33. Chapter 33
Lucian
My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel, staring at the old brick diner in front of me. My stomach swam with a type of nausea that made my head spin. I knew when I woke up this morning that today was the kind of day I needed to stay in bed, but Mason had other ideas. And it wasn’t her fault.
She deserved to be taken out on dates, and, much like the rest of the house, I wasn’t very good at telling her no.
But with how I felt, I didn’t want anyone other than myself in the car with me.
Sure, I’d managed not to use again, which was probably why I was a massive prick to my wife, but the withdrawal symptoms were just as debilitating.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady the shaking of my hands. All I needed to do was go in, get Mason breakfast, make a stop for flowers on the way home, and apologize profusely. Anything to make her forgive me, I’d do.
With that in mind, I stepped out of the jeep and made my way to the door with unsteady steps.
Fuck—was withdrawal this bad last time?
It couldn’t have been. Sure, there were days I felt like I was literally going to die, but this all felt new. It was like I was drunk despite not touching alcohol since Sophia made me drink with her on our date .
It felt like it took forever to close the distance between myself and the front door of the diner, but eventually, I made my way to the glass door.
Just through it was the diner, and I knew that it’d be warm and smell of greasy food and burnt coffee.
But instead of going in, I stared at my reflection in the glass.
I looked like shit, to put it nicely.
My eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles hung beneath them. I hadn’t bothered to braid my hair last night or straighten it up before leaving, so my normally well-maintained curls hung in a mountain of frizz. I’d have to pull it into a bun or something before I even tried to apologize to Mason.
She deserved better than this, better than me, better than someone who snapped at her for nothing .
I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair, wincing as my fingers caught in the knots. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t who I wanted to be. This was who I worked so damn hard not to be. But right now, this was all I could manage. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
When I stepped in, the smell of the food caused my stomach to flip, and I fought the urge to gag as I slowly stumbled to the host stand.
A middle-aged woman in a stained white shirt greeted me. “Morning, sweetie. You look like you had a rough night.”
“You can say that again.” I scoffed, wondering if she could tell I was in the throes of withdrawal.
“Table for one?” she asked, reaching for the menus.
I shook my head. “I’m ordering takeout… I kind of fucked up with my pregnant wife, and well, the way to her heart is through her stomach right now.”
Never in my life did I think I’d be able to say that about Mason.
The waitress eyed me for a moment before giving me what I hoped was a sympathetic laugh.
“Well, let’s try to get you back in her good graces.” She handed me the menu, and I took it with a forced smile. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Nothing for me.” I waved her off before sitting on a red pleather bench in the corner .
“It’s on the house,” she explained, going to the waitress stand for a mug. “Can’t have you going home looking half dead. A good cup of joe should perk you back up, so how do you take it?”
“Black,” I said reluctantly.
I watched as she poured the cup, steam wafting up to ghost her knuckles. After a moment, she walked over and pressed it into my hands.
“You finish that, and I’ll be back to take your order, okay?” Her smile seemed genuine and kind.
For a second, it reminded me of the way my mom and my sister, Leona, smiled. That helped me feel a little more comfortable, so I thanked her before taking a tentative sip of my drink.
My stomach flipped the second the coffee hit my tongue, but I forced myself to swallow. I needed this.
I focused on the warmth of the mug in my hand as I flipped through the laminated menu, trying to find something that Mason would enjoy that wouldn’t overtly say I’m using food to make you forgive me. Did it work?
Normally, when she and I came here at whatever unhinged hour Rosemary demanded her mother eat breakfast Mason got a vegetarian breakfast burrito with extra potatoes and an additional side of home fries.
That was probably the safest choice, but I was planning on giving her breakfast in bed, and the idea of her eating a burrito in my room felt almost sacrilegious.
I was so busy with the menu in my hands that I hardly noticed I had company. That was until a slightly familiar voice drew my attention.
“This seat taken?”
I looked up to see a man with graying hair and swampy green eyes. In my current state, it was impossible to fight the look of irritation he drew. This was the jackass who embarrassed Cameron in front of the whole church.
Normally, I would have given him a piece of my mind and maybe knocked a few of his disgustingly yellow teeth out, but I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with him right now, so I decided it wouldn’t kill me to be civil.
I forced a tight-lipped smile as I gestured to the space. “Go ahead, knock yourself out. ”
He slid onto the bench, grunting as he lowered himself, and I turned my attention to the menu.
Prior to pregnancy, Mason liked sweet breakfasts, so that meant I could get Pancakes or French toast…
Would it be offensive to get a French woman French toast?
She also really liked cheesy eggs right now.
Maybe I should just get the stuff to make breakfast at home?
No, I wasn’t feeling well enough to do that, or—
“So, what on the menu do you recommend?” the man asked, inching closer to me.
I wrestled with the urge to tell him to back the fuck up.
“I’m a vegetarian; you wouldn’t like what I do,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Fair enough. I’m an eggs and bacon kind of guy myself.” He laughed. “What do you think you’re going to get?”
“Not sure. I’m getting something for my wife.”
“Oh—Is your wife that pretty dark-haired woman that hangs around—”
“ Don’t talk about my fucking wife.”
The man was either completely oblivious to the fact that I wanted to knock his teeth down his throat, or he just didn’t care. But today wasn’t the day for me to get another felony.
“Why are you even talking to me?” I snapped before I could think better of it.
The man didn’t answer, and while I hoped he’d get up and walk away, his presence lingered. Being near him gave me the unnerving sensation that a million people were watching me. Slowly, I looked over to see him staring at me with a smile so wide it should have split his lips.
“Just making conversation. You’re a member of my church,” he explained.
“No, I’m a member of Cameron’s church.”
“Same thing; he ain’t fit to run a holy area. Polyamory, homosexuality, and, to top it off—”
“You better watch your fucking mouth before I wipe that smile off your face,” I growled, my gaze never leaving his .
His smile wavered, but only for a moment before returning somehow bigger than before.
“Easy now,” he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “No need to get violent.”
But that’s where he was wrong. He insulted my boyfriend, and he’d apparently been watching me and my wife. This guy was a grade-A fucking creep .
Every fiber of my being wanted to knock him down a few pegs, but Mason deserved better. So, I ignored my instincts, put the menu and my coffee cup at the hostess station, and left. I’d just stop at the grocery store, medicate myself, and make breakfast for her at home.
After getting back from the grocery store, I went to the bathroom, retrieved the bag from my hiding spot, took two pills, hid them again, and then started making breakfast.
I decided to make arepas con queso and huevos pericos like my mom did every weekend.
Jasper wanted to help, but in ten minutes, he knocked six eggs off the counter, spilled the corn flour on the floor, and sneezed directly on the arepa dough.
Yet, I didn’t even feel frustrated. High me was a better dad than sober me.
Instead, I cleaned up or started over and moved on. The only downside to being high was how time slipped away from me. By the time I remembered I was supposed to bring Mason breakfast in bed, everyone in the house had already eaten, and Cameron was giving me dirty looks that I definitely deserved.
But I decided that if she wasn’t out here, she was either sleeping or had a snack while I was gone, and I didn’t feel bad anymore.
Once everyone else was done and the table was clean, I cooked a few more eggs, plated them with a few arepas, jam, and a glass of orange juice, then made my way to the bedroom, wooden tray in hand.
When I reached the door, I nudged it open with my foot, careful not to spill breakfast all over the floor.
My curtains had been opened, letting daylight fill the room.
Mason was in bed, propped up on the pillows with a book in hand.
Her eyes slowly drifted up as I entered, and I tried to ignore the fact that she had obviously just finished crying. .. again.
“Buenos días, mi esposa,” I greeted lightly, leaning against the door to shut it. Mason’s gaze instantly snapped back down to her book—tough crowd.
“I made you breakfast,” I explained as I crossed the room. Mason looked up and hesitated for a beat before placing her novel on the nightstand.
She scooted up to sit a little straighter, and I popped the legs on the tray out before placing it across her lap. She looked down at the tray, barely acknowledging my existence.
“Arepas con queso and huevos pericos. My mom used to make it on the weekends. It’s comfort food.” At least to me, it was.