Chapter 11
MASON
Last night was a shit show. I mean, how did that even happen?
These guys have been doing this for years and suddenly the night I’m there on the mission, the cops show up.
I’m seriously starting to develop a complex.
Is this all because of me? My anxiety says yes, it’s all my fault, Parker is going to realize I’m not worth all this trouble; he’s going to drop me like hot potatoes, then blame me for the rest of his life for his brother being incarcerated in federal prison.
Groaning loudly, I pour the piping hot water from the kettle into my favorite coffee mug.
The scent of spearmint and peppermint wafts from the mug in a cloud of comfort.
I curl my toes into the tile to settle my errant nerves.
Early morning sunlight filters in through the kitchen window, casting shadows around the tile.
I take another deep breath and sip at the still too hot tea, leaning the small of my back against the counter as I stare down into the mug.
Parker would never blame me. He’s not like that.
But last night his brother did something none of them ever expected.
All I can think to do is confess to killing my uncle myself.
It would solve one problem but cause a cascade of others.
I’m not sure Parker would ever let me if I tried.
Plus, prison would likely kill me with the combination of inescapable germs and close quarters. My brain would never recuperate.
“Sup,” Dante calls out as he pads in, hair a mess, shirt rucked up to show off his tattooed abdomen.
“Hello.”
“Your brother isn’t far behind me.” Dante wrinkles his nose when he opens my fridge, probably because all that’s in there are very healthy choices. He dips back to look at me past the fridge door. “You got any eggs? And tortilla wraps? I can make breakfast burritos.”
I shrug. “I definitely have eggs, not sure about tortilla wraps. Help yourself to whatever. Just… wash your hands.”
Dante winks. “Got it.”
The quiet sound of Dante cooking breakfast fills the kitchen.
He doesn’t try to make conversation, which is exceedingly kind after the mess that is my brain this morning.
I leave him to cook and take a seat at the dining table just as Reid stumbles sleepily down the stairs, hair in a million directions, eyes zeroed in on Dante.
“You’re such a jerk,” Reid mumbles, but he still seeks Dante out for a kiss.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dante grins at the top of Reid’s head when my brother takes a perfectly rolled breakfast burrito.
Reid joins me at the table while biting into the burrito. He smiles weirdly at me, then sneaks a peek at Dante as if afraid to be overheard. Leaning as close as he can without making me uncomfortable, he whispers, “Did Parker sleep in your room last night?”
“Uh.”
Reid squints and finishes off his burrito. “Seriously? Why is it such a secret?”
Because Parker has the perfect timing, he descends the stairs right then, dressed for the day in sleek dress pants and a tight polo that shows off the muscles in his arms. Ignoring the other occupants of the kitchen, he stops beside my chair, resting his hand on the edge so he’s not touching me.
“I took a shower and brushed my teeth,” Parker says with a glimmer in his eyes.
I lean back in the chair, offering my mouth to him for a kiss. He dips down, kisses me softly, like a pair of butterfly wings over my lips, then wanders off to join Dante in the kitchen.
“You let him kiss you?” Reid asks, clearly shocked.
“I think my brain knows his germs and my germs are best friends. He’s kind of hijacked my brain. The things I used to worry about in regard to touch don’t bother me so much anymore. Only when it comes to him though.”
Reid makes a disbelieving noise. “But why Parker?”
Parker looks over his shoulder at us at the sound of his name. His hair is in a loose half-bun, still wet from his morning shower, and his evergreen eyes make me feel like I’m home.
“’Cause he makes me feel safe.”
Reid pretends to puke. “Gross. Don’t call him daddy in front of me.”
Now it’s my turn to almost hurl. “That’s disgusting. Never say that again. I would never call Parker daddy. Do you call Dante daddy?”
Reid looks anywhere but at me. Oh yuck.
The front door opens to reveal a sloppily dressed Hayden, his face ashen and hair a knotty mess.
He pauses at the front door to take off his shoes, wordlessly padding into the kitchen to wash his hand that isn’t ensconced in a neon-green cast. All of us stay quiet, eyeing him with the eagerness of children watching a parent come home late at night.
“Boss?” Dante asks before he shoves a burrito into his mouth.
Hayden clears his throat awkwardly and steadfastly avoids everyone’s gazes, instead shuffling around to pour himself a cup of coffee that Dante so kindly made for everyone. The tension in the room rises a few degrees, finally lowering once Hayden sits himself down at the table opposite Reid.
Trailing his finger over the edge of the cup, Hayden blinks hard a few times, and it’s such a particular, evasive maneuver that I’m not sure anyone else recognizes it for what it is but me.
It’s a tic. This man who appears to have it all together, who runs this crew like the captain of a well-oiled ship, is so anxious he’s ticcing.
I’d know because it happened to me for years before therapy and medicine brought my daily anxiety to a manageable level.
But is it the weight of his leadership role on his shoulders or the loss of Jacob that’s causing the severe anxiety?
“I… Uh.” Hayden stops abruptly and squirms in his seat, shoulder tilting forward, then backward in a jerky, painful-looking movement. “I don’t know what to do.”
I meet Parker’s gaze over Hayden’s head, and Parker looks so distraught, so broken, that my gut tightens and hot shame rolls through me.
But Parker holds my gaze, refusing to let me roil in self-pity, because just like I know deep down none of this is my fault, he knows it too.
Parker’s strides are sure as he makes his way toward the table, sets his mug down, then sits beside Hayden without a word.
Dante brings a plate of food over to the table, then quietly joins us all as we wait Hayden out.
Reid speaks first. “The attorney, Alexis… Dante spoke to her last night and she’s on it.”
Hayden lets out a bitter laugh. “He’s going away forever. And Robin isn’t answering my texts. I don’t know what the fuck to do. I just…” Hayden drops his head into his okay hand, looking the perfect picture of a defeated man. “This is all my fault.”
“Uhm, the blame game does no one any good.” Dante reaches over to clap Hayden’s shoulder. He squeezes hard once, then dips down to try to catch Hayden’s gaze where it’s locked on the table. “Hayden, this isn’t your fault.”
Hayden starts to shake his leg hard, causing the table to vibrate. “If I had… If I had done more research. If I had just listened to him when he said it felt wrong, he didn’t like the setup… I just should have fucking listened to him.”
“He told you he didn’t like the setup?” Parker asks, eyebrows furrowed.
Hayden waves a hand. “He always did that when the mission counted on y’all backing me up. He wanted Dante and Reid to start picking up the hacking shifts.”
“What?” Reid gasps.
Hayden blinks four times again, then twists his hand in a hard movement, making the joints crack. He’s about to fucking break. I meet Parker’s gaze again and make furious eyes at him, enough to have him looking a little fearful.
“Hayden?” I ask softly.
Hayden lifts his light blue eyes to mine, as if coming out of a daze. “Oh. Hi.”
“Hi.” I smile at him, the most reassuring smile I can muster, the kind that Parker always sends my way. “How about just you and I talk?”
Parker holds out a hand to stop us from getting up. “I don’t think that’s—”
“I’ve got it, Parker,” I say.
Parker quiets and clenches his jaw, muscles wound tight, and just nods in what seems like understanding.
I head into the living room with a deep pit of worry in my belly.
But halfway there I change directions. I head to my study on the second floor, a place I haven’t been for almost a month now since I no longer have to do all the dirty work for my uncle.
I open the door wide, let Hayden walk through, then softly close the door behind us.
Hayden looks around for a little while, cataloguing all my books and dipping down to look out the bay windows that face the front yard.
He swings back around, neon-green cast making his arm swing heavily at his side, and fixes me with a distrustful stare.
“So?”
“Are you okay?”
Hayden snorts. “I’m fine. I just need…” He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “I just need to get my shit together, man.”
“How’s your hand?” I take a step forward to look at it, but Hayden pulls it away, clutching it to his chest. “I’m not going to touch you without your permission.”
“I… I know that. I know that,” Hayden repeats, a little surer than the first time. He scoffs and looks back out the windows. “Jake’s going to be so mad when he finds out I broke my hand by punching a fucking wall. Livid.”
“Well, we can tell him it happened when we were running away.”
Hayden screws his mouth up in a scowl. “He’ll know the truth. He knows everything.”
“Oh?”
Hayden tics again, three blinks and a shoulder lift. “Nothing gets by Jacob.”
“Do you usually call him Jake?”
“Yeah… What did you want to talk about?” Hayden asks, eyes narrowed as if he’s caught on to my game.
“You just seemed really anxious. Do you have anxiety?”
“What is this? Therapy?” Hayden scoffs and starts to leave, but I hold my hand up to stop him, and he freezes right before coming into contact with my hand. He looks down at my hand in shock, then his eagle-eyed gaze swings back to me. “Oh. Mason has a pair on him.”
“And you hide all your anxiety behind bravado and quips.”