Chapter 11 Matthieu #2
The voice made Matthieu flinch. He’d known this moment was coming, but still, every instinct screamed at him to tell Kieran to fuck off.
Unfortunately, he was the one who owed the apology.
More than one, really. He needed to beg for forgiveness, mercy, whatever Kieran was willing to give, and pray like hell he wouldn’t go to the league. Or, worse, the police.
“Yeah.” Matthieu kept his eyes forward, ignoring how breathy he sounded. That was the run, had to be. Not the way his heart jackhammered in his chest with Kieran standing so close. “Give me ten minutes.”
Kieran nodded toward the exit and strolled off, hands in his pockets, never looking back. Matthieu used every one of those ten minutes trying, and failing, to pull himself together.
By the time Matthieu found Kieran, most of the overwhelming anxiety had settled, enough for him to fake calm. Kieran stood at the end of the hall, staring so hard at a promotional poster that Matthieu doubted he was actually seeing it.
He wore gym clothes similar to Matthieu’s, except his were designer.
Matthieu’s came from the Walmart clearance rack.
Kieran’s hair was tousled, like he’d run his hands through it too many times.
His skin had that post-workout sheen, even though Matthieu hadn’t seen him lift a single weight.
Matthieu’s gaze caught on a bead of sweat trailing down Kieran's temple, sliding along his neck, and—
Before he could stop himself, Matthieu reached out, thumb brushing the yellowing bruise at the base of Kieran's neck. It matched. Perfectly. The realization made his stomach twist.
“Shit, Kieran, I…” Matthieu started, but he trailed off.
Kieran shook his head without looking up. “Not here,” he muttered, then turned and started down the hall toward a supply closet.
He opened the door and gestured Matthieu inside like it was a conference room and not a janitor’s closet.
Matthieu didn’t argue. He stepped in and pressed himself as far back as the mop buckets would allow.
The door clicked shut. The overhead light flickered on.
The air instantly thinned as if every atom of oxygen had been sucked out of the cramped space.
“I know you hate it when I ask. But… are you okay?”
Matthieu blinked up at Kieran, caught off guard by the tenderness in his words. Kieran looked down at him, brown eyes wide, wearing an expression that could only be described as patient.
For the first time since Kieran had barreled back into his life, Matthieu let himself really look, and it wrecked him to find that Kieran had hardly changed at all.
Sure, he was bulkier now, every inch of him carved from muscle.
His face had lost the last hints of baby fat.
The rest remained unchanged as if no time had passed, as if their lives had been moving forward on a broken clock.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Matthieu said eventually, though the sigh that slipped from Kieran’s plump lips told him it wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for.
“I’m asking you,” Kieran said, firmer this time. “Don’t say ‘fine.’ It’s written all over your face.”
Matthieu hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor. “What I did, Kieran. It was…” Unforgivable. Disgusting. The actions of someone mentally unmoored.
Kieran cut him off. “Fucked up.”
“I know, I’m so—”
Kieran cleared his throat. “Look at me.” Matthieu couldn’t, as if avoiding eye contact could undo the heinous thing he’d done.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Kieran continued. “What happened… it's like…” He stopped, and Matthieu could feel the silence pressing in. “Every time I fall asleep, it’s like I can still feel you against me.”
Jesus Christ. He was telling Matthieu that what happened had traumatized him, that Matthieu’s actions had left real damage.
Deeper than the bruises. Matthieu knew better than anyone that marks on skin faded fast. The ones on the soul?
Not so much. He’d left those marks on Kieran like it was nothing, without thinking of the consequences.
“You should report me,” Matthieu said, his voice scraped raw. “Call the cops. I’ll stay right here. I won’t deny what I did. I…”
“Goddammit, Matthieu, will you let me say what I have to say?” Kieran’s hand landed on the back of Matthieu’s neck. He hadn’t even noticed him stepping closer. “You crossed a line. You know that. I told you to stop, I told you no, I tried to push you away—it was fucked up, Matty. You fucked up.”
Matthieu flinched, bracing himself, waiting for the hit, the shove, for Kieran to slam him into the wall the same way he had a few nights ago. Instead, Kieran’s thumb traced soft, slow circles beneath Matthieu’s hairline.
“The worst part?” He exhaled hard. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop reliving it in every one of my dreams. I can’t stop wanting—no, needing. Maybe that makes me fucked up too.”
Matthieu stared at him, stunned. He must be losing it. That was the only logical explanation—right?
“I assaulted you.” Matthieu couldn’t say the four-letter word for what it really was, because that’s what he was, wasn’t he? A—
But Kieran wasn’t running. He’d dragged Matthieu into a storage closet, out of sight of anyone who might stop this if Matthieu lost it again, and he was looking at him with… longing?
What the hell was wrong with both of them?
“I hurt you,” Matthieu forced the words out. “The marks are right there on your skin. I can’t live with what I did, and I shouldn’t. It’s unforgivable.”
“And yet, I’m choosing to forgive you.” Kieran’s voice had softened more than the moment warranted. “I’m choosing to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”
It was such a typical thing for Kieran to say that Matthieu couldn’t help but snap. “I don’t need your pity.”
How dare he waltz back into his life after all this time, acting like the savior to all of Matthieu’s problems when he didn’t know a damn thing about him anymore.
He didn’t have the right to look at Matthieu the way he was.
He wasn’t allowed to stand there acting like he cared, because Matthieu’s foolish heart might get ideas that he actually meant a single word he said.
Kieran sighed and shook his head, a look of defeat—or more likely exasperation—crossing his gorgeous face. “You never were good at accepting help.”
Why would he be? Matthieu had never had anyone he could rely on. Not once. It was always him carrying the weight of everyone else’s burdens. He didn’t get to complain. Didn’t get to fall apart.
“If talking about whatever is going on with you won’t help,” Kieran said, stepping closer, “then let me in another way.”
“Another way?”
“If having a safe space to lose control helps… if you need a person to take your frustration out on, let me be that person.”
Matthieu blinked up at him, trying to decode what he was saying.
“If you need someone to scream at, if you need someone to push,” Kieran continued. He reached up, brushing a piece of Matthieu’s hair off his forehead. The soft drag of Kieran’s thumb across his temple sent a shiver chasing down Matthieu’s spine.
“If you need someone to take the edge off,” Kieran murmured. “Someone to fuck.”
The offer hung there, heavy and all too tempting. He couldn’t seriously consider this… could he?
The last thing he needed was someone else to take care of, something else to nurture. Yet, that wasn’t what Kieran was offering. He wasn’t asking to be handled delicately. He was offering himself up as an outlet for the anger and emotion that threatened to pull Matthieu under. Sex was just sex.
Aside from Julie’s call that morning, Matthieu hadn’t thought about any of his other problems since he’d fucked Kieran’s face against that wall.
He still wasn’t sleeping, but that wasn’t new.
What was new was the reason. It wasn’t guilt over his mother or the stress of hiding the truth from Julie that kept him up all week.
It was Kieran. More specifically, the memory of how right it had felt to lose himself in Kieran’s mouth.
“You wouldn’t owe me anything,” Kieran said, breaking the silence. “I’m not looking for more than what this is. Take what you need from me and forget the rest.”
Matthieu couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t even find a coherent thought. Still, he felt he had to say something. “Why?”
Kieran gave him a look like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Why do I do anything when it comes to you?” He turned and reached for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle like he was waiting for Matthieu to stop him.
He didn’t—couldn’t.
A few seconds passed. Kieran sighed, “Just think about it.” Then he was gone.