Chapter Seven
Sasha
“So, did you get your closure?” Opal stares at me from across the table, sipping her coffee slowly. Her eyes are usually an emerald green. Today they’re something more of a judgy hazel.
“No. I mean, I guess. I… I got the mess I needed to realize this whole thing was a terrible idea. So… that’s all there is to it.” I puff my cheeks and shrug as the hum of the coffee shop buzzes around us. It’s Saturday morning, and though we keep small-town life small up here, the weekend brings people down from the mountain for fresh donuts and shopping.
“Have you talked to him since?”
“What’s there to say? Realistically, I can’t throw myself between them. They’re a family. They’ve been a family. I’m just a girl. Just your average, everyday girl. That’s it. There are billions of us, and I bet most of them don’t come with this much baggage.” I sigh. “If anything, I need to pack up and leave town, so I never have to run into either of them again.”
She laughs and reaches her hand out toward me. It’s uncharacteristically kind of her, which has me a little uneasy. “I’ve never seen you this depressed, Sasha. This last week you’ve barely left the house, and you didn’t even order the donuts you like this morning.”
I narrow my eyes and tilt my head to the side. “It’s like a breakup, I guess. I’m just getting over it.”
Opal nods slowly and watches me sip my coffee as though the way I choose to drink will decode some master emotion that’ll help her make sense of me. “Maybe I was wrong.”
“About what?” These are also words I rarely hear Opal use.
“I don’t know,” she sips her own coffee then sets the cup down slowly as she looks in my direction, “the whole thing, probably. I mean, what if you and Ryder really are meant to be? You guys went to a lot of trouble to make it happen. What did it feel like when you had him?”
It’s not like Opal to be so… emotional… about anything. I sort of want to check her temperature, or at the very least check myself in the mirror. Maybe I look worse off than I thought.
“It was incredible,” I finally say, trying not to feel the emotions that come rushing back to me. “He made me want to write again, like I could tell a thousand stories off one kiss. He made me believe that love is real.”
“Has he called you since the other night?”
“A million times. There are so many texts and emails and DM’s. I don’t know, they’re all so sweet, but I can barely read them.”
“Why?”
“It hurts.” I wipe away another tear and take a long gulp of coffee, hoping there’s something in it that’ll stabilize my spiraling feelings before the whole shop realizes I’m crying like a baby in the booth by the far-right window. It’s my favorite spot to sit when I’m here. You get the best view of the snow-capped mountains spilling down into town while simultaneously watching all the shoppers. I like to create little stories in my head about their day.
“I think you should call him, girl. You’re going to question this for the rest of your life if you don’t.”
“I think I followed your advice on fucking him to get him out of my head, and I’m thinking… you kind of suck at giving advice.” I grin playfully, though I am looking for someone to blame.
“Now listen, I think you should be thankful for my wisdom. You got everything out in the open. One way or another, the pieces’ll fall how they will.”
She’s no more than finished her sentence when I notice Mason standing in the doorway with his brown work coat zipped halfway and his cap adjusted down. He’s changed so much since I’ve seen him last. He’s still tall, lean, and bearded, but his face is older somehow, the lines more defined.
“What?” Opal catches me staring and glances back herself. “Oh God. You think he’s here to talk to you?”
I shrug, but when his gaze catches mine, it’s clear why he’s here.
Damn it. I’m sure he’s here to tell me what a piece of shit I am. I deserve it, though it is proof of how little I should leave my house going forward.
Opal grabs her purse from the hook on the booth end and stands, reaching toward me for a hug. “I’ll be at the candle shop if you need me.”
My brain spins and I don’t respond before she walks away. A second later, Mason is sitting at my table, stiff, lips pinched tight. He drags in a deep breath and lets it out forcibly as he says, “Do you love my father?”
“What?” My heart slams hard against my ribcage.
“You heard me. Do you love him? Like… love him, love him? ” His voice is rough and thick, and his jaw is tight.
I’m not sure if answering truthfully is right or not, but given the anxiety of the moment, I speak in truth. “Yes. I’m sorry. I… I’ve felt it for years, but I was afraid to say anything until recently.”
He groans and rolls his eyes to the side. “Did you love him when you were with me?”
“No. I mean, I loved him. I’ve always loved him, but it’s more than that now.”
“Right.” Mason pinches the bridge of his nose and releases a slow, deep breath. “This is so fucked up. So fucked up. You… you’re my age, and he’s an old man, Sasha.”
I want to argue the old man comment with him, but I figure it’s not the time or place.
“It’s weird for me, too. I didn’t expect any of it. Then, when it happened, I couldn’t stop it. I tried. I really tried. And now, after seeing what I’ve done to your family, I… I’m thinking I should move away. It’s probably time to leave Rugged Mountain. I’ve been wanting to be somewhere else to write, anyway. I—”
“Sasha… stop. Look,” he cocks his head to the side and tosses his cap on the table, “I hate this. I really fucking hate this, but Dad is a mess right now. He’s not eating, he’s sleeping all weird, he missed hunting with the guys this week, and he’s offered me every dime in his bank account to forgive him.” Mason sighs and looks out the window before turning back again. “This is never going to make sense to me, but you should probably return his texts or something.”
I hate knowing Ryder is sad and I can’t be with him. I hate knowing we could make each other feel better, but we can’t. “Did you take his money? Is that why you’re here?”
“I didn’t take his fucking money. I don’t want his money. Look, I thought I was coming back here to pick up where we left off, but seeing how much he loves you, I realize I probably never felt like that in my life. When my mom left us, I started hating women. It wasn’t obvious at first, but deep down, I think I’ve learned not to trust them. I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “I probably need therapy, but at the end of the day, you’re a good person and he's a good guy.” The words come out honestly and unashamed, as though he’s seeing himself for the first time. “Please call him.” He grabs his hat off the table and slides up from the booth, looking back at me as he says, “You both deserve to be happy, and I don’t want to feel like the asshole that got in the way.”
I thought I’d hit the bottom of the barrel the other night, but I’ve found a new floor. I hadn’t thought about how hard it must have been for Mason to grow up without his mother, especially when she walked out on them.
“Don’t get caught in the weeds of that conversation,” he says as he walks away. “Just pick up your phone and call him.”
I glance toward Mason, watching him leave the small shop and step out into the street. I’m not sure what just happened, or how to process any of it, but my heart is already dialing Ryder’s number, and it sings when he picks up on the first ring.