Page 87 of The Official Problem
Kieran loved every side of Matthieu; however, this one might be his favorite. When all his walls were down and his hard edgesfiled away, he looked at peace, like the warmth of Kieran’s arms was enough to block out all the noise echoing in his head. All the guilt, doubt, and self-loathing he carried with him. Matthieu thought he hid it well, but Kieran saw it in every line of his face, every time his brow scrunched or unease flickered through his eyes. There was no evidence of it now.
Kieran leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to Matthieu’s jaw. His beard was gone, just the slightest shadow of a day’s worth of growth left behind. He’d wanted it shaved for the funeral, something about starting fresh, so Kieran had shaved it for him, even knowing he’d mourn its loss.
He’d picked him up by the backs of his thighs and deposited him on the counter, then ran his fingers gently down the side of Matthieu’s face, massaging in the shaving cream. Matthieu had protested, more out of habit than anything. Kieran simply leaned forward and kissed him into submission.
“I can do it, sweetheart,” Matthieu grumbled when Kieran finally released his lips.
“Matty, I swear to God—if you don’t let me take care of you.”
He’d given up the fight with a hmph and a playful slap to Kieran’s chest. His eyes never left Kieran’s face as he slid the razor slowly, oh so carefully, across his cheek. He hadn’t flinched once—just trust and something that looked a lot like devotion in those brown eyes. The softness of the moment had eaten Kieran alive.
He knew he was in love with this man. But with that one look, Kieran knew he’d never recover if he let that love slip through his fingers.
Now, after the weight of the day, holding this perfect man in his arms, Kieran realized there might be something more important than his own ability to survive this. His heart would keep beating if Matthieu disappeared from his life. It would be a slow, weak pulse, but he’d struggle on, like he’d done before.What he couldn’t survive was watching Matthieu suffer another day—knowing the struggles weighing on him, yet doing nothing. Pasting on a smile. Pretending everything was fine when Kieran could take some of that burden away.
Was knowing Matthieu was okay a worthy trade-off for potentially losing his love altogether? Was it really a choice? Was it even certain that doing this would make Matthieu walk away?
Even if he did, he’d walked away once before, and they’d still found their way back to each other, hadn’t they? It had taken ten years, but the universe had cast them back together.
He could wait another ten years.
He would wait twenty.
He would wait every second of his life if it meant that when it ended, his hand would be in Matthieu’s. He could die content if he’d used his life to make Matthieu’s better. Nothing else mattered. Not his career. Not a Stanley Cup ring. Those things used to matter, but not anymore.
He brushed a finger down the bridge of Matthieu’s nose, over the slight bump left by Jørgensen’s fist. He held back a chuckle as Matthieu nuzzled in closer, a soft, sleepy noise falling from his lips. He was fully under now; he wouldn’t have done it if he weren’t.
Kieran should wake him and take him to bed. It was already late, and he had an early practice followed by a late flight. It would be a long day, made even worse by the inevitable crick in his neck from sleeping on the designer sofa. He didn’t have the heart to move him, not yet. Not when, for the first time all day, Matthieu was finally at peace.
A phone buzzed to Kieran’s left, and he glanced over instinctively, assuming it was his. Julie’s name flashed up on the screen.
Julie
I think you should ask Kieran to help, Matthieu.
I know you are too proud to, but if he loves you the way you love him, he would gladly make all this go away.
Just like that, Kieran had the permission he needed. He would make it go away. He would do anything. No cost was too great.
Kieran moved slowly, careful not to wake Matthieu, as he reached for the phone. He held it in front of Matthieu’s face to unlock it, then quickly forwarded Julie’s number to himself, deleting the evidence once it was done. He set the phone back down where he’d retrieved it from and pulled out his own.
Matthieu stirred, but settled again as Kieran exhaled in relief.
He thumbed out a quick message to Julie.
Kieran
It’s Kieran.
Send me pictures of the bills. I’ll take care of it.
Matthieu can’t know.
It didn’t take long for her to reply.
Julie
He’ll find out eventually. Debt doesn’t just disappear. Did you talk to him?
