73. Ciaran

73

CIARAN

T he sun was high in the sky by the time I woke.

Every muscle in my body was sore and tight, but also filled with an electric tingling of anticipation, like the rest of my life was starting today.

Or maybe that was just the constant buzzing of Matty's cell phone next to my head. He used a unique text alert chime, so I knew it was his phone and not mine.

How or why it ended up beneath my pillow was anyone's guess, but given that we'd all but disrobed down to our boxers and crashed minutes after talking to our parents last night, my brain was too foggy to process logical thought at the moment.

Honestly, I wasn't even sure whose room we were in. Or what day it was. I was pretty sure it was Memorial Day, and therefore a federal holiday, but given the events of the last several days, it was possible Matty and I were AWOL from school.

"Make it stop," mumbled the lump beside me. Matty's words were slurred, sleepy, and adorable.

I could get used to this , I thought.

Matty, lying on his side, was snuggled up against me, one arm flung over my chest, his skin warm and damp with the heat of our bodies fused together.

Yup, I could get used to waking up with the man I loved plastered against me every morning.

Bravely, I cracked an eye and immediately hissed when sunlight pierced my corneas. "Shit," I groaned.

"Exactly," Matty rumbled into my neck, his lips grazing my throat with lazy, unhurried kisses that spoke of happy contentment.

When we'd first met, I thought he was this untouchable, stuck-up celebrity of a man. Instead, deep down, Matthias Vaulteneau was a lovestruck fool.

"No more love bites," I croaked out once his kisses turned hungry. "My neck is a walking billboard."

Matty chuckled. "But I like branding you, babe."

"Oh, it's only now, after I convinced my mom to let us date, that I find out my boyfriend is possessive," I shot back without any heat.

"You like me being a little possessive, Ciaran."

"Hmmm," I grumbled, shifting so I could peer at him. His phone kept buzzing but we ignored it. Our cozy cocoon was too perfect to let in the real world just yet. "Maybe a little bit."

Slants of light filtered into the room—turned out we were in my bedroom—as the ocean breeze ruffled the curtains through the open balcony door. I could hear squawking pigeons and for a split second I worried they'd prance themselves right into the room.

"So, uh, your mom was fine with us being together?" Matty's calm-sounding words did not fool me, not with his hand pawing at me, as if he'd hold on for dear life if he found out differently. "Theresa doesn't, like, want to murder me?"

I considered drawing it out, making Matty sweat, but we'd both had a difficult few days.

"Murder is off the table," I joked and his lips slanted into a smirk as I wrapped an arm around his hip, pulling him closer. His eyes, though crinkled, were still closed. He was so handsome with his dark, tousled hair, skin-kissed tanned skin, scratchy jaw, and soft lips that begged to be kissed senseless. I could feel his partial erection against my thigh, but neither of us were doing anything to advance things. The bruises and cuts on his face only made him sexier, because he got them while defending me. "Long story short, yes, she's okay with us dating, as long as we're safe and provided the relationship is loving and healthy."

Matty looked at me then, a hint of vulnerability tucked deep in his brown eyes. "Thank God."

Last night's words came back to me. I dare you to love me .

All his dares. His challenges.

Even from the first, when Mom and I drove up to the estate, Matty's defiant gaze and hostile posture were a dare, even if he wasn't aware of it at the time. I dare you to enter my glittering world of wealth and privilege , his body language seemed to be conveying at the time, and survive me .

Loving someone meant more than being attracted to them.

It meant accepting them and wanting to build something with them. Something real. Something true. Something honest.

For Matty, I suspected it also meant: I dare you to discover the real me, the me I don't let anyone else see .

I see you, Matthias Vaulteneau .

"And you told your mom about Asshole Andy, er, I mean Drew fucking Jones?" Matty spat Drew's name like it was poison on his tongue.

I nodded. "She blames herself for not seeing his true colors." I studied the golden flecks in Matty's eyes, the way the muscles in his shoulders flexed as he shimmied closer even though that meant he was now laying half on top of me. Not that I was going to complain. My fingers absently played at the fraying athletic tape covering parts of his shoulder and upper chest. He smelled of earth, of home, of sunny days in the ocean, of chlorine from the Olympic pool in the basement. There was, however, an undercurrent of emotions rippling through him just beneath the surface of his skin, where he wanted to tear Drew from limb to limb. I loved that Matty wanted to be my protector, but it wasn't necessary. "Mom also told me it wasn't my fault, which, deep down, I knew , but hearing her say it was, I don't know, healing, I guess."

"I'm just…" Matty let out a long breath. "I'm just glad she believed you. You hear all the horror stories, you know, where victims aren't believed."

My heart pinched. "Thanks, Matty," I said, not able to fully express how much his words meant to me. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Ciaran." He nuzzled closer.

"And what about your dad? Have you been disinherited from the Vaulteneau wealth?"

"You mean all the wealth you plan to give away?"

"Yeah." I smiled. "That wealth."

"Not yet." Matty snickered. "I've done enough in the past to warrant such an action, but falling for you isn't one of them. My dad was worried that Theresa would leave him, but once I set him straight, he seemed, well, somewhat flabbergasted that I had the capacity to form a true attachment to someone. Not that I blame him, of course. I mean, the fake girlfriend thing certainly tripped him up, and Dad will deal with Asshole Andy and Coach Anderson in his own way—actually, he probably has , given the way our phones are buzzing this morning—but in the end he had no objections to our relationship…provided…" Matty's words stalled.

Matty wasn't wrong about our phones. They were throwing fits at us like toddlers angry at being ignored.

I narrowed my eyes. "Provided what?"

"Provided I entered an out-patient rehab program for substance use disorder treatment."

"Oh," I blurted, and sat up abruptly, because this now seemed like a sitting-up kind of conversation. The sheet fell to my waist, exposing my bare chest, and even with the warm breeze tickling my skin, I felt chilly all of a sudden.

Matty sat up as well, his eyes lowered. He bit at one of his cuticles. "Turns out being blackmailed for snorting cocaine off a penis while drunk and not remembering any of it might be a sign of a problem."

He tried to shuck it off as a joke, but when you put it all together, yeah, Stefon was right: Matty probably had a substance abuse issue.

"Hey." I gathered his hands in mine and forced him to look at me. "You've got this, Matty. I'm not going anywhere, okay? I love you and I'll support you, no matter what, in whatever way you decide is best. Joan and Filipe, our parents, and Franky are all here for you."

"I'm not going off to war, Ciaran. It's just a few hours a week at Malibu's poshest clinic. They probably serve champagne at check-in."

"No, they won't," I said instead of replying with a sarcastic joke. "I'm proud of you. This is a first step and first steps are always difficult."

"I…" He stumbled over his words, which was so unlike him. His eyes were glassy. "I want to be better for you, Ciaran. I want to get better for my team."

"And I'm good with that." I leaned in and kissed him, our lips touching gently. There was no heat to it. Only love, acceptance, and pride. I booped his nose with a finger. "But also get better for you , Matty. I dare you to."

"How do I even start?"

His anguished gaze held mine and my God it broke my heart. Here was a man so used to the world being handed to him on a silver platter that when he had to make choices for himself, even a choice so important to the quality of his health, he doubted what he should do.

And how was it that he looked to me for answers when I had my own demons to exorcise? In some ways it felt like I was just a kid who grew up too fast when my dad died and then when Grandpa Tommy passed away.

My biggest dilemma over the years always seemed to be about how to deal with Drew's attentions and how to pay for college, both of which were now moot points. Yes, I was fifteen when I started helping Mom run the deli, but that didn't make me qualified for something as big as this.

But I needed to find something, some answer, that would speak to Matty's worries, his fears, those doubts swirling in his head that sounded like monsters telling him that he wasn't good enough, smart enough, kind enough, lovable enough.

We all had voices in our heads that were unkind to us.

So when Matty collapsed against me, when my arms wrapped around him, when his breath was a rapid staccato against my chest and when my hand was thick in his hair, stroking his scalp, I said the one thing that might hit home.

"With one lap at a time, Matty. You start with one lap at a time."