33. Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Robinson
An hour in bed, a shower, another half hour scrolling through social media without even really paying attention. That was what it took for Robinson to throw on a T-shirt, double check everyone’s room numbers, and march his ass to Mason’s door. It wasn’t that late, only a little before nine, so he didn’t feel complete guilt banging on his door. Besides, it was…not an emergency, but Robinson didn’t want to be alone, and Mason was the only one who knew about this whole situation.
Thankfully, Mason answered the door quickly. His hair was wet and slicked back, he had on a pair of sweats and a faded Pine Point Fixer-Uppers T-shirt from their very first merch run for the channel. The sleeves had been cut off to make a tank top, which meant the fir tree tattoo on his right shoulder was visible for once.
As soon as he saw Robinson, he stepped aside and waved him inside. “What’s wrong?”
Robinson shook his head. “I’m that obvious?”
“I don’t think you’d be showing up at my door in the middle of the night if everything was hunky-dory.” Mason pulled over the chair from the corner for Robinson, then sat down in the office chair and tucked his legs under the seat, resting his feet on the crossbars attached to the wheels. “And I know that you were meeting up with Chuck for a date.”
“A hookup.” If he was going to understand what had happened, then Mason needed to know about it. Plus, Robinson wanted to talk about this. Partially so he could just vent and try to get some of the pressure off his chest, and partially because he knew Mason was a relatively level head who could tell him if, somehow, he was completely off-base in feeling absolutely broken and pissed off and devastated over this. Assuming I’m willing to listen if he disagrees with me.
Mason at least gave the appropriate response when he heard that, eyebrows popping straight up and lips sucking in to a thin line. It took him a moment before he pulled himself back to function and leaned forward. “I didn’t think…okay, explain so I know what I’m reacting to.”
Robinson blew out a long breath, then launched in, giving him the highlights instead of a blow-by-blow. Even if he was pissed at Chuck, he wasn’t going to kiss and tell all the juicy details. Plus, even reliving the good parts in his head made the current reality burn that much more angrily. So he told Mason about their first little date, and how the hookup came about. He told Mason about the nerves, told him the sex was great, told him—because it was important—that Chuck had cried at the end, apologized, that whole ordeal.
Once he got it all out, Robinson…felt better. Still bad, but instead of the burning anger in his gut, he felt spent. Empty. Hollow. Worthless. I’m worthless. Not even worth a brief conversation to tell me what’s going on . He spread his arms out and shrugged dramatically. “So that’s the whole story.”
“Well that sucks.” Mason got up and started pacing slowly, hands gripped in front of himself. “Like, that really sucks. I’m sorry, hon.”
A tiny spark of gentle warmth instead of the fire he’d felt before. Mason was good at defusing emotions, always had been. It wasn’t an immediate fix, but the next breath Robinson took came a touch easier. “I’m sorry too.”
Mason turned around and opened his arms up. Robinson rose and accepted the hug, and it did feel good. Mason wasn’t, like, the muscle of the group, but he squeezed hard and spoke softly. “You’re okay.”
“I know I’m okay.” Robinson pulled out of the hug and looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold back the burgeoning mist in his eyes. “It still hurt to be in that whole situation. And I know he probably wasn’t thinking when he handed me the money, but…it felt like…I didn’t just steal to get money for drugs, you know?”
Mason nodded. “I know. But did he know that?”
“No.” Which should have mattered, but Robinson couldn’t drill that message past the barriers in his head. It was all too close at the moment.
“Before I keep going, do you want advice, or do you want me to tell you that Chuck is a jerk? I’m good to do either.”
“Well I want you to tell me that I’m right and everything I believe is true and that you have a million dollars hidden in this room to make me feel better.”
Mason snorted. “But?”
“But I don’t want you to tell me all that just to tell me all that. I want you to be honest.” Robinson flopped back into the armchair. “So light me up with honesty.”
Mason nodded. “Okay, but I don’t think I’m going to be telling you anything you don’t know.” He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned all the way forward, elbows on his knees. “You can’t blame Chuck for having mixed feelings. He obviously still has feelings tied up with his husband. As far as I’m aware, you’re the first one he’s had any interest in since Andrew passed. There was no possible way he could have known how he was going to feel or react. And okay, he obviously didn’t handle it the best he possibly could, but I’m also not convinced that’s a fair standard to hold him to.” Mason pointed to Robinson with both index fingers. “And I’m going to go on a limb and say you don’t believe that’s a fair standard either.”
Which all made total sense, and was all stuff that Robinson knew beforehand, of course. Hearing Mason lay it out in a clear, level-headed way like that somehow made it penetrate a bit deeper. Not all the way, but enough that Robinson could slowly nod while grimacing. “I don’t like it.”
“Of course you don’t, the whole thing’s shitty.” Mason tossed his hands up. “Doesn’t change things, though. You don’t have to date him or hook up with him or even think about him after we leave if you don’t want. I never think about the clients after we wrap anymore.”
“Doesn’t help me the rest of the week we’re here.” And realistically…that wasn’t the answer Robinson wanted to hear. He wanted something that would fix of all of this, that would show him that he was totally in the wrong so he could apologize, and somehow that would fix things with him and Chuck, and then Chuck would agree to try a long-term thing with him, and eventually they could be hanging out on a porch in rocking chairs, listening to country music together and sipping sun tea.
Not that he’d put any thought into it.
“Hey.” Mason put a finger under Robinson’s chin and lifted slightly until they were making eye contact. He was frowning, but not like he was upset. Robinson knew that face - it was pity. It used to get under his skin, especially right after he got back out into the real world, but he’d grown used to it over time. Now it just scratched at his pride, but that had taken such a beating over the last few hours, he hardly noticed.
Robinson sighed. “I know. I can just get through this and it’s a small thing in the grand scheme.”
“Oh, god no. Not where I was going at all.” Mason pulled his hand away, then bustled over to the nightstand. He pulled open the drawer, rummaged a bit, then came back out with something clutched in his fist. “Hold out your hand because I have a magic potion.”
Robinson fought against it, but he couldn’t fully suppress the smile. “You still carry emergency liquor?”
“Not exactly.” Mason unfolded his fingers to reveal an airplane bottle of butterscotch schnapps. “I’m not as young as I used to be. Emergency liquor is out, emergency liqueurs are in. Still takes the edge off, doesn’t get me so fucked up I can’t think.” He tossed the bottle to Robinson, then pointed back toward the drawer. “I have creme de menthe and some blue raspberry something or other in there if you’d rather. Nothing over thirty proof, and if you ask for more than one bottle at a time, I’ll smack the hell out of you.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Robinson considered for a few moments, then slipped the bottle of butterscotch schnapps into his pocket. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea of using another substance to get through the day, but a little while of that behavior shouldn’t be bad. Especially with a supplier who actually cared about his well-being.
Robinson still set himself on not taking a swig from the little mini-bottle unless he was absolutely going to break into a screaming fit.