Matthias

MATTHIAS

If someone had asked me if I could have an actual good time at an EDM concert without consuming drugs or alcohol, the old me would have scoffed without hesitation.

Now, however, the new me knew better. Because Ciaran's birthday bash was amazing.

The music was hot, the dancing hotter, and the laughter and joy and pleasure of seeing everyone having the time of their life was fun.

Filipe hung out in the pool after his grill master duties were complete, like usual, while Joan dance-flirted with everyone under the sun. Every time she saw Ciaran, she'd peck him on the cheek and tell him what a cutie-pie he was.

His blushing never failed to make me smile.

In short, my endorphins were living their best life.

I didn't need uppers or downers to feel in control of my life.

Was it easy? No. Did I have bad days? Yes.

But I was putting in the effort, one lap at a time, like Ciaran suggested.

Watching Ciaran dance and goof off with his long-time best friends, who were cool as shit, was like watching the sun rise, because it was perfect and almost life changing.

I'd been giving my life a lot of thought. Dr. Nance called it introspection where we'd try to find and address the black holes in my life.

"There's no spackling in this line of business, Matty," Dr. Nance told me early on. "Not if you do it right. You can't stick a Band-Aid over it. You have to want to do the deep, and often difficult, work of identifying your triggers. Once we know the triggers, we can work on unlearning some of the habits you utilize when dealing with the situations you've been subconsciously avoiding."

Like my unhealthy obsession with being the best.

Like my single-minded focus on earning a spot on the National swim team.

Like my goal of avoiding affection.

I tried to explain to Dr. Nance that I'd met Ciaran, that I wasn't avoiding affection at all.

But that's not what Dr. Nance meant.

Because what it really boiled down to was my fear of rejection. Through deep work over many sessions, we'd uncovered that my mother's untimely death fed into a fear of being rejected by anyone who loved me. Which meant I didn't let anyone in. On top of that, Dante moving to Singapore when I was a teenager apparently reinforced this concept in my subconscious mind.

This, in turn, revealed deeper layers as to why I leaned into risky behavior—dares, substance abuse, random hookups, fencing black market contraband—to mask those fears. If I didn't care, then they didn't care, and thus the fear of rejection was avoided.

So, yeah, it was a mess and we were just scratching the surface. I had a lot of work to do.

Meeting Ciaran helped. He came into my life at the right time.

But Dr. Nance warned me not to use Ciaran's love as a crutch to avoid doing the additional heavy lifting.

"I know you love him," Dr. Nance said during a session where I'd cried my heart out. "And that he loves you. But, Matty, do you love yourself?"

Apparently spending a decade working toward one goal wasn't self-love.

"Furthermore," Dr. Nance had continued, even though I wanted to tune him out, " hurting yourself in order to win a competition is a form of self-hatred."

That's what I'd been working on and that's what Ciaran meant when he asked me what I'd been chasing. He'd wondered what was missing in my life. Turned out I wasn't chasing anything. I was running toward anything that could help me avoid confronting what was missing in my life.

The authentic me. The real Vaulteneau. Son, brother, boyfriend, addict.

There were days where all I wanted to do was climb into bed and avoid the world.

And sometimes Ciaran let me.

Other times he didn't. He'd climb in after me and then make me get up and eat and we'd go swim in the ocean until I let the tears fall as he held me tight and tighter still, our feet paddling beneath the water.

Everything was going to hurt before it got better.

And it was getting better.

Meeting Ciaran's friends was honestly one of the highlights of my year because Ciaran got to be surrounded by everyone he loved, which included me. The guys from the swim team were whooping and hollering near the DJ booth while Ciaran's Vegas friends jumped to the beat of the music. Even Franky was having a good time. Half of the team were flat-out in love with her.

Life was good.

So when I was dancing up against a sweaty Ciaran, lost in my own thoughts on how I couldn't wait to give my boyfriend his birthday gift when we were alone tonight, I wasn't eager to turn around to see who was tapping me on the shoulder.

The music was loud, the strobe lights brilliant against the night sky, and all I wanted to do was immerse myself in the scene.

But when that hand impatiently cupped my shoulder to spin me around, the instant smile on my face couldn't conceal just how thrilled I was to see the man standing before me.

"Dante!" I all but shouted as my older brother swooped me into a huge hug. He had Dad's coloring and height with dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a strong jaw that everyone drooled over. People who thought I could be a model obviously hadn't met Dante.

He used to be a swimmer like me but had instead taken up running on a treadmill in his office due to all the stressful hours he worked. He was making a name for himself as the CEO of Inferno Industries, but I wondered if he could use a break. Maybe he'd stick around for a little bit.

"'Sup li'l brother," Dante said with amusement in his voice as he let me go. He looked jet-lagged and would probably crash in the big house soon, but I was excited that he'd made an appearance, even if briefly.

"Glad you could make it!" I yelled over the music.

Dante's eyes flicked to Ciaran, who'd wrapped his arms around my waist to see who I was talking to.

Given the heat and all the dancing we'd been doing, we were both shirtless and shoeless. His cactus-print board shorts were wet and delectably molded to his thighs due to his jumping in the pool two songs ago.

He smelled of sweat and soda, and of course chlorine, the permanent perfume for all swimmers. I was already dreaming about peeling off those shorts and dragging Ciaran into a cool shower before bed tonight.

Dante offered his hand to Ciaran, who took it. "I'm Dante, Matty's very handsome and very successful older brother."

"Dear God, it runs in the family," Ciaran said with a laugh, shifting to stand side by side with me. He slung one arm over my shoulder…this was Ciaran's form of casual possession as well as one of protectiveness. "I'm Ciaran. Thanks for coming to my birthday party."

"Well." Dante arched an eyebrow. "It's not every day my brother's boyfriend-slash-stepbrother turns eighteen." Dante's voice was edging on sardonic and haughty.

It wasn't like Dante actually cared. He knew Ciaran and I were seriously dating and that no one we cared about batted an eyelash.

Only Sal, the paparazzo who followed me like a hawk, liked to dramatize the situation by snapping Ciaran and me surfing or shopping or going out to dinner, and then comparing it to photos he'd take of me and Zoey at a movie premiere. Sal coined it "The Billionaire Son's Love Triangle," which apparently got a lot of clicks. Kinzy told Ciaran, who told me, that there was already fan fiction written about it. "And you know you've made it cultural mainstream," Ciaran had said, "when people write fan fiction about you."

Dante, on the other hand, just liked riling people up to see what they'd do.

I was actually a little nervous to see how Ciaran responded.

"Easy there, cowboy," Ciaran said with a friendly smirk. His bright blue eyes sparkled. "This is a make-up party. My actual birthday was two months ago." He pointed up to the second-floor balcony where Theresa stood with Dad, watching the festivities. "My mom's over there if you want to talk to her about it or file a complaint or whatever." I hid a smile behind my hand. "But you should do it now, before the fireworks. She plans to retire for the night after that."

The expressions flitting across Dante's face were something to behold. He went from looking shocked to pissed to downright mystified.

Then he surprised me by laughing out loud.

"You little shit," Dante teased. "You saw right through me, didn't you, Ciaran?"

"I've become fluent in Vaulteneau," was Ciaran's succinct response.

Dante glanced at me to see my reaction.

"He calls me on my bullshit all the time, Dante," I said. "Daily, in fact."

"Interesting," my brother mused as he looked between us. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him because he squeezed my shoulder affectionately. "Looks like you met your match. You and Dad, both."

"When is it your turn?"

Dante grimaced like I'd opened a wound. "Hopefully never." To Ciaran, he said, "Nice to meet you, Ciaran, and welcome to the family. I'll see you guys at the meeting tomorrow."

We watched Dante disappear into the big house. A second later, Ciaran asked, "What meeting tomorrow?"

I had no intention of telling him that Theresa had called a family meeting where all of us would discuss the best ways to help those in need. If Ciaran really wanted to give away the Vaulteneau wealth, this was his chance. It was going to be a surprise in the morning.

"You'll just have to wait and see," I said.

Ciaran was not amused and was about to pester me for clues.

But I was saved by the fireworks display that launched from a boat out in the ocean.

The party wound down after that and we said our goodbyes to the swim team while Ciaran's friends went inside the main house to spend the night in the third-floor suites.

The lawn and pool were a disaster. I didn't know who was going to clean it up in the morning, but it wasn't me.

"Happy birthday, sweet boy," Joan said after kissing my boyfriend on the lips. We were at front gate waiting for Davies to bring up Joan's car.

Tonight's party hadn't served alcohol, so everyone was safe to drive home.

I pushed Joan aside so I could manhandle my man. "You have your own boy toy," I informed Joan. "Leave mine alone."

"Filipe's resting before Nationals," she pouted. "Which means, among other things, no sex."

"Poor Joan," I quipped just as the purple race car rumbled up the ramp.

Filipe chanced a glance at me before shrugging. "Gotta stay focused, my dude."

Filipe need not have worried about me. Even Ciaran's gaze was thoughtful.

While I hadn't been benched or suspended—the athletic director commended me for enrolling in a rehab program—I'd purposefully withdrew from the competition. I wasn't in the right headspace and my shoulder was injured worse than we'd previously suspected. Nationals would be there next year when I was ready, and if I was lucky, and still swimming, and in a good headspace, I'd work hard to qualify at the Olympic Swim trials in four years.

It all seemed so far away, but in the end I knew I was making the right decision.

I wasn't quitting , Dr. Nance reminded me with some frequency. I was resetting .

It took me a while to believe that.

After Joan and Filipe left, I brought Ciaran into the guesthouse, locked all the doors, and marched him into the bathroom for a quick, cool shower.

"You look like a man with a plan," Ciaran declared as I dried him with a towel. Everything about him was perfect. His body, his mind, his humor, the way he put up with me.

Ciaran's eyes narrowed when I placed a set of pajamas in his hands. Granted, it was just a soft T-shirt and his boxers, but still.

"You do realize it's my birthday party, right, Matty?"

"I take it you want me to fuck you?"

Ciaran blushed so prettily. "Well, yeah."

"Patience, babe. I will, but not right now."

I pulled him into the bedroom. Our bedroom. Over the last few months we'd added our own touches.

My mother's longboard hung from one wall while Ciaran's dad's military decorations, awards, and service flag were on the other.

All of Ciaran's favorite books were stacked neatly on bookshelves. I'd ordered special copies of his favorite series, The Claymourn Chronicles , from the publisher and mailed them to the author to get them signed and personalized. They arrived in the mail last week.

Ciaran hadn't noticed yet, but the first book in the series was on the nightstand, right where I'd placed it earlier today.

Ciaran's steps faltered as soon as we stepped in the room.

There was a large box on the desk. Joan had so many connections that it was ridiculously easy to locate Ciaran's other gift at an antique store in Lake Sherwood.

"Is that for me?" Ciaran squeaked.

"Open it."

Within seconds, Ciaran was ripping paper away and opening the box.

"Oh, my God, Matty!" He looked up, shocked. "Where did you find this?"

Inside lay a very old typewriter from the late 1800s. It was blocky, with pearly off-white keys. It wasn't functional, of course, but it was very cool to look at.

Plus, I hoped it might be a source of inspiration as he wrote his Badger Detective Inspector First Class Earl Shiremarch novel. I loved it when Ciaran told me about his main character.

He'd gushed to me the other week that after years of scribbling down notes and hashing out a "dumb outline"—his words, not mine—he'd written the first two chapters.

Before meeting Ciaran, I didn't know a single thing about badgers, or writers. Now, well, let's just say I knew a lot more than the average citizen about both.

"Happy birthday, babe."

Ciaran tackled me to the bed, pinning my arms over my head, and began to kiss my face in earnest, making me laugh and squirm in the process.

"So you like it?" I asked.

"I love it, thank you, Matty. Best birthday ever!" He leaned back to look at me. "I love you so frickin' much, Vaulteneau."

"I know I'm in trouble when you call me by my full name."

"Not in trouble, unless trying to seduce you is trouble."

I nipped his bottom lip with my teeth. "That's the very definition of trouble, Ciaran." He scowled at me. "You're adorable when you do that."

"Stop being perfect."

"Never. But it's time for your other birthday present." I slid out from beneath Ciaran and moved to the head of the bed. I patted the space beside me. He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. "A while back, you mentioned reading books to each other at night before bed."

Ciaran nodded. He didn't move, but there was a new, hopeful look on his face. Always make Ciaran look like that , I told myself. Make the love of your life deliriously happy.

"Yeah, I remember," Ciaran said carefully.

I showed him the book from the nightstand.

Ciaran went very, very still.

"I thought we could start with this," I said.

"Did you…" Ciaran's eyes watered. "Did you order this, for me?"

"I did. For us . I ordered the whole series so we could read it to each other." Ciaran tried to blink back tears that refused to be held back. "By reading it, I hope to learn why the story means so much to you."

"Why?" He could barely talk. Tears streaked his face.

"You've loved this series since you were six years old." I tried to shrug but it wasn't convincing, not with the tears now falling down my cheeks. "Seemed like a good way to be closer to you…to get to know the version of you before I met you."

"Jesus fuck, Matty," Ciaran sniffed as he crawled up the bed to sit beside me. "This is like, the best gift ever. Better than sex. Like, for my entire life, nothing will ever top this."

I wiped away his tears with my thumb. I wanted to argue about the sex part, because sex with Ciaran was off the charts, but I knew what he meant.

"I dunno," I said, taking his hands. I kissed each of his fingers. "Maybe one day you'll read your novel to me. That'd be pretty great, right?"

Ciaran pressed his lips to mine. They were salty and wet with his tears.

"I can't wait to do that," he said. "I just have to finish the damn thing."

"And you will, babe. One page at a time."

He kissed me again, his lips forming into a smile as he pulled back. "I love you."

"I love you, too." I handed him the book. He looked at the cover like it was priceless, his finger tracing the title, The Haunting Moors of Silver Lake . "You read first."

Ciaran opened the cover and nearly fell apart after seeing that his favorite author had inscribed an encouraging message to him. "To Ciaran Galbraith, a future bestselling author… ~Emily Alsobrooks."

"How? When?" he sputtered.

"I have my ways," was all I offered. "I'm ready to be dazzled by Ms. Alsobrooks."

Grinning, Ciaran flipped to page one and began reading. "Prologue: When the Wise Owl Priestess Persephone first met the brash young Baron Barry Claymourn, he was eight summers old and he was swimming buck naked in the holy waters of Silver Lake…"

As the man I loved read on, Ciaran revealed his soul to me one page at a time.

And what did I do?

I listened very carefully, every night, for the rest of my life.