Chapter Twenty-Nine Cameron
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cameron
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t almost fumble yesterday’s playoff game because the anxiety of today was crushing. It doesn’t help that I’ve been pondering a text from Coach Barnett, who says the scout who came to observe me will be returning to see the championship game.
But I’m not going to think about that. Tonight is Mason’s night.
I stand before my mirror, staring vacantly at the sapphire suit and tie I rented.
The world is cloaked in wintry late-November darkness, and I’m hot enough that the biting breeze coming through my open window causes my skin to steam.
I can hear branches on naked trees scratching together, the sound grating.
My parents, who are usually bantering nauseatingly on Saturday evenings, are abnormally quiet.
They have a good idea about who Liam is—not all the nitty-gritty details, but enough to know why I need to be there for Mason.
They’re not happy about my decision to attend his celebratory banquet, and we tried brainstorming ways to get Mason out of it.
When I brought them to him, though, he changed. He looked more resolute. Determined.
“I need to tell him face-to-face that it’s over or he’ll keep showing up,” he told me. “You don’t need to come, but I won’t avoid it anymore.”
Honestly, that banquet is the last place I want to be.
I hate the effect Liam had on me. Standing in the gallery, I was a deer in headlights.
Shaken, stunned. I remember the moment his eyes iced my veins.
If he’s been looking at Mason like that for years, it’s no wonder his soul was completely frozen over when I met him.
After today, Mason will hopefully free himself of the shackles around his wrists. He makes a good point, too—Liam seems persistent, and unless Mason draws the line in the sand, there’s every chance he’ll ambush Mason at home or school to plead his case.
When I enter the living room, Mom smiles widely.
“My handsome baby,” she says, straightening my jacket and readjusting my tie, worry lining her tired features.
“Be safe, okay? Call us if you need anything. Dad and I are going out to dinner across the street from the banquet, so we’ll pop over if needed. ”
“Thanks.” I clutch her nervous hands and smile reassuringly. “It’ll be okay.”
She purses her lips, unconvinced. Until Dad wanders over and settles a burly palm on her shoulder. “Sometimes we have to trust our kids can handle their issues without us,” he mumbles. “All we need to do is be on standby.”
Mom draws a forlorn sigh, then nods. “Good luck, bun,” she says softly.
So I’m off.
When Mason allows me inside, his mother instantly jumps to demand why I’m here. Mason, half-dressed in slacks and a button-down, turns on her with fierce eyes and says, “If I’m going, I’m bringing Cameron.”
The woman scowls, the sequins in her spaghetti-strap dress glinting in her eyes. Her jaw clenches tight enough for the bone to jut through her skin. “I RSVP’d for three people,” she says. “You can’t bring guests to an invite-only party.”
“Then I won’t go.”
Mason’s confrontational aura pops my brows.
I’ve been to his place multiple times, and Mason is usually quiet around his parents, sometimes disregarding their presence altogether—particularly his mom.
I tried deciphering their relationship for weeks, and it took me a while to realize that they just… don’t have one.
Mason’s mother looks ready to unhinge her jaw and scream, so I snag his shoulders and steer him down the hallway. “Let’s get you dressed,” I squeak out, nudging him into his room.
“What’s your problem?” Mason mutters, eyes locked to the carpet.
“I know you’re nervous.” I press my thumbs behind his neck, trying to massage the strain away. “But half the reason you’re going is to keep your mother from becoming a miserable wretch. Let’s keep her in a decent mood, okay?”
Mason turns and swings his arms around me. I press him protectively into my chest. I wonder if his tremor will go away after tonight, or if it will continue haunting him into the future.
“I’ll be there the whole time,” I whisper.
“I know.” He snuggles deeper into my jacket. “Quarterback?”
“Water boy?”
“You look really good in a suit.”
I snicker, drawing back to pose seductively. “Is there anything I could make look bad?”
Mason rolls his eyes, then heads to his bed to finish getting dressed. He fumbles with his shirt buttons, though his fingers are too shaky, so I join him and take over. His vest and tie are burgundy, which looks good against his porcelain-white skin.
Mason’s eyes remain resolute. He’s ready to tackle this night despite what his body is trying to convince him.
A half hour later, we’re entering the banquet hall.
The stars glimmer overhead and the parking lot is alight with dim streetlamps.
I thread my fingers through Mason’s as we follow his parents toward the looming glass structure, within which we can hear a live orchestra.
The hallway leading to the banquet rooms is carpeted and framed with golden chandeliers and exquisite paintings that slow Mason’s pace so he can better examine them.
At least until his mother snaps, “Keep up, boys,” forcing us to abandon them.
“We can look at them on the way out,” I suggest.
Mason smiles, squeezing my hand tighter. I resist the urge to scoop him off his feet and go running far, far away.
We step into the most beautiful ballroom I’ve ever seen.
Diamond chandeliers drip from the ceiling and jut from the room’s pillared perimeter.
A warm golden ambience rains over the hall, causing the silver-trimmed chairs to glint as brightly as the china meticulously placed at the rounded tables.
Delicate flower bouquets are centered atop each silky cloth.
The room is flooded with a hundred upper-class people wearing fancy jewelry and clothing, swirling champagne.
When we clear the entryway, we’re stopped by a couple decked out in the flashiest garb of everyone.
The woman is dressed in a shimmering gown with a plunging neckline, tall and elegant, her makeup smoky against her striking, ice-blue eyes.
The man beside her wears a velvet tuxedo and buckled shoes.
“How good to see old friends!” the woman says with a honey-sweet smile, gliding forward to encompass Mrs. Gray in a hug.
She draws back before Mason’s mom can even wrap her arms around the woman.
“You’re stunning. I’m sure it’s not often you can dress up like this, mm?
Oh, and Mason, my darling little thing, come here! ”
She sweeps toward Mason and gathers him into a more lingering hug, forcing him to drop my hand. “Hello,” he says lightly.
“I’m so happy you made it. Liam will be thrilled.” She takes his wrists, smiling earnestly at him. “Whenever we speak on the phone, all he wants to discuss is how much he misses you.”
Mason doesn’t smile back. “I came to talk to him,” he says, eyes roving the hall, clearly seeking Liam out.
“Oh good! He’s more than ready to spoil you, pumpkin.” She chuckles, drawing her husband to her side, who looks between everyone with slight distaste, like we’re not worth his time. At least until his eyes latch on to Mason and appear to soften.
“Mason,” he says warmly. “Our boy’s been out of sorts for months. You should’ve thrown him a bone so he could better focus on his studies.”
Mason’s expression remains unchanged, but their casual words make me grind my teeth. Why are they talking like the only reason he exists is for his shitty ex? I want to snap at them, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m his emotional support, his quiet bodyguard. He can handle himself.
“Liam is a grown man who knows where to place his priorities,” Mason says, snatching my fingers. I can almost feel his nerves shooting through me. “I’m sorry to say he’ll need to learn how to live without me. Though, it’s lovely to see you both.”
Mrs. Gray’s face contorts with horrified anger. Apparently she didn’t realize Mason’s goal tonight was to officially end things. Likewise, Liam’s parents shoot each other a startled glance, and his mother’s gaze falls to me. “And who’s this?” she asks, her voice suddenly as frigid as her eyes.
“A friend,” Mason says.
“You’ve brought a stranger to Liam’s banquet?” Her knife-sharp jaw shifts. “He was so excited to see you, Mason. Yet you’re only here to break his heart, all while flaunting around a new boyfriend. Isn’t that rather inappropriate?”
“I couldn’t agree more, Ella,” Mrs. Gray says, her face straining. “But he refused to come without this boy.”
They’re talking about me like I’m not standing with them. Just as I’m wondering if I should speak up, Mason says, “I’ve moved on, and it’s time Liam does the same. Though, I’ll always be grateful for your support.”
I wonder how much they’re privy to. Do they know their son is an abuser?
Did Liam and Mason hide their relationship until the age gap was more “appropriate”?
I’m not sure. But being around these adults—these parents, neither set of which did anything to help Mason—makes my blood boil.
I bite my lips to keep impulsivity from taking over.
“Well”—Liam’s father steps away, drawing his wife with him—“we’re sorry to hear that, Mason. I’m sure Liam will be there the moment you realize what you’re missing. You’re young—I suppose you still have growing to do before you can understand the weight of your mistakes. Enjoy the party.”
They float away to greet other guests. I’m nearly bursting at the seams with anger. I want to unbutton my jacket and swathe Mason inside so nobody can look at him.
“Thanks, Cameron,” he whispers.
I blink down at him. He lifts my hand and kisses my wrist, fully aware of his mother’s glare, and the boldness flares my cheeks hot. “I haven’t done anything,” I croak.
“You’re here. That’s something.”
Ugh. I can’t wait for this night to be over so I can kiss him to my heart’s content.