23. Mason #3
“Stop, Rye. Mason, stop.” She squeezed between us.
“I was there for her when you weren’t.” I wrapped my arm around her waist, yanking her to my side, not wanting her to get in the middle of us. “And I apologized to Lilah. She’s the one who gets—”
“To have you use her kindness against her. Did you crawl to her and tell her how sad you were? Some bullshit excuse. And I should kick the ever loving—” He shoved me, but I didn’t sway.
I grabbed the front of his shirt in my fist so tightly that some stitches popped. “I protected her.”
A flash lit in Rye’s eyes and his nostrils flared before he stepped back, still glaring, but no longer looking ready to come to blows.
“Rye, we’re—”
He ducked his head to lock eyes with Lilah. “I don’t care about whatever bullshit he’s—”
“Shut up, both of you.” She rounded on us both with a finger out.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again—start your little pissing contest and acting like I’m not here.
Rye, you’re my best friend, but you need to decide what’s more important to you, fighting Mason or being there for me.
You could get kicked off the team if your coach finds out. ”
She spun to me. “Mason, you need to decide if being my…” She took a breath. “If this is more important than fighting Rye. You both need to keep it on the ice. Because I’m not going to be another thing for you two to fight over. Do you understand?” She looked at him and he nodded. Then me.
A short single nod.
“Good.” Some of the tension zapped from her, but none from the room and she smiled.
“I have other options, Rye. If I can’t use the Windsor Award for med school too, I don’t know.” She rubbed at her temple like her old concussion headaches were coming back. “I’ll figure something out. Loans. A lot of loans.”
“You know how much that would be.”
“Not like I have a choice. I don’t have D1 schools falling all over themselves to give me cash,” Lilah teased Ryker, who still looked ready to blindside me with a punch.
He cupped her elbow and guided her toward the kitchen with whispered words. And she let him.
“One sec, Mason.”
I snapped my jaw shut and tried to stop myself from pacing.
He bent to speak closer to her.
She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head sharply.
I clenched my fists at my sides. I didn’t have a right to intervene in this, and if I did, Lilah would be pissed.
Her design sketchbook sat at the top of her open, sticker-covered trunk.
She didn’t feel she had choices, but how much of that was true?
The scholarship money floating around Hawthorne was sickening.
Lilah had big med school dreams, but the fashion thing seemed to light her up even more.
Maybe she just needed to know there were more options available.
That would help her feel less stuck and less scared. I could do that for her.
I needed to leave. Every second here watching them together only made me that much closer to punching Ryker.
I slipped the full sketchbook into the back waistband of my jeans and pulled my shirt down over it.
“Lilah, I’ll head out and let you talk with Ryker.” Every jealous cell in my body screamed for me to stay, but her pointed look at him was enough to let me know she’d have told him to get his ass home if I’d asked.
“Already?”
“My delivery is complete.” I took another container of food out of my backpack.
“Okay.” She crossed the room and hugged me.
A spike of fear that she’d feel the notebook flashed over me.
Instead, she held on to my shoulders. “See you at school tomorrow?”
I ducked to press my nose against hers. “I’ll drive you in the morning.”
She pecked my lips. “You don’t have to.”
I kissed her back. “I know.” After tucking a bit of hair behind her ear, I glanced over her shoulder to find Ryker fuming. Good.
I kissed her again, keeping my eyes locked on him. Her lips tasted even better with our audience. A satisfying blare of triumph rushed through me when he gripped the back of the kitchen chair he’d finally righted, fingers going white.
“I’ll let you two talk.”
She squeezed me back even harder and walked me to the door. “Thank you.”
“I’d do it a hundred times over.”
When I got into my room, I went straight to my laptop. The Hawthorne Prep Future Fashion Award was close to the top of the list on the scholarship portal. The deadline countdown clock showed it closing on Christmas Eve with the results coming out in March.
Lilah might’ve thought she wasn’t good enough, but I’d sat in the room with her when she worked on the clothes and I’d only seen that kind of drive on the ice.
If she thought she couldn’t hack it, at least this would show her she had what it took.
I scanned all the designs in the book. There was no limit on the portfolio. The rest of the info needed was basic enough, and I added it all in.
My cursor lingered over the Submit button.
Either Lilah didn’t get the scholarship and would never know, or she did get it and it would be an unbiased observer telling her that she truly had talent.
What was the worst that could happen?