Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
KIERAN
Kieran should have left.
The door to Matthieu’s apartment clicked shut behind him, and he’d been seconds from heading downstairs. Then Julie’s voice drifted through the paper-thin wall, followed by Matthieu’s. Kieran edged closer, listening in on the whole conversation.
Just in case Matthieu needed him. The last time he’d really talked to Julie, she’d torn into him, leaving him a shell of the Matthieu Kieran knew. So he stayed, driven by a vague, protective instinct.
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” Matthieu had just said.
Kieran knew he was behind financially, knew the hospital bills were piling up. Still, two hundred thousand dollars? That was the sort of debt people didn’t recover from.
Matthieu’s voice sounded again through the wall. “…then we can head out.”
Shit. He had minutes to get out of the parking lot before Matthieu realized he’d been eavesdropping. He turned on his heel and jogged down the stairs. Luckily, he made it out of the parking lot unnoticed.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Matthieu didn’t have that.
They didn’t talk about money. But that night, when Matthieu had first shown up at his door, he’d said enough. Just a few days ago, Kieran had caught the look on Matthieu’s face as he shoved mail into the kitchen drawer, thinking Kieran hadn’t noticed.
He couldn’t afford that, even with Julie’s help.
Kieran could. He had twice that amount sitting in his bank account right now.
Cole had set him up with a financial advisor who handled most of his money through some kind of portfolio—investments Kieran didn’t even pretend to understand. But a large chunk still hit his account twice a month. He barely spent it.
It felt conceited to say two hundred thousand dollars meant nothing to him. It was still a heck of a lot of money, yet money he could spend without feeling it. What was the point in having it if he couldn’t use it to help the people he loved?
Kieran couldn’t imagine Matthieu willingly accepting that kind of money.
He’d seen it in Matthieu’s eyes when he unboxed those skates—that quick internal battle before he finally gave in and said thank you.
The skates had been a small thing, at least for Kieran.
Taking this burden from Matthieu would be something else entirely.
Something Matthieu would never agree to.
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 has ridiculous 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 the shift 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.
Kieran loved every side of Matthieu; however, this one might be his favorite.
When all his walls were down and his hard edges filed 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 J?rgensen’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?
Kieran
I’ll tell him, but only once there is nothing he can do about it.
I want to help. We both know he won’t let me.
A string of messages followed, photos of bills with numbers so high they made Kieran’s eyes cross.
It was worse than Matthieu had said, closer to three hundred thousand.
The debt stretched back almost five years, the interest and penalties inflating it far beyond the original balance.
There were also the more recent ones, for Matthieu’s mother’s multiple hospital stays.
It confirmed what Kieran had feared: Matthieu would never dig his way out of this. Debt like this would follow him for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t be able to breathe for as long as this hung over him.
Kieran
Consider it done.
He couldn’t handle it right away, but once he was back from the next road trip, the last of the season, he’d make all this disappear. He just had to pray that Matthieu wouldn’t disappear with it.