by Nina Levine
His concern causes my stomach to flutter more than it already is. This is Mason not hating me completely, and it reminds me of the Mason who loved me with everything he had.
I sip some more wine. “Thank you.”
He frowns. “What the fuck for?”
I smile. “For caring enough to remind me of that.”
He takes another long swig of beer, not shifting his attention off me.
I watch as he swallows it down, waiting for his reply, but Alexa rejoins us, ending our conversation.
“You hungry?” she asks him. “We’ve got leftover tacos if you are.”
He watches me for another few seconds before looking at her and nodding. “Yeah, I could go some tacos.”
She picks up her glass of wine and walks back to the couch as she says, “Last person to eat cleans.”
Mason gives a shake of his head and mutters, “Of course they fucking do.”
I smile. I’ve missed being around these two together. We had some good times while I was with Mason.
Taking my wine, I go back to the couch where Alexa tells me about some new make-up she’s discovered that she loves. Mason potters around in the kitchen, making his tacos, and comes and sits with us while he eats.
I wasn’t expecting him tonight and am not prepared for him. Last week was a hot mess and has left me a little bewildered about what we’re doing. I want him with every fibre of my being, but it feels all kinds of wrong to do what we’ve been doing. It’s not fair to him. But I can’t deny how good it is to know his touch again, to talk to him again, to have his eyes on me again.
“Did you speak to Mum today?” Alexa asks him after we finish talking about make-up.
“Yeah. I’m gonna spend the afternoon with her tomorrow,” he says.
“Dad’s home with her this week. Just so you know.”
Mason nods. “I know.” His words are as tense as his shoulders. There’s no love lost between Mason and his father. It was because of his dad that he walked away from everything his family and their wealth offer. He might still be close to his siblings, but he wants nothing to do with the Blaise power and money.
Alexa takes a long gulp of wine. “Promise me you won’t get into it with him. Not while Mum’s going through all this.”
He works his jaw. “I can’t guarantee anything. He wants to be a motherfucker, I’m gonna check him on it.”
Alexa shakes her head, looking exasperated with her brother. It’s an expression I’ve seen a lot of with these two. Alexa prefers to manage people in a subtle way; Mason is all in their face and unyielding. They love each other fiercely, but they piss each other off just as much. “I hope you have a son one day and he’s as frustrating as you are.”
The thought of Mason having a child that’s not mine makes me trip over my thoughts.
It physically hurts my chest.
When his eyes meet mine, filled with the same turmoil they held three nights ago after we kissed, I know he’s feeling it too.
He stands abruptly and walks into the kitchen. I don’t watch him, but I hear him in there. I hear the sound of a bottle or glass slamming down onto the kitchen counter, and then another one, and the sound of him unscrewing a lid and pouring liquid into a glass, and of him stalking back to the couch.
He brings a bottle of rum, placing it roughly on the coffee table between us.
He doesn’t look at me.
When he drains his glass of rum in two long gulps, I know he’s settling in to drink the entire bottle.
Mason’s hate is back, and I shudder to think where this night will end up.
24
Gunnar
Thank fuck I left an almost-full bottle of rum at Alexa’s the last time I had a drink with her. I fucking need it tonight.
It’s been three long fucking days of never-ending thoughts of Chelsea since she put her hands all over my tattoo and I fucking kissed her. It was that kiss that fucking did it. I might have kissed her, and fucked her, and tasted her before that night, but that kiss was different. It was fucking intimate and it’s fucking screwed with me. And now, after Alexa mentioned me having a son earlier, I’m sitting here fucking thinking about the fact the only woman I wanted to have a child with is a woman I can never have a child with. And I’m fucking pissed off again.
I’m halfway through my bottle of rum and it’s not coming close to easing my mood. Alexa and Chelsea have spent the last hour talking shit about make-up and music and TV shows and other bullshit I’m not fucking interested in, but I can’t bring myself to leave. Chelsea has that kind of pull, she always has, and I’m fucking incapable of walking away when I should.
“Alexa,” Chelsea says, poking her. “Are you falling asleep?”
“Ugh,” Alexa groans and wiggles on the couch so she’s lying on her side with her head on the armrest. “I so tired,” she mumbles while her eyes open and close lazily. “Can’t keep my eyes open.”
I’m surprised she’s lasted this long. She’s drunk most of the wine they’ve been sharing. Chelsea might have been drunk when I arrived, but she’s slowed down since, while Alexa kept going hard.
I move off the couch and scoop my sister into my arms. “Time for bed,” I say as I carry her into her bedroom.
“Macey Mace,” she mumbles, flinging her arm around my neck. “I love you, but you too angry with her. She loves you so much…. Be nicer, ’k?” With that, she passes out on her bed, leaving me thinking about the shit that just came out of her mouth. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about; if Chelsea loved me, she wouldn’t be fucking married to another man.
Chelsea’s in the kitchen when I go back out, bent over the dishwasher trying to rearrange it to fit more dishes in. I rest my ass against the kitchen counter and cross my arms while running my eyes over her body. She’s wearing the fucking shortest red dress known to man tonight. It’s distracted the hell out of me all night, allowing me to get my fill of her legs.
Straightening, she looks at me. “I’ll just finish cleaning up and then I’ll go home.”
“You’re in no state to drive.”
“I know. I’ll call an Uber.”
“No.” I jerk my head towards the hallway. “Stay here.”
She looks at me like I’ve just suggested the absolute worst thing ever. I probably have, but fuck if I want her out there where Hearst’s enemies can get at her. She mentioned during her conversation with Alexa that he’s away for a couple of days; I don’t want her home alone, especially not when she’s drunk and not fully alert.
“I’m not staying, Mason. I’ll—”
I push off from the counter. “You are staying. It’s not fucking safe out there for you to be on your own, and since your fucking husband didn’t make sure of your safety, I’m making sure of it.”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything.
I grab my toolbox and stride out of the kitchen, needing to put some space between us before I do something stupid again.
I work on Alexa’s showerhead while trying to stop thinking about Chelsea and that damn kiss. If I could shut that shit off, I’d have half a chance of stopping my thoughts from constantly circling back to her. For now, though, my brain is hell-bent on keeping that kiss on repeat.
I’m in the bathroom for a good forty minutes before I finish what I’m doing and have just turned the shower on to confirm the leak is gone when Chelsea comes in. The look in her eyes causes my gut to tighten. And when she speaks, I know for fucking certain that we’re doing this all over again.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you to fix things,” she says with what I know is fake confidence. I know this because of the way her eyes hold all the hesitation in the world. I also know this because I fucking know this woman. I only have to take one look at her to see she desperately wants me to listen to what she’s saying and that she’s nervous I won’t. And fuck knows why, but I give her this.
“What was it then?” I ask, the shower still running behind me.
Sh
e takes a step closer to me, that hesitation in her eyes intensifying. “You couldn’t have fixed it, Mason.”
“Why? What the fuck was so bad that I couldn’t fix it?”
“My dad would have ruined you.”
“I would have gone to prison and done my time for you. That’s what you’re not fucking getting. I would have preferred that than you fucking marrying another man.”
More fucking hesitation in her eyes. “And what if you’d been in prison for decades?”
“Fuck, Chelsea, I wouldn’t have. Not for what they were trying to charge me with.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do fucking know that.”
She comes even closer, right to me, her hesitation shifting into that fight of hers I love. “You don’t fucking know that!” She jabs me in the chest, her eyes now blazing with determination. “I was so fucking scared for you and what they’d do to you. That’s what you’re not getting.”
It’s what I hear in her voice that does it. That grabs my fucking heart and squeezes all the hate from it. This is the Chelsea I fucking love. The Chelsea I never stopped fucking loving.
My hand hooks around her neck so I can pull her lips to mine. She stumbles as I pull her, and we end up under the running shower. Neither of us gives a fuck. We’re all lips and hands and desperation, oblivious to the water soaking us.
Our last kiss was intimate; this one’s frantic with need.
Chelsea pushes herself against me, her fingers clawing at my hair, while her tongue tangles with mine. She’s making the kind of noises that intensify my desire for her, that drive me fucking wild.
I tear my mouth from hers, trying like fuck to think this through. That’s impossible, though. I don’t think with Chelsea; that’s not how we work. We just fucking feel. And we might not be together, but we’re buried so fucking deeply in each other that we’re connected for life. That’s why I haven’t covered her tattoo and why I’ll never fucking cover it.
Chelsea’s the girl I’ve loved since I was five.
She’s the girl who owned my heart before I even knew it.
She’s the girl I’ll always love.
“Fuck,” I say as she grips my shirt and looks up at me through the water with an expression that tells me she knows my thoughts and is waiting for my decision. I claim her lips again in a savage kiss that she gives right back to me. When I end the kiss, I rasp, “I know how this fucking ends, Mayfair, and I still can’t stop myself from fucking wanting you.”
My mouth is back on hers without wasting another second, and we’re a frenzy of clothes coming off, skin on skin, and the kind of sex I’ve only ever known with her.
Chelsea comes in my arms as I fuck her against the shower wall with water cascading over us. I come right after, and when I pull out of her, I hold her eyes and say, “I want you tonight.”
She frowns, not understanding, so I say with force, “I want you in my arms while I sleep. I fucking want to wake up with you tomorrow.”
“Mason,” she says, her voice full of misgiving, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I agree, it’s not, and yet I fucking want it, and you’re gonna give it to me.”
Her eyes search mine for what feels like a long fucking minute, and then she nods and says softly, “Okay.” And not for the first time, I think about how this woman was made for my destruction.
25
Chelsea
I slip into the bed in one of Alexa’s spare rooms, and Mason slides in after me, his strong arms coming around me and pulling my body against his.
What the hell are we doing?
My heart is beating so fucking fast that it almost feels like it could beat its way out of my damn chest.
“Breathe,” he murmurs against my ear, his chest pressing to my back.
I bring my hand up and curl it around his arm that’s holding me tightly to him. “I’m not sure I can,” I say. It’s barely a whisper, but he hears me.
“It’s just one night, Mayfair.”
“I’m not sure you and I can do just one night.”
He kisses my neck. “You might be right there.”
Oh God, I am right. And yet, I want this as much as he does. I just don’t want to admit it.
I turn silent while he continues pressing kisses to my neck and shoulder. His mouth on my skin feels so good and I never want him to stop. I never want this night to end. I never want to go back to my real life.
Tightening my grip on his arm, I say, “Do you remember that time in grade twelve when you got drunk at that party, and I was freaking out because you got in a fight with a guy and his machete?”
His kisses slow, but don’t stop altogether. “Yeah. Why?”
“Jenny Parish was going to tell you she liked you that night, and I told her she shouldn’t. I told her you and I had fooled around and were getting together.”
He chuckles, lifting his lips from my skin. “I know.”
I wiggle in his arms so I can roll over and face him. “How do you know that? I never told anyone that.” Hell, I was going to take that secret to my grave because I was so horrified that my desperation not to see Mason with another girl had caused me to lie to a friend.
“Jenny told me when she kissed me at a party the next weekend.”
My eyes go wide. “You never told me you kissed her. And why’d you never ask me about it?”
He grins, and it causes butterflies in my stomach. It’s so good to see the real Mason rather than the angry, hateful Mason I caused. Curving his hand over my waist, he says, “I didn’t tell you about every girl I ever kissed, Mayfair. I figured you just didn’t like Jenny enough for me to date her, so you told her some bullshit story to keep her away. You sure as hell never let on that you liked me like that. Why are you telling me this now?”
“I don’t know. I was just thinking about where this all started.”
“Where what all started?”
“Us.” I pause, unsure of whether to say what I really want to say, but then decide we’re way past pretending there’s no us in this world. Because even though we’re not together, there most definitely is an us. “Me wanting you so desperately I can’t think straight sometimes.”
He presses himself against me as heat flares in his eyes. “That party was where it all started for you?”
I smile, running my finger down his cheek. “No, it started in grade eleven, but that party was the first time I felt super possessive of you and jealous of any girl who got close to you. How many girls did you kiss that I didn’t know about?”
He grins, dropping his gaze to my lips. “I don’t think you wanna know.”
I smack him playfully. “Seriously. How many?”
Brushing his lips over mine, he says, “I can’t remember, but there were a few.”
“We both know your idea of a few is not the same as what a few actually is, so I’m guessing maybe ten?”
“Give or take,” he says, moving his mouth down my neck to my collarbone while he slides his hand over my hip and down my leg to take hold of it and bring it up over his.
I take hold of his face and stop him. When I have his eyes, I say, “You’re being very evasive, Mr Blaise.”
The smile dies on his lips as he turns serious. “I don’t like to think about you with your lips on anyone else, so I’m not going to help you think about my lips on someone other than you.”
This is why I love this man with all my heart.
I want to tell him that, but I don’t. That’s not fair to him. Instead, I say, “Tell me a favourite.”
His eyes flash with gratitude at my change in subject, and even though playing our favourites game isn’t something he loved to do while we were together, I can tell he’s happy to do it tonight.
I started the “tell me a favourite” when we first began dating because I wanted to know all his favourite things, the things I didn’t know he’d found a love for in the eight years we weren’t friends. Mason would grumble and compl
ain and tell me he’d rather fuck me than tell me all his fucking favourites, but I would force him into talking because sometimes a girl just wants to talk. And sometimes she just wants to know everything about the man she loves.
“I’m pretty fucking sure we’ve covered all my favourites,” he says, rolling onto his back.
I move so I’m lying next to him on my stomach with one arm spread across him. The familiarity and intimacy of tonight are causing all kinds of feelings I’m not sure what to do with. Feelings that will create all sorts of havoc for both of us after tonight. “We’ve got eight years to cover. I’m sure we haven’t covered them all.”
He thinks for a few moments. “Okay, Brantley Gilbert. I started listening to his music.”
“What? Really?” I scramble to a sitting position. “This is huge. How did you never tell me this?” My mind is blown. Brantley Gilbert is one of my favourite singers, and Mason always hated his music. Mason hated all country music while it’s my favourite.
“I never told you because I only just started listening to him.”
My breaths slow as I process what he’s saying. “You started listening to him because you were missing me?”
Keeping his eyes firmly on mine, he nods. “Yeah.”
With that one word and the look in his eyes, Mason makes me fall in love with him all over again while also chiselling a new crack in my heart. A crack all of my own making.
I reach for his hand, interlocking our fingers. I want to tell him again that I’m sorry, but he’s made it more than clear he doesn’t want to hear those words from me, so I don’t. Instead, I pull his hand to my mouth and kiss it before putting it around my waist and crawling on top of him.
“I want you inside me. And I want it slow,” I say, needing to feel his love. I like rough sex just as much as he does, but I want to remember what it’s like for Mason to take his time with me and to do it with love rather than hate.
His hands slide through my hair and he brings my face to his so he can kiss me. Slow and deep, he gives me exactly what I’ve requested.
