8. Chapter 8
Cameron
Minutes ticked by like hours as the house remained eerily silent.
I knew telling Mason that I was from Kingsbury was a bad idea.
I was just so damn tired of lying to her.
I wasn’t sure if it was the stress of Dale being around or if it was the idea that Mason was mad at me yet again, but it felt like I was going to be smothered under the weight of my past.
I couldn’t breathe right, and my mind was spinning. I wasn’t a crier. It just wasn’t my place. But my eyes were burning, and my throat was thick. All I wanted was a shot of whisky or a cigarette, but I could settle for Lucian and Sophia coming home.
I loved’em both, but when I was worked up, the only person I wanted was Soph. I just wanted her to hold me and tell me everything was fine, that I’m overthinkin’ and worked up over nothing. But, just as I texted Sophia for an ETA on when she’d be home, the house creaked.
And not in the way it did when the foundation was settling.
That’s how I knew someone was moving upstairs.
I held my breath as it drew nearer and eventually found the steps.
I didn’t give a fuck who it was. All I knew was I needed to talk to someone.
It didn’t matter if it was about my problems or not. I just needed not to be alone .
With that in mind, I did my best not to run over to the steps. Instead, I acted like I was getting something from the kitchen. By the time I got there, the house had quieted again, and I was a little more than relieved to see Mason standing at the island.
In front of her was a cutting board, and to the side was a zucchini and a couple of other veggies that didn’t really matter. She was completely in her own world as she rough-chopped some spinach before putting it into a glass bowl.
“What are ya’ making?” I kept my voice low as I stepped closer.
Even with that, Mason jumped at the sound of my voice. Her shoulders went tight as she focused on me. Mason’s lips pressed into a thin line, and it looked like she had to remind herself to breathe.
Instantly, I wondered what she and Sebastian talked about.
Mason’s eyes remained wide, never leaving mine as I stepped closer. I forced a smile and pointed at the bowl of spinach.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” I commented.
I had seen her make her fair share of grilled cheese for the kids, but that’s where her skills ended; at least, that’s what I thought. Suddenly, it was like Mason remembered she needed to talk, too.
“I had to learn when I lived with my mom. It was either learn to cook or starve.” Mason spoke slow and soft as if she kept her tone light enough; this would go by quicker.
… Was she scared of me? Or just angry?
“Do you like cooking?” I stepped a little closer, and Mason seemed to shrink in on herself.
“I don’t mind it. Lucian called and said he was almost home, and I wanted to have dinner ready for everyone when they got back.”
I loved that Mason cared enough to do that, but I hated her being on her feet, especially after the scare last night.
“What can I do to help? Put me to work.” I told her.
Mason shook her head. “I got it. You can relax.”
I put a hand on her back, and Mason went stiffer than a board. I tried to push past the uneasy feeling that caused .
“I should be saying that to you .” Instinctively, my hand went to her stomach.
She recoiled from my touch as a nervous squeak escaped her lips. I wondered if she could see the hurt on my face because she rushed to make this better.
“I just don’t want to be touched right now! It’s not you!” she promised.
I tried to smile at her excuse, but I couldn’t force it. Right now, I had no idea what Mason knew and what she didn’t, which meant I couldn’t comfort her.
But having her so obviously terrified made me feel like a monster.
“Alright, I’ll let you be. I, uh, I’m going to sit in the living room, I guess. If you need me, let me know.”
“Mhm, thank you, bye.” She waved me off.
I stood in shock for just a moment before doing as promised. I barely had a chance to sit down before I heard a soft, panicked sound from Mason.
I knew she didn’t want me to be close to her right now, but I still bolted out of my seat and to her side.
When I got back to the kitchen, Mason had one hand supporting the other as blood seeped from her thumb, splattering against the counter like drops of wet paint.
Her porcelain skin took on an ashen tone as her breathing shallowed. I moved on instinct as I grabbed a paper towel before bridging the gap between us.
“What happened?” I asked, pressing the wad of paper to her wounded hand.
Mason choked on a breath as she met my gaze. Her lips were parted, but her teeth were pressed together.
Since she didn’t answer me, I took matters into my own hands.
“Hold your breath. This might hurt a little, but I need to look at it.”
I coached, and she looked away, squeezing her eyes shut. Mason whimpered as I pulled the paper towel back and noticed a good chunk of the tip of her thumb was taken off. I couldn’t tell if it was enough to warrant a hospital visit or not.
“Is it bad?” She squeaked.
Well, it certainly isn’t good.
“I ain’t sure yet. Let’s get you to the bathroom so I can patch you up.”
With how she was acting, I expected a protest or an outright refusal. Instead, she just nodded.
I pressed the paper towel back to her hand and guided her through the house, silently hoping that this somehow wasn’t bad enough for stitches. I knew Seb was upstairs, but after last night and now, whatever was going on with Mason today, I didn’t trust him alone with her.
When we finally got to the bathroom, I pushed the door open and lowered her onto the toilet seat. She squirmed for a moment before looking away from her hand.
“I don’t like blood,” she admitted.
One corner of my lip tugged into a smile. I had personally watched some of the goriest horror movies in existence with Mason, and now blood had her squeamish?
The first aid kit was below the sink, so I focused my attention on grabbing it rather than on how soft Mason was under her hard exterior.
I placed the plastic kit on the counter before grabbing out some bandaids, the antiseptic spray, and a washcloth from a nearby drawer.
With my goods in hand, I knelt on the ground before Mason. She was still stiff, but she seemed to be relaxing just a hair.
“This might hurt a bit,” I warned her as I took her hand in mine.
She pulled her lip between her teeth as she nodded. I cleaned up the blood before spritzing the antiseptic onto her thumb. Instantly, she winced, but I held her in place just long enough to cover her thumb with bandaids. One to actually cover the wound and another to hold the first one in place.
When I was done, I let go of her, and she finally looked back. I stayed on my knees just so I could enjoy the view.
“Now that I’ve doctored you up, can we talk instead of you actin’ like you’re afraid of me?” I asked.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“And I’m glad, but you ain’t actin’ like that.”
Mason looked away, and I wondered if she felt guilty.
“I just need to talk to Lucian, that’s all,” she told me .
I wondered how that and this situation were at all connected, but it wasn’t worth the battle.
When Lucian, Sophia, and the kids got home, it was a flurry of activity. The kids were hungry and exhausted after their grandmas let them do whatever they wanted for a day.
So, instead of everyone reuniting like planned, we ate in relative silence other than the whining of Jasper and Juniper.
Once their bellies were full, Mason and Lucian were the ones to tackle bath and bedtime, leaving Sophia and I to clean up dinner and pick the movie we’d all watch for the night.
That had become a kind of ritual for us.
Every night since Mason and Lucian got back from France, we’d take turns picking a movie. That’s how we adults would make time for each other. Tonight just so happened to be my turn to choose.
With the dishes done, Soph and I were free to cuddle on the couch while we listened to the absolute war we missed by not doing bath time tonight.
“Jasper Neil, the water stays in the bathtub.” Lucian’s order was muffled by the walls of the house between us, and so was the splash that followed.
Sophia smirked as she leaned against my arm.
“Can you hand me that?” She pointed toward the wine glass on the end table closest to me.
I picked it up by the stem and took a sip. Sophia was big on all white wines and had recently started branching out. This time, she had some type of pink mead. It was floral-tasting and so sweet that it left a film on my tongue.
I fought a grimace as I passed it over to her.
“So, how was your night with Mason, minus making her cum so hard she went into labor?” Sophia jabbed me with her elbow.
“You ain’t funny,” I warned.
She gasped and covered her lips with her perfectly manicured hand. “I’m hilarious! ”
I rolled my eyes and kicked my feet onto the coffee table. “It was fine. Today's been rough, though.”
“Rough how?”
I scratched my jaw as I thought about a nice way to put it.
“Mae has been very… sensitive?” Was that a good way to put it?
Sophia laughed into her wine. “You’ll get used to it. It’s part of her charm.”
Sophia’s smile at the end of her sentence was almost disarming, but what she said wasn’t.
“She’s like this outside of pregnancy?” I was really hoping it was just hormones, especially because she wasn’t like this a few weeks ago.
Sophia nodded. “I’m sure being pregnant doesn’t help, but that’s just how Mason gets when she’s overwhelmed.”
I shifted around, and for the first time, I actually had to consider my relationship with Mason. It was one thing to deal with her being like this when there was an end in sight, but it was another to have her having mini-tantrums forever, possibly.
“It’s a lot.” I breathed, trying to wrap my head around the idea.
Still, knowing Mason’s attitude was her problem and not her actually being afraid of me was comforting.
“Yeah, but I guess that’s just how autism works,” Sophia spoke casually as she leaned into me.
I raised one brow as I watched Sophia, waiting for her to crack a smile or tell me that it was a joke. But Sophia wasn’t one to joke about something like that.
“What’s that got to do with Mason?”
“Mason’s autistic… You didn’t know that?” Sophia tipped her head and looked at me like I was dumber than a sack of rocks.
My nose scrunched. “She ain’t autistic.”
We had a little boy who went to my church who was autistic. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t sit still, and he’d have meltdowns that resulted in him screaming and hitting people. He couldn’t help it, so I did my best not to judge him. Mason didn’t do any of that.
“Uh, yeah, she is?” Sophia snorted. “There’s some level system I don’t fully understand.
All I know is when she gets too worked up with any emotion, she has a meltdown…
. Or I guess more she needs to have a meltdown.
She’s really good at suppressing them, which just draws the process out.
And just makes her a mess until she does it. ”
“Soph, this ain’t funny,” I warned.
“What’s not?”
I started to get hot under the collar, so I pulled it away from myself. “This joke.”
“You honestly think I’d joke about that?” she challenged. “Think about all her little quirks, how she claps and squeals when she’s excited, how she always picks at something, the way she gags if she has to touch a felt blanket—”
“Okay, so she’s a little eccentric .” That’s a nice way to say she was weird. But I liked her little oddities. They gave her character.
Sophia’s eyes cut into me like a sapphire knife.
“This literally isn’t worth arguing about. And also—autism isn’t a bad thing.”
“I didn’t say it was—never mind.” I rubbed my face, not willing to draw this out. “How was your time with Lucian?”
The anger from Sophia’s face drained as she ran a finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Fine, I guess… we had to have a big talk about his relationship with Mason.”
My eyes widened. I knew those two weren’t going to break up; Luce just loved her too much to let her go. Still, I wanted to know what that big talk could have been.