Chapter Twenty-Four
The sky is a canvas of gray overcast when I pull into the beach parking lot.
Out on the lake, waves slam violently against the pier, breaking into white spray.
The beach is almost empty, save for the few people standing in ankle-deep water with their pants rolled to their knees, letting the wind whip around them.
I grab my overstuffed backpack from the passenger seat and sling it over my shoulder, ready to settle in for another day of research.
Across the sand, my eyes dart toward the lifeguard tower, searching for a familiar head of curly golden brown hair. But Mason’s not there. In his place is a short woman with dark skin and thin braids that fall down to her waist.
I texted Mason last night to ask about the custody hearing. No reply. No read receipt. No typing dots. Nothing. I know he warned me he’d be busy, but the silence still eats at me. I need to know he’s okay.
Kicking up puffs of dry sand, I make my way to the tower. The girl spots me as I draw closer, propping her elbows on the railing.
“Hey, um, isn’t Mason supposed to be working today?” I call up.
“He called off sick.”
My stomach dips. Sick? Does he even have anyone looking after him? He’s always the one taking care of his mom and Maddie, but does anyone take care of him?
The girl’s head tilts, the beads at the ends of her braids clinking together softly. “You’re Hunter, right?”
I blink. “Uh… yeah.”
Her mouth curves into a dimpled smile. “I’m Aliyah. Mason’s best friend. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Oh. All good things, I hope?”
Her smile widens. “Yep. All good things.”
I laugh nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. “Well, um, I should go. It was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, you too,” she says, amusement threading through her voice.
I mutter a clumsy goodbye under my breath and turn back to the parking lot. My research can wait.
Sliding into my car, I press the start button. My fingers tap a jittery rhythm on the steering wheel as I pull out, the other hand picking at a loose thread in the knee of my distressed jeans.
By the time I turn into the trailer park, the knot in my chest feels like it’s doubled in size.
Gravel crunches under my tires as I coast down the narrow road.
Mason’s single-wide sits near the middle of the row, the white siding yellowed from years of sun and dust. One of the street-facing windows is patched with cardboard and duct tape.
I park at the curb and step out, the air thick with the mingled scents of fresh-cut grass and gasoline. I walk up the short path to the door and hesitate, my knuckles hovering. I don’t want him to think I’m clingy or overstepping the boundaries of our casual summer fling.
But when I think of Mason sick and alone, my hesitation burns away.
I knock.
It feels like forever before the door finally swings open. Maddie stands there, blinking at me. She’s in pajama shorts and a baggy T-shirt, her hair pulled into a messy bun that’s half fallen out—the standard summer break uniform for a thirteen-year-old.
“Oh. Hi, Hunter.”
“Hey,” I say, lifting a hand in an awkward wave. “Is Mason home?”
“Yeah,” she says, stepping aside. “He’s in his room.”
I toe my shoes off at the entrance, nudge them next to the tumbling pile of sneakers by the door, and follow the short hallway.
His door is half-shut. I knock lightly against the frame before pushing it open.
Mason’s lying on his side on top of the covers, one arm tucked under his head. His curls are a tangled mess, spilling onto his pillow. He’s wearing a pair of gray joggers that ride low on his hips and a tight black T-shirt. Dark shadows have settled beneath his eyes.
He quickly sits up when he sees me. “Hey.” His voice is low, rough like he hasn’t used it much today. “What are you doing here?”
I step inside, shut the door behind me, and sit at the edge of his bed. “I went to the beach today and talked to Aliyah. She said you called in sick. You okay?”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Not really.”
I wait, letting the silence stretch until he finally exhales.
“Stephen showed up at court yesterday,” he says, voice flat.
I arch an eyebrow. “That’s good news, isn’t it? You needed him there to sign some paperwork, right?”
“Except he refused to give up his custody rights. Flashed his three-year sobriety chips and said he wants to ‘be part of Maddie’s life.’ He claimed my mom and I have been keeping him away for years.”
I pause. “That’s… not true, right?”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Of course not. He chose to walk out of our lives. That was his decision. He can’t just change his mind and expect us to be okay with it.”
I nod. “So what happened?”
“We argued and couldn’t agree on anything. The judge set another hearing date for late September.” His jaw tightens. “And this morning, Stephen tried calling Maddie. She came to me all confused, asking if she should answer. I told her to block his number.”
I reach out without thinking, my hand resting lightly on his knee. “I’m sorry, Mason.”
He shakes his head, staring at the floor. “If he really cared about Maddie, he wouldn’t have waited until now.”
The room goes quiet again, the only sound is the faint hum of the box fan in the corner. Mason leans back against the wall, his eyes closing for a moment like the weight of it all is pressing him down.
My skin suddenly feels too tight, like plastic wrap stretched over my body. I’m overcome with the realization that I’m invading his space. Maybe he wants privacy, and I’m being annoying.
I clear my throat. “I can leave you alone—”
“No,” Mason says quickly, grabbing my wrist. “Please. Stay. I’m… glad you’re here.”
I hesitate, my chest tight. “But you didn’t answer my text last night.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, sounding smaller and needier than I meant. Heat spreads across my face.
He exhales, rubbing the heel of his hand against his brow. “I was overwhelmed. I wasn’t ignoring you—I just didn’t have the energy.”
“It’s fine,” I say too fast, trying to recover my dignity. “It’s not a big deal. I was just worried.”
A faint, tired smile tugs at his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “See, this is why I don’t do relationships. I can’t even text back. I’d be an awful boyfriend.”
“That’s not true,” I insist, and I mean it.
“I’m still sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You don’t owe me constant updates. I just… get anxious sometimes. My brain jumps straight to worst-case scenarios.”
His brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
I swallow, twisting the beaded bracelet on my wrist. “I thought maybe I freaked you out when I told you about Travis. That you’d… ghost me after that.”
“God, no,” he says, eyes wide and earnest. “I’d never do that.”
A shaky breath slips out of me. “Okay, good.”
He spreads his arms, a small, lopsided smile returning. “Now, come here.”
I give in, curling into his embrace. His warmth sinks into me, his chin resting on my head. His fingertips trace along the exposed strip of hip where my shirt rides up, making my stomach tingle.
Quietly, I murmur, “Do you like ice cream?”
He pulls back just enough to see my face. “Yes…?”
“When I was little,” I begin, “my obaachan used to take me out for ice cream whenever I was sad or homesick in Japan. Didn’t matter what happened—ice cream always made it better.”
Mason smiles. “That’s sweet.”
“It is. And that’s why we’re going to get ice cream.”
I swing my legs off the bed and attempt to tug Mason up, yanking on his arm. His annoyingly muscled body is dead weight, and he barely budges.
He laughs. “Right now?!”
“Right now,” I insist, tugging his arm again. “No one can be miserable while eating ice cream.”
“I’m not exactly dressed—”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up. You look hot, and you know it.”
He smirks. “Do I?”
“Yeah,” I say with an anguished groan. “You and those damn sweatpants.”
He stands slowly. “Is there something wrong with them?” he asks in a sultry voice, inching toward me.
My eyes sink down to his body, landing on the hem of his boxers peeking out. Further down, the visible outline of his dick presses against the gray fabric.
“Yeah. They’re hideous,” I deadpan. “So hideous I can’t wait to rip them off later.”
The boldness in my voice surprises myself. I was never this straight-forward with Travis.
His eyes darken. “Oh, really?”
“Really.”
My fingers tease his waistband, making his breath tremble ever so slightly. He bites his lip as his hands settle on my hips, pulling me against him. He leans in to kiss me, but I turn my head slightly, dodging him.
“But first, ice cream!” I say, grabbing his hand.
“You’re evil,” he growls as he follows me outside.
The overcast has parted slightly, giving way to slivers of sunshine. We climb into my car and drive to the local ice cream parlor on Main Street. It’s a tiny shop with a cartoonish mural painting of a cow on the brick exterior.
Inside, it smells like hot fudge and waffle cones. The glass case displays rows of pastel-colored ice cream tubs. Behind the counter stands a pimpled teenage boy with a wispy mustache, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“I haven’t been here in ages,” Mason hums, examining the flavors and tapping his chin thoughtfully.
“That’s tragic,” I say, stepping up to the counter. “Pick whatever you want. My treat.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re bribing me with ice cream now?”
“Not bribing. Healing.”
He snickers at me before turning to the employee with an effortlessly charming smile. “I’ll have a double scoop of superman ice cream in a waffle cone, please.”
“Uh-huh,” the employee says flatly before turning to me.
“And I’d like a single scoop of cherry chocolate chip in a cup, please.”