by Kane, Jessa
If I wasn’t determined to speak to Mason, I would join her in the shower. I’d get down on my knees and lick away the soreness I caused until the spray turned cold. This conversation needs to happen now, though. Because I’m not letting Lyssa out of my fucking sight. She’s mine. I’m going to make her my wife at the earliest opportunity and for that to happen—as much as it pains me—I can’t wait much longer for Mason to tell me the truth.
A creak signals me to glance up and I find my son hovering on the top of the staircase, his gaze searching the living room below, where I reside. “Hey!” He trundles down a few more steps. “Where is Lyssa?”
“Showering.”
Tongue tucked into his cheek, Mason appears to be subduing a smile. “Oh,” he says breezily. “Must have been a real messy hike.”
His (literal) tongue-in-cheek comment confirms my earlier suspicion that Mason has been pushing me and Lyssa together on purpose. Unfortunately, that means my son thinks I’m the kind of man who’d fuck his girlfriend—and I’ve proven him correct. I let out a sigh. “Do you mind if we talk?”
He falls onto the couch, throwing his arms out along the backrest. “Sure, Dad. What’s up?”
I sit down across from him, hands clasped loosely between my knees. “Mason, I know we’re not very close. Your mother raised you and I was overseas a lot when you were young, but…I love you. No matter what. I just wanted you to know.”
“Oh shit.” His voice cracks a little and I can see the telltale redness in his eyes. I’m not a man who deals well with displays of emotion but I force myself not to look away. “Was not expecting that,” he adds with a watery laugh. “Are you telling me this because you think I’m going to get angry about you and Lyssa?”
My chin comes up. “You knew.”
“Of course I knew.” He throws up his hands. “I’ve been pretending to write an econ paper for twenty-four hours so you guys could be alone.”
“Why?”
He regards me like I’ve got a screw loose. “Seriously? You two almost spontaneously combusted the second you laid eyes on each other. I’ve never seen Lyssa glance twice at a man. When you walked out of the house, her uterus started singing opera. And you…” His voice softens. “You looked at her like she’d just dropped from the sky with a halo over her head.”
Hadn’t she? Without thinking, I glance toward the top of the stairs, starved for the sight of her. “So you purposely put me and your…girlfriend alone?”
Mason is suddenly absorbed by his fingernails. “Who am I to stand in the way of true love?”
“Mason…”
“What?”
I take a breath. “She was never your girlfriend to begin with.”
His gaze shoots to mine. “You sound pretty sure.”
“I am.”
Some of the color leaves his face. “How?”
I don’t answer. I don’t say anything, because I’ve already said too much. The rest needs to be done on his own terms. For long, tense moments, I think my son is going to shut down and end the conversation. But he surprises me by sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders.
“Dad, I’m gay.”
Pressure ebbs from my chest. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You don’t sound surprised.” His head falls back on an incredulous laugh. “Jesus, how long have you known?”
“Mason, I’m a military trained fact finder. And I have Instagram.” I clear the crowded feeling from my throat. “I love you and I’m glad you told me.”
“Thanks.” He swipes at his eyes. “So you knew you weren’t hitting on my actual girlfriend. Does Lyssa know you never bought our act?”
“No. She never told me your secret. And I think it would make her feel a lot better if she knew you’ve been pushing us together on purpose.” My attention ticks back to the staircase. “I think she’s feeling pretty damn guilty right now.”
Mason waggles his eyebrows. “Must have been some hike.”
“I love her.” I swallow hard, but I can’t dislodge whatever is trapped in my throat. “Think I fell in love before she ever opened her mouth. I’m not going to lie to you, son, we’ve been physical, but it’s a hell of a lot more than that. She’s my girl and I aim to marry her.”
“Excuse me? You’re not dragging my best friend up to the Catskills.”
“You let me worry about the details.”
My son looks like he wants to argue more, but doesn’t. Instead, he cups his hands around his mouth and calls back toward the stairs. “Lyssa! Come here!”
Silence follows.
The shower is still running. It’s possible she can’t hear us.
But when I count back and realize she’s been in the shower for at least fifteen minutes, something sharp prods me in the gut. “Lyssa,” I boom, coming to my feet.
Still nothing.
With my heart thumping in my ears, I take the stairs two at a time and throw open the door, finding her room empty. No clothes or toiletries anywhere. No overnight bag. Panic rips holes in my stomach lining as I advance to the bathroom and kick the door open. There’s no one in the running shower.
My howl is loud enough to wake the dead.
Spinning blindly back into the bedroom, I see the open window and know she’s climbed out. This side of the house is on a slant, so it wouldn’t have been a far drop, but I throw my upper half over the sill anyway, terrified I’m going to find her broken on the ground. But no. She’s not there, she’s just gone. Gone.
Something white on the ground grabs my attention and I stoop down to snatch it up. A note. I unfold it and devour the contents.
Mason, I didn’t mean for it to happen.
But I fell in love with John.
Please know I would never have hurt you for a lesser reason.
I’m so sorry and I hope you’ll forgive me in time.
I’m taking an Uber to the bus station.
Don’t worry about me—and please tell him not to come after me.
Love, Lyssa
She loves me. Even as my heart swells to the point of pain, it’s ravaged by the knowledge that she wants me to let her go. Not on your fucking life, sweetness.
“Uh oh,” Mason says behind me, sitting down slowly on the edge of the bed. “I guess this is what I get for playing games. She took off because she thought she betrayed me, didn’t she?” I confirm with a grunt and he groans, falling backward on the bed. “I should have told her I wanted you two to get together. She thought she was broken or something after the attack, but it’s obvious she wasn’t. Seeing that made me so happy.”
Attack. That’s the only word I can hear, over and over.
Attack.
She’s returning to the city where someone accosted her and he was never caught. The very idea of her being vulnerable to him and a million other threats posed by such a huge, chaotic place ties me in knots.
“I have to stop the bus,” I rasp, lunging from the room. “I’ll find out which one she’s on. I’ll bring her home—”
“Whoa, Dad. Hold up.” My son’s voice brings me up short. “If Lyssa digs her heels in, you’re only going to decrease your chances with her by using brute force. She doesn’t respond well to hostility. I can already tell your plan is to carry her off the bus over your shoulder like a caveman.”
“She said she loved me,” I growl.
“And if you want to keep it that way…” Mason folds his hands in his lap. “You need a better game plan. I know her better than anyone, right? Let me help.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lyssa
My pace quickens on the sidewalk, the evening wind kicking up a swirl of leaves around my ankles. Four-story brownstones line the block of a route I know like the back of my hand. It’s one I took every day of my youth, all the way through high school.
I’ve been staying with my mother the last two nights in Brooklyn, ever since hightailing it out of the Catskills. I know I have to face Mason eventually, but the fact that he hasn’t called o
r texted me speaks volumes. I’ll probably return to our building in the city to find he’s thrown my clothing out onto the avenue. It would serve me right, wouldn’t it?
The subway ran at a snail’s pace tonight and I’m coming home to my mother’s later than usual. Ever since the incident in the stairwell, I make sure to be indoors before the sun sets, but tonight it wasn’t possible.
I hear footsteps behind me and glance back over my shoulder, my stomach rippling with anxiety. There doesn’t seem to be anyone there, but I know first hand how easy it is for someone to hide in the shadows of the numerous doorways. Or the stoops that reach out and bisect the sidewalk like bent legs.
No one is there.
Just keep walking. You’re fine.
I take a long, slow breath and let it out. My anxiety cools by a measly degree, but nothing can be done about my lifeless heart. It’s there in my chest keeping me alive, but the beat has been dull and irregular since I left John behind. How can I miss him so much when I only knew him one day? This intense longing of mine defies logic. I look for him in every crowd, on every subway platform or packed coffee shop. I know he isn’t there, but sometimes I get a whisper of his presence or hint of his scent and my pulse begins to clamor in my ears.
Between classes this afternoon, I sat in the common area, masses of students crisscrossing around me—and I fantasized about John grunting into my neck, my thighs around his waist, his big, rugged body moving over mine.
Fucking me.
My panties grew damper and damper until I found myself walking like a zombie to the ladies’ restroom. I closed myself in a stall and shoved a hand down the front of my panties, masturbating myself in the busy bathroom while whispering his name again. And again. And again. As soon as I’m alone tonight, I’ll need to touch myself again, even though I know the release won’t live up to the one he could give me. Nothing will ever live up to the feel of him, the size and texture of him.
“Christ, you’re shaking.” I’m pulled into his all-encompassing embrace and I sag. My sudden, boneless state is involuntary, but God, he’s just so warm and reassuring. His big hand cups the back of my head, his heart pounds in my ears and I never want to leave. “I’ve got you. The safest place you’ll ever be is with me.”
The memory comes unbidden to my mind and makes my breath hitch. My feet continue to move on the sidewalk—I’m only a block from my mother’s building now—but I feel like I’ve left my heart on the cold pavement.
Again, I hear footsteps and turn around, jogging backward. There’s a figure in the darkness. A silhouette of a man. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? He’s medium-sized. Stocky build. Just like the man who attacked me all those months ago. I turn around and start to run, but when I throw another glance over my shoulder to see if he’s giving chase, I watch in confusion as he’s yanked off his feet by an unseen force, disappearing from view behind a dumpster. A cracking sound follows—and then silence.
Knowing better than to be caught witnessing a crime, I turn and sprint for my mother’s building, skidding to a halt at the base of the stoop and vaulting up the stairs. I make sure to close the main door behind me and with shaking hands, I use my key to open the second, glass door that leads to the carpeted stairs. My mother’s apartment is on the third floor and it seems to take me an eternity to reach it, but I do and let myself in—only to find Mason laughing with my mother at the kitchen table.
“Oh,” I breathe, my eyes filling with tears at the sight of my best friend. “Hi.”
He hoists his glass of red wine. “Hey.”
True to form, he’s giving away nothing. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching Jeopardy. Gossiping with your mother.”
“I’ll give you two a minute,” my mom says, leaving the room.
Only a few seconds of silence make their way past before Mason rolls his eyes and sets down his wine glass. “Oh God, Lyssa, stop being dramatic. I’m here to get you, of course. Why else would I come to Brooklyn?”
I clasp my hands to my breasts and almost collapse with relief. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Now can we get back to Manhattan before I get a rash?” He points at the wine. “Think I can get a to-go cup for this?”
“I missed you,” I wail, throwing my arms around Mason’s neck. “I’m so sorry about everything. I’m a terrible friend.”
“No, you’re not.” His denial is firm. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you since the Catskills. I’ve been…busy with a few things. But trust me. No one is mad at anybody.”
“I don’t deserve you,” I say, stepping back and rubbing at my waterlogged eyes. “I’ll go get my things.”
He picks up his wine and sips with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll hunt for an expendable water bottle. No wine left behind.”
“No sir,” I call over my shoulder, already jogging for my bedroom.
In no time at all, we’ve kissed my mother goodbye and are piling into an Uber. After my scare on the walk home, I’m reluctant to return the same direction for the train and Mason doesn’t question me. We catch up on every single thing that happened over the last two days, all the way from Mason discovering the best breakfast burritos in the city to me acing my Advertising 101 test.
There is not one mention of John.
That should relieve me. I should understand why a sore subject wouldn’t come up between me and Mason, but the longer we talk without speaking John’s name, the more sadness and achiness I feel. Was John okay after I left? Was he angry? How is he? There are a million questions circulating in my head about the man I love and while I’m so happy to have my best friend back, I’m suddenly positive I can’t pretend as if John doesn’t exist. As if he didn’t claim my heart, my soul, my body. As if I don’t miss him beyond measure.
My feet don’t want to move when we climb out of the Uber and enter our building, but I put a smile on my face and follow Mason into the elevator, overnight bag in hand. My expression even looks brittle when I glimpse it reflected back in the stainless steel walls, so I give up altogether and stop smiling.
“Hey, are you all right?” Mason asks.
I press my lips together. “I-I think I just need some time.”
A lot of it.
“Some time for what?”
To get over your father.
Is such a thing even possible?
We were connected from the moment we met. We both felt it.
No one is ever going to make me feel like John.
“Nothing,” I croak, grateful when the elevator doors open. I lunge into the hallway, blinking to erase the moisture in my eyes before Mason sees it. “So, um…” My voice wobbles and breaks. “What kind of t-takeout are w-we getting—”
The apartment door across from ours opens, surprising me into silence.
Ducking beneath the doorframe and stepping out into the hall is John.
My John.
He’s in a dirty white T-shirt and faded black jeans, hair wild around his face and shoulders. He crosses his arms, stretching the shirt material to the point of nearly ripping, and oh-so-casually leans back against the doorframe.
His eyes are anything but casual. They eat me alive and I burn under their regard, coming alive after two days in the cold.
“I suppose you can order takeout if you want,” he says gruffly. “But I’d rather you come inside and let me feed you some stew.”
“Hard pass,” Mason laughs. “But I’m willing to bet my best friend here will take you up on that offer.”
“What are you…” Lamely, I point to the apartment he walked out of. “What are you doing in there?”
“Signed the lease yesterday. I’m your new neighbor.”
“What?” My jaw is on the floor. “But you hate New York!”
“Not nearly as much as I love you, Lyssa.”
A sob escapes my mouth, but I hesitate to throw myself into John’s arms like my body is begging me to do. I turn to Mason. “You knew about this?”
“Of c
ourse I did.” He grins and ruffles my hair. “Lyssa, you didn’t betray me. Once I saw how you reacted to John, I was scheming to get you and him together. There was never an econ paper. I just wanted to see you both happy—and I should have been upfront about it. Would have saved my father two days of misery.”
I turn my attention back to John and devour every detail of him, down to the salt and pepper in his five o’clock shadow to the bags under his eyes. “I’ve been miserable, too.” Finally, I take a running leap into his open arms, wrapping my legs around his hips and burying my face in his neck. “I love you. I missed you so bad.”
His arms close around me and I feel safer than I ever have in my whole life. Safe and turned on, because his erection is already wedging between us, demanding attention. I can’t help but shift against it and John growls deep in his throat.
“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Mason says dryly, vanishing into our apartment, the door closing behind him.
John backs the opposite direction into what is apparently his new digs, taking my clinging form with him. “You really moved to New York for me? And was that you in Brooklyn tonight? Did you grab the man who was following me? And—”
“Shhh, sweetness, we have forever. I’m not going anywhere,” John says against my mouth, his muscular form flattening mine on the door and leaving my feet dangling a yard off the ground. “And of course it was me. I spent the last two days canvasing tattoo shops in Brooklyn until I found someone who gave a man a Tweety Bird neck tattoo…when I wasn’t checking on you, of course.”
His mouth takes mine in a searing kiss and I almost lose my train of thought. “I knew I sensed you around. I knew it.”
