Chapter 26 Matthieu
TWENTY-SIX
MATTHIEU
Matthieu hesitated on the top step outside Kieran’s front door.
In his left hand, he clutched the world’s crappiest present: hand towels.
Because what else were you supposed to get a multimillionaire who could buy anything he wanted?
Something he’d never want, apparently, since Matthieu had been alarmed to discover Kieran dried everything with paper towels.
Entire rainforests had probably been felled thanks to the man’s paper goods consumption alone.
In his other hand, Matthieu clutched a key.
A key to the townhouse’s front door.
Kieran had given it to him the week prior, just pressed it into Matthieu’s palm as he was leaving, like it hadn’t been a big deal.
He’d tried to push it back, stuttering something about not needing it.
Kieran had smiled and curled Matthieu’s fingers around it.
So Matthieu had tucked it into his pocket, unable to face the permanence of adding it to his keychain.
He hadn’t used it yet. Kieran always answered the door within seconds anyway, and Matthieu was unlikely to show up when he wasn’t home.
But it had meant something to Kieran, which left Matthieu hovering now, debating whether to stick the stupid thing in the lock.
He couldn’t imagine wandering in, shouting “Honey, I’m home” from the threshold.
Luckily, Kieran made the decision for him, yanking open the door and ushering Matthieu inside before he could catch a cold.
“You know, it works better if you actually use the key,” Kieran teased.
He was wearing a Christmas sweater: solid forest green, with a red Santa hat stitched on, fur lining the rim, and a pompom stuck to the top.
For a man who seemed to own only workout gear and game day suits, it was a startling contrast. Matthieu tugged at the hem of his decidedly unfestive sweater and unwound his boring black scarf.
He felt like he’d missed the dress code memo.
“I was working up to it,” Matthieu grumbled, letting Kieran take the tiny gift bag and scarf from his hand.
Matthieu slipped off his shoes and left them neatly by the front door, surprised to find Kieran’s already sitting tidily on the mat.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Kieran said, pulling him into a hug.
“Because I’m sure you didn’t get me anything either.”
Kieran’s smile told Matthieu everything he needed to know. He wanted to burn the stupid hand towels before Kieran could see what a foolish idea they’d been. Instead, he let Kieran tilt his chin up and press soft but frantic kisses to his lips, backing him slowly into the living room.
Matthieu was very okay with this. All he’d wanted all day—all week, really—was to lose himself in Kieran. To push him down onto the couch, crawl into his lap, and rut against him until they came apart together. To his protest, Kieran gave him a little shove, spinning him toward the—
Matthieu stopped short, trying to make sense of what he saw.
It looked like Christmas had thrown up in here.
A garland wrapped around the banister, dotted with red and gold ornaments tucked between bows holding it in place.
A tree stood in the corner, like it had been summoned straight from the pages of Country Living.
Its frosted white tips screamed money, and a buffalo-plaid tree skirt circled the base.
The fireplace—real wood-burning, not just for show—crackled beneath honest-to-God stockings hanging from the mantel.
He turned slowly and found Kieran grinning, clearly enjoying the look of shock on Matthieu’s face.
“Surprise,” Kieran whispered, kissing the tip of Matthieu’s still freezing nose. He ran his hands up and down Matthieu’s arms, as if he could rub the warmth back in. “What do you think, Matty?”
It took Matthieu a moment to realize he was still standing there staring. “When did you have time to do this?” he managed, his voice brittle and croaky. Hadn’t Kieran flown in this morning?
“I called in a favor with one of the WAPs. The housekeeper let her in yesterday; she did all the decorating.”
“It’s very… festive?”
“Well, it is Christmas and all.”
Matthieu couldn’t remember the last time he’d decorated for Christmas.
Probably that first one he and Julie spent together after he became her official guardian.
It hadn’t been like this, though. He’d found a tree being given away on Facebook and assembled it one day while Julie was at school.
It wasn’t until he clicked the last tired, slightly bald plastic branches into place that he realized they didn’t own a single ornament—and sank to his knees in front of the thing and cried.
By the time Julie got home, he’d recovered slightly.
The smile on her face when he presented it to her healed most of the hurt.
They spent that night making ornaments out of paper and old boxes they’d found by the apartment dumpster, hanging them with paper clips as hooks.
She gave him the biggest hug and called it the best Christmas ever.
It had been a terrible Christmas, really, but she’d known Matthieu needed to hear that so he could hold it together.
The memory made his heart ache. It made him want to break down and finally call her. The problem was that he wasn’t sure she would answer.
“Do you usually decorate for Christmas?” he asked around the lump in his throat.
“Not usually. But this year, I had someone to decorate for.”
Oh. Oh. That made Matthieu’s heart do weird, bouncy things.
He swallowed the urge to tell Kieran he shouldn’t have bothered—that he didn’t need garlands, or a tree, or gifts. The only thing he wanted for Christmas stood less than a foot away, eager and expectant, waiting for his approval.
“Thank you,” he whispered once he’d managed to pull himself together. There was absolutely not a tear forming in the corner of his eye. “I love it.”
The grin that broke across Kieran’s face was dazzling. “I hoped you would. Can I get you a drink?”
“Water’s fine.”
Kieran disappeared into the kitchen, like he sensed Matthieu needed a moment.
Matthieu kept his back turned, staring at the Christmas tree, willing his face to stop doing the scrunched-up thing it did when tears were imminent.
He wasn’t sure why this was hitting him so hard.
He’d just never had someone care enough to make something special for him.
There was a soft clink of glasses on the coffee table, and then two strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
Kieran pressed gentle, open-mouthed kisses into the side of Matthieu’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, which probably still carried hospital disinfectant.
He didn’t seem to mind. He stayed there, surrounding Matthieu with warmth, rocking slightly as Matthieu finally let himself feel the emotions barreling through him.
“It’s not the same without Julie here,” he confessed. He felt like an asshole admitting that, when Kieran had gone out of his way to do all this.
Kieran hummed softly in understanding.
“I’m sorry,” Matthieu whispered.
“None of that.” Kieran turned him slowly, looking down at him with the world’s most earnest eyes.
“I know Christmas is hard this year, with Julie away and your mom in the hospital. I wanted to make it a little happier, but you’re allowed to feel sad.
We can call Julie if you want. Maybe I can get her to talk to you.
And tomorrow, we’ll visit your mom again.
Novak’s wife left homemade cookies. We could bring her some? ”
Matthieu didn’t deserve a man like Kieran. Never had. Never would.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered against Kieran’s lips.
“Nah, that’s all you.”
They stood for what felt like hours, pressed together, eyes locked, lips millimeters apart.
Tears traced quiet tracks down Matthieu’s face.
Kieran whispered soft reassurances into the space between them.
He didn’t hurry him or complain that Matthieu was ruining the night he’d planned.
He was just patient. Present. Solid, until Matthieu finally blinked the last of it away.
He felt raw, but Kieran was already soothing the wounds, spreading himself across the lacerations in Matthieu’s heart and healing the worst of the fractures. Matthieu thought he might be okay now that Kieran was back in his life. That felt like the biggest Christmas gift of all.
“Can I give you your present now?” Kieran asked, setting down his half-eaten Mongolian beef on the coffee table and jumping to his feet before Matthieu could object.
Kieran had threatened to cook a full Christmas spread once Matthieu was strong enough to stand on his own again, but they’d settled on takeout once Matthieu promised to help with the Christmas cooking if they pushed it off until tomorrow.
Matthieu was a good cook—or at least, he liked to think he was.
He’d had plenty of practice over the years, taking care of himself and Julie, even before their mother had been moved to Oakcrest.
Kieran reappeared with a medium-sized box, horribly wrapped in at least three kinds of paper and what looked like an entire roll of tape. He shoved it into Matthieu’s lap. It was heavier than expected.
“I wish you hadn’t,” he muttered, picking at a torn corner of the wrapping.
“I think you’ll like it.”
Matthieu did like it. Scratch that, he loved it.
It had taken some serious effort to free the gift from its wrapped prison, but now the box sat open in his lap, he was in very real danger of crying again.
When had he become someone who felt so many damn emotions?
At least lately, they were the weepy kind—the kind that came with leaking eyes, not the ragey ones that paired well with holes in the wall.
“It’s too much,” he protested, looking up at Kieran over the top of his brand-new Bauer Vapor hockey skates.