Chapter 11 Matthieu
ELEVEN
MATTHIEU
Julie’s name flashing across Matthieu’s phone screen couldn’t mean anything good.
They’d been in near-constant contact since she left for Paris a few months ago, but not once had she actually called.
Calls were reserved for bigger things. After what happened at the club last week, Matthieu wasn’t sure he had it in him to face whatever this was going to be.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, like that might drag him out of whatever spiral he’d fallen into.
Truth was, he hadn’t been sleeping. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Kieran’s face, thought about the way he’d thrust into his hot, perfect mouth as he took and took and took what he needed.
He didn’t know what scared him more: that he had it in him to take like that, to force himself on someone…
or that Kieran had let him. That Kieran had wanted it, maybe even liked it, despite his broken little sounds and the way he’d begged him to stop.
Which was insane. Matthieu knew that.
What he’d done to Kieran was disgusting.
Degrading. And—let’s not forget—illegal.
He half expected the next knock on the door to be the cops, here to haul him off.
He was pretty sure he was slowly losing his grip on reality.
The monster he’d been in that moment scared the hell out of him, or at least, he thought it should. Maybe that was just him now.
He answered before the call could go to voicemail, holding the phone to his ear without saying a word. Julie, long used to his silent answering, chimed in cheerfully, “Bonsoir!”
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Sick?” He didn’t bother to hide his panic.
“What? No, Matthieu. Jeez, I wanted to chat.” The sunshine in her voice faded in under a second; he had that effect on people lately.
When exactly had he become the kind of person who sucked the joy out of everyone? Julie didn’t deserve that. She was pure light, the only warmth that had ever pierced through the bleak mess of their childhood.
“Sorry. Didn’t sleep much. Tell me about school while I make coffee. How are classes going? Alexei’s been asking about you.”
“Alexei!” Julie practically screamed into his ear. “Tell that gorgeous specimen I said hello, and that one day, I’d like to lick him.”
Matthieu scoffed, hoping she could hear the eye roll. “Not a chance in hell I’m telling him that.”
“Fine.” Julie sighed, loud and theatrical, then launched into a winding story about one of her professors, the Arc de Triomphe, and a Vespa.
It didn’t take long before Matthieu found himself laughing too, the sour mood cracking just enough to let a little light in.
That was the thing about Julie; her warmth didn’t just comfort, it cut straight through the shadows and made him feel human again.
He missed her more than he could say and ached for her to come home.
That had to be it, right? The mood swings.
The hopelessness. The choking, all-consuming pressure.
He’d gotten used to Julie canceling out the worst parts of him.
With her thousands of miles away, they were creeping back in.
That had to be all it was. She’d come back soon, and life would go back to normal—or whatever passed for normal.
“…then the guy buys ten kilograms by mistake, thinking it was pounds. I swear, he’s completely clueless. Long story short, I’ve been living on Brie for a week. I don’t think I’ve ever been this bloated.”
She paused, clearly waiting for a response. Matthieu had drifted so far into his head that he had no idea what they were talking about anymore, but he was almost certain she’d moved on from drunk professors on Vespas.
He defaulted to a safe response. “Ten pounds still seems like way too much Brie.”
“That’s what I said!” Julie laughed, apparently satisfied with his answer.
“So, what’s new with you, brother? How’s the season? Any more run-ins with what’s-his-name?”
Kieran fucking Lloyd. The name haunted him even after a week.
“Fine. Barely seen him.” Except in every goddamn nightmare. “Been busy. Feels like I’ve spent more time on planes than on the ice.”
Julie hummed, and the pause that followed set off every internal alarm he had. Matthieu felt a weight coil in his gut. Whatever was coming, he wouldn’t like it.
“I needed to ask you something before you go.”
She needed more money, Matthieu guessed—the one thing he didn’t have.
“This program’s been incredible, Matthieu. I’m learning so much, finally seeing the world like I always dreamed. It’s easier to focus over here, away from the chaos of New York and…” Julie trailed off. Away from Mom.
“I want to extend for another semester. I know it’s expensive, and the scholarship barely covers anything, but Dr. Moreau mentioned a grant. It could cover housing, maybe groceries too. That would help… right?”
Matthieu pulled the phone away, sighing loudly.
Everything Julie had managed to calm in him over the past ten minutes came flooding back in.
His sad, pathetic bank account couldn’t cover rent, let alone bankroll another semester of baguettes and overpriced textbooks.
He couldn’t say no to Julie, though. He’d find a way.
“Yeah, Julebug,” he said, dusting off the childhood pet name. “That’ll help. Apply for it. Tell me when the payment’s due. I’ll figure it out.”
Maybe he’d take out a loan, the one thing he’d managed to avoid all these years.
Julie squealed. “I knew I could count on you, big brother! When I’m home, I’ll get a job right away, even if it’s waiting tables. I’ll pay you back, I promise. Every cent.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “It’s the least I can do.”
They hung up soon after. Matthieu only then realized how much time had slipped past. He was now officially late to meet Alexei at the gym. The coffee sat cold and forgotten on the counter. He reheated it, threw a change of clothes and a towel into his bag, and headed out the door.
Twenty minutes later, Matthieu pulled into the Inferno’s training facility, where Alexei was already waiting by the front doors.
“Everything okay?” Alexei asked as Matthieu approached, clearly concerned, even if he was only a few minutes late.
“Yeah. Got talking to Julie. Lost track of time.”
“Ma chérie!” Those two were absolutely insufferable. “Is Paris still treating her well?” Alexei asked, holding the door open before falling into step beside him.
“Too well. She wants to stay another semester. Says Paris suits her educational style better than New Jersey. Weird, huh?”
Alexei huffed, his brow creasing in that same concerned way Matthieu was starting to hate.
Out of Matthieu’s depressingly small friend pool, Alexei was the only one who knew even a fraction of the mess that was his finances.
He’d kept it buried for years, but one night, a few too many drinks had loosened his tongue, and most of the truth had spilled out.
At least the part about Julie and their mother’s care.
The rest, the darker parts, he kept to himself.
The ones where he wondered if he should even be taking care of her after everything she’d done.
The guilt that crushed him every time he thought it.
To Alexei and everyone else, Matthieu was the dutiful son, taking care of his poor, sick mother.
Sometimes, he didn’t know why he bothered keeping up the act.
“You said the study abroad was expensive.”
It wasn’t a question, so Matthieu didn’t answer as he turned into the training room.
“I can help, if…”
“No, Alexei,” Matthieu cut him off. He valued their friendship too much to let money fuck it up. “I’ve got a plan. It’s fine. One more semester. After that, Julie will be working, and she can pay me back.” They both knew that was bullshit. He’d never take a cent from her.
“Okay. The offer still stands if you need it.” Alexei’s voice softened. At least he wasn’t the pushy type. “Let’s get warmed up.”
The gym, if you could even call this massive facility that, was mostly empty, aside from a few Inferno players lifting at the far end. Matthieu only recognized one of them out of uniform—Andre Nix, the starting goalie, who tossed a lazy wave their way.
He and Alexei headed in the opposite direction, toward the treadmills.
Refs didn’t need to be as strong as players, but they had to keep their endurance up.
The game moved fast at the NHL level. Even with four of them on the ice, it could feel like being in two places at once.
Matthieu had to be fast, sharp, and constantly moving.
That had been the biggest shock when he moved up from the AHL last year.
The guys in the minors were quick, but in the NHL? Inhuman.
To keep up, he ran daily. Miles and miles, until his lungs burned and his stomach threatened to revolt. Better to hit that wall training than mid-game in front of twenty thousand people.
Matthieu quickly dropped into a zoned-out rhythm.
Alexei ran beside him, but Matthieu barely registered his presence.
The hum of the treadmill became his soundtrack.
Most people found it strange he didn’t run with music, but to him, it was just noise—another distraction.
Music let him pretend for a second that the outside world didn’t exist, that his life wasn’t quietly crumbling, held together by little more than tape.
What better motivation to run than trying to outrun his mind?
Eventually, Alexei tapped his arm and pointed toward the weight rack. He spent way more time lifting than Matthieu, and as a result, had significantly more upper-body mass. Matthieu waved him off. He still had miles to go before his legs gave out. After the week he’d had, he needed the punishment.
Alexei didn’t argue, but Matthieu caught the quick, nervous glance he shot toward the door. A second later, the reason for it appeared to Matthieu’s left.
“You got a minute?”