56. Mason
FIFTY-SIX
MASON
Child Pornography.
Statutory Rape.
Lewd and Lascivious Acts on a Minor.
These are just some of the headlines running rampant all over the world as the former frontrunner for the United States presidency is shamed and held without bail. The satisfaction thrums through my veins, and I lean back, inhaling the scent of the Cubans that I kept as a token.
After Olivia came forward, others followed. So far, five women have said that Thomas Wells coerced them, raped them, or made unwanted advances. Three of those five were under the age of eighteen at the time.
I suspect that as time goes on, more will speak out. But I don’t celebrate that fact because the sad reality is that, while he’ll get locked away—while he’ll lose everything—those women will wear reminders of him on their souls for eternity.
I haven’t heard from Olivia in the few days since the conference.
My uncle Frank knew, of course, no surprise there. My mother…I’m not sure what to think about her. She acted devastated, but I’ve seen her performative tears many times over the years, and they’re always strategically placed in front of cameras. I think she’s very convincing at playing the victim, but I’m not convinced she really is one.
She came home to me walking out the door, my bag packed and ready to go.
Unsurprisingly, she didn’t try to stop me. I barely got a goodbye. And as I rode away from my childhood home, I let go of every last drop of expectation. Every last bind that tied me. With each mile that ticked by, my chains loosened, and by the time I made it past Tennessee state lines, they broke off and were left behind.
“Well, Mase, how’s it feel to be back in Nashville?” Don’s voice comes down the line, and I smirk, leaning back on my leather couch.
I sniff the Cuban in my hand, setting it down on the table beside me.
“It feels like freedom, old man.”
“Well, lucky for you I haven’t hired anyone else to take your place.”
I grin. “That’s because I’m irreplaceable.”
He chuckles.
Sighing, I run a hand down my face. “To be honest, Don, I don’t know that I’m gonna come back and work for you.”
“Why the hell not?” His voice is sharp.
“I don’t know. It depends, I guess. I’m just over the whole ‘traveling all the time and hunting people down’ thing. Everything that happened with Lily put things in perspective for me. I don’t want to be responsible for upending people’s lives. They don’t deserve it.”
He groans. “I’ve told you before, Mase, we don’t get paid to care.”
Irritation swells in my middle. “Well, that’s the problem, Don. I do care. I spent the past decade running, only to end up back in the place I despised. I can’t find it in me to keep doing it to other people.”
“Other people aren’t the heir to the Wells’ legacy,” he scoffs. “Hardly a good comparison.”
“Yeah, well…it doesn’t make their issues any less valid.”
He sighs. “Listen. Why don’t you sit with it for a little bit? There’s no rush. We don’t have any active jobs lined up right now anyway. If you feel like it’s really your time to retire, you let me know. Hell, we’ll save you a room out here on the ocean. It’s beautiful here.”
Nodding, I swallow down the emotion that his words cause. Don is the closest thing I have to a father figure. The only man who has ever taken me under his wing and shown me all the ways of the world. He guided me down an otherwise-blind path.
He taught me to look a man in the eyes to see his character. And when I was a grieving nineteen-year-old still trying to overcome my demons, he plopped The Art of War in my hands and taught me preparation—to learn that even if I can’t control people’s actions, I can always control my re action.
I miss Don, and I feel a sense of loyalty to him that tugs on my insides, urging me to continue to do what I’ve always done: to run his company for him, repay him for all the ways he bettered my world. But I’m not destined for this life anymore, just as I’m not destined to live out the rest of my days on some island, tucked away from the world.
I’ve done enough hiding.
“Yeah, I’ll let you know.”
He grunts and we say our goodbyes, hanging up. There’s a sense of relief at the phone call, and I think we both know that, while he can tell me to think about it all he wants, there’s no going back for me.
Only forward.
Sitting down in front of my computer, I stare at the Google map that’s been haunting my every thought since I pulled it up the other day. Sugarlake is a little over one hundred miles from where I am. And it’s taking every ounce of me to not jump on my bike and make the trip to see if Lily is there.
Now that the distraction of revenge is gone, it feels as though there’s something intrinsic missing, like a vital organ my body is trying to compensate without. My heart, already smashed to pieces, fractures more whenever I think of Lily’s son, knowing I made him promises I had no right to make—gave him visions of a future that, deep down, I knew probably wouldn’t come to pass.
I haven’t left my apartment since I’ve been back. I’m free but lacking purpose. Where I used to long for solitude, now I find the loneliness stifling, missing the giggles of a screaming toddler and the song of a little bird.
My phone vibrates from across the room, and I jump up to grab it, my brow furrowing when I see the name on the caller ID.
Chase Adams.
My heart stutters.
“Hello?”
“Mason.” His voice is low and gravelly, and my stomach squeezes at his tone.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
My mind races, zooming through a thousand different scenarios, immediately wondering if somehow my father still got to her. That’s impossible .
“Can you… I don’t—” He pauses, blowing out a shaky breath. “It’s Lily, she…”
My heart ceases to fucking beat. My insides burn up, needing him to spit it the fuck out, whatever it is. “What about her?”
“Just get here, man,” he rasps. “She’ll need you.”