Chapter 29 – King
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
KING
There’s something I’ve always loved about walking in the rain.
Maybe it’s the idea of it washing everything away—the dirt and grime of the city, the shame.
Maybe it’s because nobody can see the tears running down a person’s face when it’s raining.
I’ve never cried so fucking much in my whole life as I have these past few weeks. I hate it.
Mason James has made me soft.
Mason … The look on his face when I left.
What if I misread it? There’s every chance it didn’t mean all that much to him.
He could have had as good a time with Dax from the club.
Maybe he was being a good guy and giving me a few minutes to recover.
It’s not like he explicitly asked me to stay the night, even if that was the vibe I got.
I growl my frustration, because as much as I try to convince myself this was a casual thing for Mason, I know in my gut that it wasn’t. Not for either of us.
I’ve walked eight blocks from his apartment building.
It would still be quicker for me to turn around and go back than it would to get home.
I should go back. But then what? Can I admit to him that I’m scared out of my mind of what we shared tonight?
Admit that I’m falling for him so hard that I’m terrified I’m going to lose myself—that I fell in love with him when I was sixteen and haven’t stopped loving him a single second since?
I blow out a heavy breath and shake my head. No good would ever come from a conversation like that. There’s nothing I could ever truly offer him. I’m not brave enough to tell the world who I really am, and I never will be.
Glancing up at the night sky, I let the rainwater wash over me. I need to forget about Mason James. I need to move back to Chicago and cut all ties with New York. But first, I need a drink.
There’s a dive bar on this block. My favorite kind of place. Spit and sawdust and real, honest liquor. The kind of place Mason wouldn’t be caught dead in.
I step inside and shake off the excess rain. My T-shirt and jeans are soaked, and the warm air and warmer scent of aged spirits are more than welcome. Ignoring the curious glances of a few patrons at a nearby table, I head straight for the bar.
“King? What the hell are you doing in here?”
“And why do you look like you just crawled out of the Hudson?”
Shit. I spin around toward the direction of the voices and come face-to-face with Nathan and Drake. Double shit. I plaster on a smile and run a hand over my soaked head. “What are you two doing in here? I wouldn’t have thought this was your kind of place.”
Drake makes a show of glancing around, a goofy smile on his face. “Yeah, I know. Elijah told us about it. They have the best Scotch this side of Central Park.” He holds up his near-empty glass in a toast.
Nathan gives me a knowing smile and pats his younger brother on the back. “He won a huge case today.”
Drake downs his drink and indicates the empty seat at their table. “Join us.”
It would be rude not to, what with everything they’ve done for me.
That’s what I tell myself, but in truth, I like these guys.
I especially like that they’re related to the one man I can’t stop thinking about.
Being close to them makes me feel closer to him, which is all kinds of fucked up considering how I ran out on the guy.
Nathan orders another round of exorbitantly expensive Scotch, and after the waiter has set it down, he asks me how things are going at Jamestech.
I take a swig from my glass and enjoy the burn and slight buzz it gives me. “Good,” I say.
Drake sips his Scotch. “Elijah can be a bit of a hard-ass, but he’s a teddy bear underneath. Find his leak and he’ll make sure you’re never short of work again. Guy has more business connections than LinkedIn.”
I like Elijah. Yeah, I can see why people think he’s a hard-ass, but from what I’ve seen, he’s a great CEO.
“He just expects results,” Nathan says. “I wouldn’t say that makes him a hard-ass.”
Drake snorts. “That’s because by your standards, nobody’s a hard-ass. You make drill sergeants look like kindergarten teachers.”
Nathan rolls his eyes and shakes his head, an amused expression on his face as he regards his younger brother. Then he turns his attention back to me. “It was a really big case.”
I smile, finding an unexpected comfort in their back and forth. “Actually, I mostly report to Mason.”
“Ah, Mase.” Drake smiles. “Don’t let him fool you either.”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table, my interest piqued. “Fool me how?”
Nathan gives his brother what appears to be a warning look, but Drake ignores it. He downs the rest of his Scotch and leans in too. “Mason likes to pretend he’s the fun uncle, but he’s not. Not really.”
Another eye roll from Nathan, and he takes Drake’s empty glass from in front of him. “I’m cutting you off and getting you a cab.”
But I’m eager for any insight into the man who’s currently the subject of my every waking and sleeping thought. “Fun uncle?”
Drake smirks and jabs a finger into his chest. “I’m the fun uncle.” Then he stares at me, grinning. In all the time I’ve known Drake, I’ve never seen him drunk before, no matter how much liquor he slammed.
I look at Nathan. “A huge case, huh?”
Nathan winks. “Massive.”
I sense something more is going on, but I don’t push. Drake’s personal life isn’t my business. Their brother on the other hand … “I find it hard to believe that Mason isn’t the fun uncle.”
“Oh, he is.” Nathan takes a drink, and I’m convinced that’s the end of the conversation, but he continues. “That’s not all he is though.”
I don’t speak, worried I’ll appear too eager and cause suspicion.
To my relief, he keeps going. “Mason has more charisma and charm in his little finger than most people have in their entire bodies. But that often makes people underestimate him. They think the easy charm and fun-loving playboy persona he cultivates is who he is. But he’s all heart, my little brother.
He hides it well, but he’s one of the most loyal and honest people you’ll ever have the privilege of meeting. ”
He stares at me over the rim of his glass while he sips more of the aged blend. Why is he telling me this? Does he know I already know these things about Mason? Mason, who’s probably lying in bed, wondering why the hell I ran out on him like he did something wrong.
I’m such a fucking asshole.
I make my excuses, gulp down the rest of my drink and, over their protestations, throw fifty bucks on the table to cover the cost of one shot.
Once I’m back outside in the rain, I take off in the direction of Mason’s place, determined to tell him that tonight meant something to me. That he means something to me.
As luck would have it, another resident of the building is getting home, and I duck in the door behind him as it’s closing. The concierge immediately spots me.
“Hi, Bill. Can you let me up?” I glance behind him at the private elevator that leads to Mason’s apartment. The one that can only be accessed by a keycard, which Bill has in his inside pocket.
He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“But I was up there a few hours ago.”
“And then you left, and Mr. James hasn’t advised me of any further visitors this evening.”
I scrub a hand down my face. My buzz is wearing off, and I’m halfway to feeling like a fool for coming back here. But I’m more of a fool for leaving in the first place. “That’s because he doesn’t know I’m coming. I called, but he won’t pick up.”
Bill arches an eyebrow. “Sir, you’re drunk and you are trespassing. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police and have them remove you.”
“Fuck, Bill. I was here a few hours ago. You said goodnight to me,” I protest, but Bill isn’t budging. So I try a different tactic. “Then you call him for me. Call him on the intercom thingy.” I know he has one because I’ve seen it. It lets him get a look at any unexpected visitors in the lobby.
“Sir, please.” He gestures toward the door I snuck through a minute ago. “Leave.”
“Just call him, and then I’ll leave. Please, Bill. I’m begging you. Have you ever made a huge mistake and needed someone to help you out? Please. I need to tell him one thing, and then I’ll leave.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, glancing at the elevator again. But I don’t think Bill is the kind of guy to make idle threats, and I could do without getting arrested for trying to break into Mason’s penthouse.
So I leave, and I call him instead. To my surprise, he picks up. Bill probably told him I was here as soon as I walked out of the building.
“Mase?” My tone is desperate and pleading, and if I weren’t drunk, I’d probably hate myself for it.
“What do you want, King?”
“I’m outside.”
“I know.”
“Can I come up?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Mase, please.”
He sighs. “Go home. It’s late, and I’m really fucking tired.”
I’m certain he doesn’t mean physically tired. No doubt he’s tired of this constant back and forth between us. I know I am. “Let me say one thing before you hang up.”
He doesn’t reply, so I take my shot. “I’m sorry I walked out before. But I was scared. That … What we did meant something, and I freaked out. I’ve never been good at handling my emotions, and I’m sorry. Now, would you please let me come up so I can make it up to you in person?”
“Is that all?” he asks, his tone weary.
“No.” I gulp. “You told me that I make you feel like that sixteen-year-old kid, and it scares you because you don’t like him. But for the record, I loved that kid. I still do.”
I hear him swallow. “Goodnight, King.”
The line goes dead.
And so does my heart.