That’s great. I’m glad to hear it.”
A silence followed that, weeks ago, would’ve felt too long but now passed like a full conversation between them. Sometimes, this was all Matthieu needed. He didn’t always have the words or the energy for a conversation, but he liked knowing Kieran was there. Kieran would stay on the line as long as he needed.
“Can I come over once I get her settled?”
“You don’t want to catch up?”
As much as Kieran wanted to hold Matthieu right now, he knew time with his sister mattered more. She’d be on a flight back to Paris in a few days. There weren’t many games left in the season, so Kieran could have Matthieu for the whole summer.
With the recent string of losses, it was starting to look like New Jersey wouldn’t make the playoffs after all. That thought shouldn’t have excited Kieran. He was partly to blame for theshift in standings, and he knew it. His mind was anywhere but on the ice. But his distraction didn’t just hurt him; it affected the whole team—a team that had begun to feel like family after a rocky start to the season.
He had to pull it together, for their sake.
“She’s still on Paris time. Said she’s crashing early.”
Matthieu probably needed the sleep, too, but Kieran would never turn down the chance to see him. It might soothe the restlessness that had seeped into his bones over the last hour.
“Well, in that case, you know you don’t have to ask. Get Julie settled, text me when you’re on your way, and I’ll order us dinner.”
Matthieu hummed in approval and hung up.
Kieran closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. Lord—how long had he been sitting in his driveway, not moving? He hadn’t even realized he’d made it home. All he knew was he had to do something, anything, to ease the pain still hanging over Matthieu like a veil. The little moments of peace and happiness Kieran had gotten from him over the last few months weren’t enough.
He wanted that version of Matthieu every day. For all his days.
Matthieu’s head lay on Kieran’s chest, dark eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. His breaths were slow and even, the lightest brush against Kieran’s skin. He wasn’t asleep, not yet. But he was in that soft place right before dreams pulled him under.
