CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jenna
My heart hammers in my chest, each little pound an echo of Mason’s footsteps coming toward me. He doesn’t speak, but before I know it, he’s standing in front of me, relief clear in his features, his soulful eyes locked on mine.
I want to scream, to tell him he broke my heart, but instead, all I do is blurt, “Where’s your bag?” folding my arms over my chest.
I’m clearly all about what’s important right now.
A flicker of surprise shadows Mason’s expression and he bites back a smile, struggling to suppress it, undoubtedly seeing through my words. “It’s downstairs with security.”
“And what, they just let you in? Why would they do that?”
“My Aussie charm?” He shrugs and my eyes hurt from how hard I roll them.
“Get inside.” Holding the door open, I gesture for him to walk through, turning his smile into shock.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. It means something that you’re here. Fighting. It doesn’t mean I forgive you. Not yet.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. I was prepared for you to put me through the wringer.”
“Good. There’s a couch through there.” I point to the living room, ignoring the intense speed of my pulse. “Feel free to take a seat, or stand. Whatever. I’m going to read your letter in my bedroom.”
“What if it doesn’t change anything?” Mason raises an eyebrow, his confidence fading, giving me a moment of control.
“I’ll text you to fuck off. It’ll save you from my wrath.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” He chuckles lightly, his gorgeous smile trapping my gaze. The Aussie charm he mentioned must be working in full force right now, because my heart once again betrays me, skipping like a schoolgirl.
“I’ll be back. Maybe.”
“I’ll be here.”
I nod, turning to walk away until Mason calls out, making me wince.
“None of it’s fake, Jenna. Not that letter in your hand, and not our time together this past week. It’s all real. Remember that while you’re trying to hate me.”
My steps falter, but I don’t look back, refusing to let him see how much he affects me. He lied to me. But he’s here. He left Australia. Left Jack. He finally did something for himself and it was for me.
I hold my head high until I make it to my bed, collapsing in a heap the second my knees hit the mattress, tossing the letter out of reach.
Why am I struggling so much? This isn’t me. I’ve never let anyone else dictate my feelings. Except my mom. And she earned that right after twenty-seven years of a relationship.
I’ve known Mason for four freaking days. Four.
But… No, no freaking buts.
Lifting my head, my eyes lock on Mason’s handwriting on the letter and I physically wince. How is it possible that I never noticed the difference?
My mind whirs as I study the envelope, my fingers itching to stretch out and grab it while my heart holds me back.
What could he possibly say to fix this? He lied. He lives thousands of miles away. Nothing written in this little package will change any of that.
But I can’t let it go.
Jumping up, I rip through the envelope as though I despise it and stare at the paper inside, my pulse picking up speed when I didn’t think that was possible.
Taking a deep breath, I open the letter and immediately snort at the mistletoe drawing in the top corner.
As reluctant as I am to admit it, I needed to laugh at this moment, and I’ll bet he freaking knew that.
Dear Jenna,
Thank fuck you’re actually reading this. Of all the letters I’ve written to you, this was by far the hardest.
The letters... the fucking letters. I’m sorry I never told you what I’d done. That wasn't fair. What I’m not sorry about is that I wrote to you in the first place. It’s not something I’ll ever regret.
In the beginning, it wasn’t my choice, but it only took one letter for me to feel a connection to you. Actually no, it was one sentence and you sucked me right in. You’d written...
‘Sometimes I wonder if anyone can truly survive this cruel world we live in. Then I think “fuck it,” I’m going to give it all I’ve got.’
The truth is, I’ve been falling for you since the first letter I read almost seven years ago.
And now that I’ve met you, I’m not sure you see how amazing you are. Yes, you’re confident and strong, but there’s more to you that you seem to brush off or hide behind a veil.
Like the way you follow a compliment with something positive about the giver, never wanting to be the one to outshine them.
You’re unapologetic when it comes to your goals, yet apologise profusely if you forget a tiny detail about a friend, even if it’s something you were never expected to remember.
You’re loyal and caring while still seeing through people faster than most. And you’re so goddamn driven that it awes me. You wanted to be an actress and you damn well did it. You followed your dreams, allowing me to live vicariously through your success.
Jenna, I wanted you before you showed up at my house, before you were famous… Hell, I wanted you before I’d seen your face.
There were times in my life when your letters were my vice, the only things keeping me positive in my otherwise fucked-up world.
I never wanted to hurt you, and I never set out to get you into bed. If anything, I tried hard to actively avoid that.
You deserve better than a man who lost his passion for life living on the other side of the world, but I couldn’t let you go without telling you the truth.
I owe you that. And more.
I’d love to say I’d do it all differently if I had my time again, only that would be a lie. I loved every second of our time together. If given the chance, I’d happily spend that time over—fighting you, teasing you, fucking you in an alley…holding you while you slept.
Anything to be close to you again.
To you we only just met, but for me, it’s been building for years. I hope you understand me enough to see that I’m real. That from now on, I’ll always be real with you.
This is me.
Take care,
Mason.
Take. Care. Take care?
Jesus. Jumping up, I rush over to my closet and grab Jack’s letters, emptying the box onto the floor. Frantically opening each letter, it takes me all of five minutes to sort them into two piles—“take care” and “cheers.” The letters are different. The tone is different.
My stomach knots.
Mason wrote ten letters. Ten! Including the last one. The letter that had me packing my bags and flying to meet him.
Jack. I went to meet Jack. Only it wasn’t him.
Down to my very core, with every inch of my being, it felt like Mason knew me. Because he does. He’s known me for years. And if he hadn’t written that final letter, I never would have known him in return.
Tears prick my eyes and I throw the box across the room, my heart galloping in my chest. What do I say to that? How do I—
“Jenna.” Mason clears his throat, and I frantically wipe my eyes, my gaze lifting to his. “I know you wanted me to stay put, but I heard a crash. Are you okay?”
“No.” I shake my head, my voice catching. “I’m not even close to okay and I hate you for it.”
“Jenna, I’m—”
I wave my hand, cutting him off, needing to get this off my chest. “I don’t cry, Mason.
Ever. Only you already know that.” His gaze softens as he leans a shoulder against the doorframe, his piercing blue eyes holding me hostage until I blink.
“And since you know me so well, I don’t need to explain that I never do relationships.
I don’t do love. Not the all-consuming, can’t-breathe-without-you love, not the love of your life, soulmate fairytale bullshit.
Not even the boy meets girl, cutesy crush kind of stuff. I don’t do it.”
Mason nods but otherwise remains stoic, allowing me to continue, once again showing me that he gets it.
“You made me question things, Mason. You made me feel things I’ve never felt.
In four goddamn days. Four days. Then you ripped my heart clear out of my chest. I don’t do love because I don’t want to feel like this.
I don’t want to be like my mom, chasing happiness from one guy to the next, always thinking the current one's her soulmate. Spoiler alert—he’s not.
He never is. And you made me forget that for a moment. Until it all came crashing back on me.”
“I should have told you the second I saw you, but I was pissed off. We’d… I’d been sending you letters for years, and you read one that’s…let’s face it, borderline pornographic, and you pack a bag to pay Jack a visit. Here I was falling for you and you fly thousands of miles for sex.”
“You think that’s what that was?”
“Wasn’t it?” Mason’s expression turns cold, while his eyes give away his hurt, along with the softness of his voice. “Why else would you wait until that letter? It’s been years and you never once mentioned the idea of visiting Australia.”
My heart jolts because he’s right. I went because that letter felt like a hand reaching from the page and shoving me out the door. Like Jack was pushing me to go. Taunting me. Except it wasn’t Jack at all. “Why’d you write it?”
“What?” He blinks as though my question confuses him.
“Why did you write it? What did you think would happen?” I hold his stare, needing to see every emotion as it flits across his face.
It seems like a million thoughts travel through his head before he settles on one, determination set in his gaze. “I think I wanted you to come.”
“You think? But you still got mad at me.”
“Because you did!” he yells exasperatedly, stalking toward me from across the room. “I wrote that letter. I wanted to do those things to you. But you were there for Jack. The guy that doesn’t pay attention. The guy that asked his big brother to write to the girl he now claims to love.”
“Why’d you do it in the first place?”