17. Mason
17
MASON
T he grocery store is busier than I expected, but I guess that makes sense considering I’m never here on a weeknight. But tonight couldn’t be helped. Between work and grabbing every available second with Lana, I’d fallen behind on stocking the fridge and pantry.
The soup portions I had frozen are running low—Bodhi’s go-to when he gets migraines. When I’d asked about it, he just said it was something easy to heat up and he hadn’t wanted to go hunting for something more. It’s not completely impossible, but I can’t shake the feeling he’s trying not to make me worry.
A twinge of guilt settles in my chest at the thought that I haven’t been around like I should. The dogs, Moose and Birdie, miss me, having only been with us since the adoptathon at Vetted Paws in December. And, even if he won’t admit it, my brother misses me. Vowing to be more present, I mentally plan out some quick meals I can make in bulk and drop things into my cart as I go up and down the aisles.
I’d only stopped in here for a couple of things, but now I’m getting close to needing another cart. It doesn’t help that I came on an empty stomach, so there’s no shortage of junk food in here either.
Bodhi will have a field day when I get home .
The thought makes me smile. He always knows when I’m in these kinds of moods, and he’ll harass me for using every single pot and pan in the kitchen in the cooking aftermath.
I’m lost in thought as I round the corner and have to stop short, so I don’t hit the kid standing by the end cap.
He’s not quite a teenager but not quite a boy either. And he looks oddly familiar but it’s hard to tell with the way he’s holding three bags of chips in his arms. His dark hair is short on the sides and long enough on the top that he has to do that head jerk to get the strands out of his eyes.
“Sorry!” he says quickly as he juggles the bags before finally looking up. He opens his mouth again, but as soon as our eyes lock, he stops, his gaze drifting up to the hat on my head.
It’s the one I wear all the time, the one I’ve had since I was a teenager. The black fabric has faded with time, the threads for the The Whale Bone logo bleached to white after being washed and worn all day in the sun. Bodhi had bought me a replacement before we left New Hampshire, but this one is just fine for now.
His brows furrow. “I know that hat,” he says slowly as all the air vanishes from my lungs, and it clicks into place as I still, and Lana’s son stares back at me.
And he would know my hat because it was the one that I’d stupidly left on her counter the night her ex brought the kids home early.
Fuck.
Lana had told me that it was too early to meet her kids, and I’d gone over in my head what I would say if something like this ever happened. I’m good under pressure— great even—but I can’t make the words leave my mouth.
I can’t make any words leave my mouth.
So, I just stare at him as the seconds crawl by. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I know that hat,” he says again. “Do you work with Mom at the college?” I roll my lips inward, pressing them into a firm line as I think of something to say.
A quick line, a witty remark—it’s my defense mechanism—but I don’t want to lie to this kid. I look at him and I see Lana, and I don’t want to backtrack when I meet him for real, when I tell him I’m dating his mom.
Dammit.
“Beck, how long does it take you to pick out chips?” Lana asks, coming up behind him, her eyes widening as she sees our frozen interaction. A little girl is at her side, and now that they’re all together, it couldn’t be more obvious who these kids belong to.
“I’m a friend of your mom’s,” I say simply, finally finding my voice. His frown deepens, and he shakes his head before turning and looking at his mom.
“Ma? He’s wearing the hat.” Her mouth opens and closes, and it would have been comical in any other situation—something to tease her about when we’re alone. But this is not any other situation and I’m damn near sweating bullets in the pasta aisle.
He turns, placing the chips in the cart as Lana snorts. “Really? Three bags?”
“What? One for you, one for me, and one for Holland.” It sounds logical to me, but it’s probably not the time to interject my support of his take on snacks. She lets out a laugh, but it’s nervous, not at all like the kind she makes when we’re alone, the one that’s light and beautiful and completely carefree. The kind I’m sure she makes when it’s just her kids too.
It’s just not the kind that she’s making in the grocery store as we’re about to be forced to make a decision.
I’m about to say something like it was nice running into you, when Beck offers me his hand.
“I’m Beck.”
Looking him in the eye, I shake it because it takes a hell of a lot of guts to offer your hand to a man much bigger than you. Although if I think about it, there’s not a whole lot of years between me and Beck anyway. It’s one of the things that Lana was so ready to point out.
Twice.
“I’m Mason Amato. It’s nice to meet you. Your mom said you’re really into playing football,” I offer casually but amp up my smile as I look at him. It’s meant to disarm, but he just studies me before dropping my hand and shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Yeah. I didn’t make the team this year, but coach said if I work hard I have a good chance for next year, and there’s this camp over the summer I’m really tryin’ to do.”
A spark of something familiar ignites in my chest because I get it. I remember that drive to make it work—to do the thing that brings you joy and peace.
An escape.
Our situations are nowhere near the same, but they’re relatable enough I feel like I can at least draw the parallel. “That’s really cool. I’m sure the coach appreciates seeing your determination and drive. There’s no substitute for hard work, and even on the worst days, you’re still making a difference.”
Beck rolls his eyes and Lana smirks. “You sound like my mom.”
“That’s a pretty big compliment.” I grin before turning my attention to the little girl who has been silently watching this entire exchange.
“Well, you’ve met Beckham.” Lana sighs.
“Just Beck,” he corrects. “Ma only calls me Beckham when I’m in trouble.”
“So, like all the time,” her daughter says with a dramatic eye roll which makes Lana chuckle and Beck scowl.
“This is my daughter, Holland,” Lana says while wrapping her arm around Holland’s shoulders, and she gives me a little wave. It’s not protective as much as it’s meant to be comforting.
“Holland, not Holly.” She scrunches up her nose as I give her an understanding nod.
“Not Holly, got it.” I throw her a wink and she blushes. “What do you like to do?”
“I like soccer! Mama is friends with Nessa Hart. She plays for the Tennessee Tornadoes!”
“That is very cool. Miss Hart is a very nice lady.” I’m trying to be diplomatic because while Nessa Hart is nice, her personality is more like tryin’ to fit a wild cat into a cage meant for a rabbit.
She’s a hell of a lot of fun and drives Jensen up and back down the wall. It’s hilarious watching them face off over everything and nothing, the two of them looking for any and every excuse to make up.
The thought has me trying to cover my laugh by fake coughing into my shoulder. Lana doesn’t believe it for a second, but she looks tired, like this entire interaction has been too much for her.
Hell, I’ll probably need to decompress after this one too.
“Mason, it was great seeing you, but I need to get these kids out of here before my cart looks like yours.” There’s a playfulness in her tone I can’t quite figure out, but it will have to wait till later because this is an out for both of us.
“I have about nine hours of meal prepping to do,” I joke even though it’s closer to the truth than anything else. “It was really great meeting you guys. Beck, good luck with football. And Holland, make sure you tear it up on the soccer field.” They both smile and give me a high five before we part ways.
It’s not until I’m halfway to my truck that I hear someone call my name.
“Hey, wait!” Beck yells as he jogs across the parking lot toward me. Lana calls after him but his gaze is steady—focused—as he stops in front of me.
“You all right?”
“Why was your hat at my house?”
“I stopped over to see your mom. We’re friends.”
“Are you her boyfriend?” he asks, his question not unexpected but it also is. Beck’s expression is hard to read, but I’m already all in.
“We’re figuring some things out.”
“You don’t like her?”
I smile softly. “I do, Beck. She’s amazing, but she’s juggling a lot so I’m trying not to pressure her before she’s ready to take that step.”
His mouth opens and closes, his brow furrowing as he scuffs at the ground with the toe of his sneaker.
“Are you nice to her?” he asks, and now it’s my turn to be surprised. For all his bravado, Beck is still a kid and one with a damn big heart it seems.
“Yes.”
“My dad isn’t nice to her.” I’d gathered as much but I don’t dare say it.
“Maybe we can both be extra nice to make up for it.”
“Okay.”
“Beck?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to hurt your mom, and I don’t want to hurt you or Holland. Your mom and I wanted to have things a little more figured out before I met you guys, but now that it seems that plan has changed, we’ll just have to make it up as we go. All right? We’ll figure it out together, make sure everyone is on the same page. Would that be all right?”
He mulls it over for a second before nodding, a small smile gracing his lips. “Yeah.”
“Cool,” I say, feeling like I ran a marathon while standing here. “Beck?”
“What?”
“You need to tell me if there’s something you don’t like. From me or anyone else, all right? I want this to work, but I can’t do that if I don’t know there’s a problem.”
He stares at me, turmoil clear on his face as he seems to war with an internal struggle only he’s privy to.
“Why?”
I know from the way he’s looking at me that he doesn’t mean why do I want to know but rather why do you care?
It’s an easy answer and one I return without breaking his gaze, “Because she’s worth it, and so are you and Holland.”
The house is quiet when I get home. Moose, our Rottweiler, and Birdie, our Golden Lab, greet me at the door. I scratch them both behind the ears and let them outside while I go in search of my brother.
His door is closed and I press my ear against it.
Nothing.
Easing the handle, I push it open and find the room pitch black with Bodhi curled up in his bed.
Fuck.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say quietly, as I leave the door open a crack and move toward him. “Did you take your medicine?” I ask, feeling around for his migraine medication.
“Couldn’t,” he says softly.
“Where is it?”
“Bathroom.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t say anything as I pad quietly out of the room, going to the kitchen first to get him a fresh glass of water and some crackers before heading to grab his medication.
The bottle is less full than it should be, and I rack my brain trying to remember how many he’s had recently. A couple come to mind but it doesn’t account for how many pills are missing.
Have I been so preoccupied I haven’t noticed?
Guilt wars with annoyance as I creep back into his room, unscrew the lid on the bottle, and place the pill in his open palm. He swallows it down dry, but I still hold out the glass of water.
Bodhi shakes his head. “I’ll try in a little while.” His voice is hoarse and it’s obvious he’d gotten sick more than once tonight.
“Why didn’t you tell me they were getting bad again?”
“Didn’t want you to worry,” he says, rolling onto his back and massaging his temples.
“That’s not how this works; we don’t keep secrets.”
“Not hiding anything,” he croaks before reaching for the water and taking a small sip. “I’ve been able to catch them—change in the weather or something—but this one came out of nowhere. Knocked me on my ass.”
“Maybe we can get one of those air purifiers.”
His lips twitch in the darkened room. “Sure.”
“I’m gonna go make us something to eat, and I’ll put yours in the fridge for when you’re ready.”
“Stop worrying.”
The sentiment does nothing to ease the tension radiating through me, and because it’s what I do, I make light of the situation.
“Sure,” I snort as I head for the door. “Get some rest.”
He grunts as he rolls back onto his side, his body less rigid than when I walked in here, but it still has a knot forming in my stomach.
We’ve only ever had each other, and while I’ve opened my circle since being here, Bodhi hasn’t.
He’s kept everyone at arm’s length, embracing the broody, quiet persona and using it as a crutch.
Sighing, I head back toward the kitchen and grab a pot.
Looks like I’m makin’ soup.