Chapter 25 Nate #2
Philip pauses at the bottom of the steps, shooting me a questioning look, as if confirming I’ll be okay if he leaves me alone with Mason. I nod at him and open the door wider, a silent invitation to follow me inside.
Mason freezes in the entryway. “Did a meth head start squatting in your house?” he asks.
“It’s not that bad,” I mutter, trying to ignore the stack of empty carryout boxes on the coffee table—and the empty beer bottles that have overflowed onto the rug. Philip was definitely right about calling my cleaning lady.
“You want a drink?” I ask, even though I know I’ve had more than enough for the night. If I’m going to figure out how to fix this mess, I’ll need to stop hiding in a whiskey bottle.
“Sure,” Mason says, voice tight, and he follows me into the kitchen.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “What happened in here?”
“I’ve been having a rough week,” I snap.
He’s a half step behind me and I can see him freeze out of the corner of my eye.
I pour him three fingers of Glenfiddich, adding a single ice cube, knowing his drink preferences without having to ask.
More than fifteen years of friendship will do that to a person.
He takes the glass when I hand it to him, but doesn’t speak.
He still seems to be preoccupied with the mess, his eyes darting around the kitchen, a bewildered expression on his familiar face.
It’s strange to see—Mason is generally one of the most confident, decisive people I know. It’s why we always got along so well.
But right now, he looks like the rug has just been pulled out from under him.
“Why did you come?” I ask. If he’s looking for an apology, he’s not going to get it. Maybe a week ago, I would have offered him one. But tonight, after everything that happened, I’m not feeling at all inclined to apologize for loving his sister.
He finally turns to face me, the first time I’ve really looked at him, and my breath catches a little.
He looks like shit. His eyes are red, jaw and cheeks darkened with a five o’clock shadow that I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him before.
Mason is the kind of guy who always shaves again before evening plans.
He’s dressed differently, too, wearing jeans and an old track team sweatshirt.
When was the last time I saw him in anything but a suit?
“I came to kick your ass,” he says flatly. “But now…” he shakes his head, running a free hand through his already disheveled hair. “Now I don’t fucking know what I think.” He glances around again. “You’re really upset, aren’t you?”
I kind of want to laugh. “Yeah, Mason. I’m fucking upset.”
The bewildered expression remains. “It wasn’t just sex for you?”
A wave of anger hits me and I have to clench my fists to keep them at my side. “Of course it wasn’t just sex. You think I would do something so risky for sex? You know me better than that.”
His eyes flare. “I thought I did,” he snaps. “But I also never would have thought you’d be the kind of guy to take advantage of a student. A damn kid.”
I raise a hand to silence him, anger zipping around inside of me.
“First of all, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t take advantage of her, not at all.
But more importantly? She’s not a kid, Mason.
She hasn’t been for a long time. And maybe if you spent ten minutes trying to get to know her, you would see that. ”
For a second, I think he’s going to deck me. But then all the fight seems to go out of him and he slumps against the counter. “She said something to me today,” he mutters, then swallows hard. “Something about how it would have been nice if I’d wanted her around all these years.”
I suck in a sharp breath, knowing exactly how difficult it would have been for her to have that conversation with her brother.
My brave, strong girl.
Mason looks absolutely wrecked as he stands in my disaster of a kitchen. “She asked me why I didn’t send her away after Mom and Dad died.”
I choose my words carefully. “And what did you say?”
“I told her I couldn’t do that to her. That she was my responsibility and—”
I can’t help but groan. Her trip to the club is making a lot more sense now. She’s always worried that her draw to the lifestyle was tied into her desire for someone to care about her, and not just about their obligation.
His eyes are wide with what I’m pretty sure is panic when he looks up at me. “She has no idea how I feel about her, does she?”
“She thinks you’re more concerned with your sense of duty when it comes to her,” I say as gently as I can manage. “She thinks she’s a burden to you.”
His face instantly goes grey. “Shit. How the hell could she possibly think that?”
I shrug. “You’ve always been a guy who places a great deal of importance on responsibility.” I point out. “And you’ve never been particularly great at talking about the emotional side of things.”
His expression hardens. “So she went to you in search of those things, that’s what you’re saying? Your fucked-up relationship is my fault?”
I try to remember how upset he obviously is over his sister’s unhappiness. It’s the only way I can manage not to punch the asshole in the face. “Our relationship was not fucked up.”
His eyes narrow, voice dropping low. “I know what kind of shit you’re into, Chase.”
Ah. So at some point he heard a rumor—or hell, maybe he just suspected, seeing the way I’ve interacted with women over the years.
“You think I’m just going to stand by?” he asks. “Stand by and let you drag her down into that kinky, abusive bullshit?”
I don’t drop his gaze. “I respect your sister far too much to talk to you—or anyone—about her sexual preferences.” He visibly blanches but I don’t let him get a word in.
“That being said, whatever she might be into, it’s completely consensual.
Jesus, Mason. Your sister is one of the strongest people I know.
If you think for a second she would let herself get dragged into something she doesn’t want to do, you know her even less than I thought you did. ”
He stares at me for a long moment, looking like a guy who just got the wind knocked out of him.
“So,” I continue, my voice still tight, “maybe you should be having this conversation with her, not me.”
He finally drags his eyes away from me, casting another glance around the kitchen. “You know,” he mutters, “she looks just about as fucked up as you do.”
Pain squeezes my insides, my entire being hating the idea of her upset for any reason.
I straighten, putting every ounce of conviction I have into the next words. “You should probably know I’m going to do what I can to change that.”
His eyes flash. “And you want what? My permission? My blessing? Fuck that, Chase. I’m still not okay with this.”
I just shrug. “I should have talked to you about it a long time ago,” I admit. “But I’m not going to ask for permission to love Harper.”
My old friend looks an awful lot like a fish, the way he’s gaping at me. “You love her?”
A laugh bubbles up. “You think I would let my house get into this shape if I wasn’t nursing a serious broken heart? Of course I love her.”
He just stares at me, slowly shaking his head, like he has no idea what to make of this situation.
“Look,” I say, pushing off from the counter I’ve been leaning against. “I really hope we can eventually get past this. You’ve always been my best friend in the fucking world.”
“Got a funny way of showing it,” he mutters.
I ignore that. “But whatever happens between you and me? It can wait. What can’t wait is your relationship with your sister. She needs to know how you actually feel.” I take a chance and clap a hand on his shoulder. “She’s been hurting over this for a long time. And you need to fix that, man.”
He looks torn between accepting the advice and being pissed that it came from me. Finally, he levels me with a glare and I let my hand fall from his shoulder.
“You said you were going to try to change what happened?” he asks. “You need to start with her education, Chase. That has to come first. The way she was talking…” he shakes his head. “That’s not her. Throwing everything away?” His glare is back. “You let that happen and I will kick your ass.”
I nod, taking a deep, steadying breath. He’s absolutely right. And I already know what I plan to do about it.