Chapter Four
Ash
The Bayside Bar and Grill had changed considerably since I’d last set foot in Melrose Bay. Previously, the cavernous room was dark and dingy and rough, a dive only locals frequented, and the main reason they loved it was no tourist would ever set foot in the place. If they did, they never stayed long.
I guessed someone had recognized the potential of a building right on the harbor, as today the updated former warehouse should be featured in a magazine. In my worn denim jeans, Hawaiian shirt, and old purple baseball high-tops, I looked decidedly underdressed. The place was newly renovated with soft-white, painted wood-clad walls and roof beams, and with the previously boarded-up windows uncovered, the warm evening sunlight now flooded the place. Tan leather booths sat alongside the windows looking out over the harbor. Old wooden tables with metal chairs filled the open floor area, and the bar that ran along the length of the far wall, with high metal bar stools lined up the whole way along, gave the impression of a highly varnished ship deck.
I idly wondered where the locals went now as this place was stuffed full of tourists from the city, likely up for the weekend. Melrose Bay was quiet, mostly undiscovered, but slowly and surely more and more people were discovering this pretty town, and the busy weekends showed exactly how much.
I whistled.
“Yeah,” Cam said. “Bit of an upgrade.”
“A bit.” I gawped at him. “How about a whole hell of a lot?”
He grunted as a host—a host for goodness’ sake—arrived to assist us, while surreptitiously giving Cam the once-over. My friend scrubbed up nice, and the navy shirt, dark jeans and tan work boots looked good on his large frame.
“We booked already,” he told her, not noticing the girl melting in a puddle at his feet in the least. “Cam, four people, seven o’clock.”
We were swiftly taken to a booth overlooking the water. We all slid in, me and Sawyer on one side, Flynn and Cam the other. We ordered drinks from the waitress, and after checking out the extensive menu, our food too.
Looking around, I still couldn’t quite believe how swanky the place had become, and my thoughts, as they had all day, returned to Mason, wondering what he was doing back at the beach house. I decided he’d like it here and wanted to bring him one day soon. Maybe through the week when the town quieted down a bit. We’d eat the locally caught fish, share a bottle of wine, and talk about nothing in particular, just enjoying being in each other’s company.
A screwed-up napkin hit me square in the face, and I glared at Cam and his shit-eating grin. “You gonna sit there staring into space all night,” he drawled, “or make an effort to contribute to the conversation?”
I pulled my head out of the clouds and tried to focus. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
He shook his head. “What’s with you tonight? Anyone would think you didn’t want to be here. You have somewhere else you need to be?”
I didn’t, no, but picturing Mason alone in his beach house while I had a good time with my friends stirred uncomfortable feelings inside me. Thinking of him by himself with so much time on his hands, stewing, didn’t sit right. I hated the thought of anyone suffering, and he was most certainly suffering. The evidence was there, plain as day. The pain easy to see in the depths of his eyes.
“I’ve got a neighbor,” I answered, ignoring Cam’s question.
Flynn immediately perked up, and my gaze turned to him, his white shirt a stark contrast to his auburn hair. “Male?” he asked.
“Yep,” I confirmed.
“Good-looking?”
Hell yes. “He’s okay.”
His eyebrow shot up. “Single?”
Was he? I hadn’t noticed a wedding band on his left hand or seen any signs of female company when I’d checked out the main living area.
“I think he’s there alone,” I said cautiously, immediately holding up my hand as Flynn scooted forward in his seat, getting interested. “Which doesn’t mean he’s single, or there isn’t anyone special around somewhere.”
“Or it could mean exactly that,” he replied eagerly. “Maybe he’s getting over somebody.”
“Or something,” I responded quietly, my thoughts returning to when I’d sat on his couch. He’d done his best to hide his injuries, I’d give him that. Making sure not to face me straight on to conceal the bruising barely visible in his hairline on his left temple. And I wouldn’t have seen anything if the sun hadn’t hit at exactly the right angle, highlighting the slight bump and the difference in coloration on his skin. I’d had more than my fair share of wipeouts while surfing, had my board hit my head often enough to know a beat-up face when I saw one.
Flynn hummed. “So, he might well need some comfort to help him heal.”
I knew exactly what he meant by the word comfort , and the mere thought of Flynn with his hands all over Mason had me seeing red. “No!” The word flew out of my mouth before my brain kicked in, stunning him into silence.
A low chuckle had my eyes flicking to Sawyer, who sat quietly, listening. Dressed in his usual black, the trademark backward cap remained, but at least he’d worn a shirt and not a tank.
“What?” I snapped.
“Someone’s getting territorial,” he said, his tone teasing. “You staking your claim on the guy, Ash?”
Yes. “No, of course not.”
“So, it’s okay if Flynn goes and helps ”—he used his fingers to add air quotes around the last word—“the guy to get over whatever it is he needs to get over.”
I glared hard at him, hoping to freeze him to stone, but only succeeded in making him chuckle even more. They had me backed into a corner. If I didn’t do as Sawyer had so succinctly put and stake my claim on Mason, the very concept sending a shiver of awareness down my spine, Flynn would be all over him like a rash. He was my friend, and I hadn’t seen him in four years, but I remembered how he acted in high school. The faintest whiff of a hot guy and he’d be off like a shot, and he always got him too. He may look sweet and innocent, but the boy was a man whore, plain and simple.
“Asshole.”
Sawyer placed his hands behind his head, linking his fingers. “Yep.”
“So what?” Flynn butted in, his gaze ping-ponging between us, eventually settling on me. “Do I have a shot or not?”
“Not,” I ground out, my answer getting me another chuckle from Sawyer, but I didn’t care. Mason wasn't some guy to mess around with. Whatever had happened to him had cut deep. He needed compassion, understanding, and as much as I wanted to rip his clothes off and get him naked, he needed me to be a friend much, much more. He was vulnerable and scared, and no way in hell would I let him get hurt any more than he’d already been.
“Shit,” Flynn grumbled, crossing his arms and flopping back in his seat, “I never get to have any fun.”
Cam laughed, long and loud. “The hell you don’t,” he scoffed, smacking him about the head. “Who was the guy you were getting cozy with down on the marina the other day?”
“How’d you—” Flynn stopped, clamping his mouth shut, scarlet filling his cheeks.
“Exactly,” Cam remarked smugly. “No fun, my ass.”
Smirking as the two of them bickered some more about Flynn’s hit rate, and Cam’s lack of, I finally relaxed. I’d arrived in town barely two days ago, and already I’d slotted into my old life like I’d never left. My friends were the same as they always were, treating me the same too, and never let me get away with any kind of crap.
Sawyer leaned in, his voice at my ear. “So, your next-door neighbor, huh?” He shook his head. “You work fast.”
“It’s not like that. He’s hurting, Saw. I’m not sure why, but he is, and I want to help him.” I took a sip of my beer and released a sigh. “He’s straight, of course. You can smell it a mile off. But he needs a friend, not a fuck, and I want to be one for him.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “You always were a softy.”
I snorted indignantly.
“It’s true. I remember when you were younger, you rounded up injured animals almost daily and tended to every single one of ’em.”
“Mason isn’t an animal,” I countered.
“No, he’s not.” He paused and then sighed. “But you’re gonna help him get better anyway, aren’t you?”
I huffed. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”
“Just do me a favor, okay?” His bright blue eyes locked on mine. “Protect yourself too, will you?”
I frowned at him.
“I remember how happy you’d be when the animal got better. More to the point, I also remember how upset you got when you released them, and they ran off into the forest.”
He’s right, I did. I’d often find squirrels, mice, wild rabbits, even a raccoon one time, injured by the side of the road. I’d wrap them up in whatever I had and take them home. Sort out a cage and bedding for them, making sure they had water and food. I’d check with the vet too if they were badly injured. When the time came to free them, I’d always get upset watching them scurry away. I meant nothing to them, after all. I’d grown up with the knowledge that people, my family, didn’t stick around. Not until Aunt Mary Ellen had come into my life. But the memories had stuck, nonetheless. I was always the one who got left behind. Always.
“I will,” I promised Sawyer.
He stared at me for the longest time. “Welcome home, Ash,” he said quietly, raising his beer.
*
The soft voice of a female singer floated to my ears, her mellow tones serenading me as I walked down the pathway running between my house and Mason’s. My pulse instantly picked up, a shiver of excitement sliding down my spine at him being awake this time of night. I generally preferred mornings, as they were so calm and peaceful when walking along the beach as the sun rose, getting time to be alone before the town woke up and intruded on the day.
Peering toward his deck, I noted Mason rested on one of the recliners, head back, eyes closed, hair gently tousled by the warm night breeze, half a glass of red wine dangling from his fingers. His muscular frame, clothed in a polo shirt and shorts, was leisurely stretched out. My gaze traveled hungrily down his body, noting more faded bruising on his arms and legs, and I again tried to figure out what on earth had happened to him. Perhaps he’d been in a car accident? Maybe that was the reason? Not wanting to dwell too much on Mason being in any type of pain, I continued my visual journey down to his bare feet. His toes, moving in time to the music, were so sexy my stomach clenched as hot desire rolled through me, making my heart beat harder behind my ribs.
Quashing my arousal, I tried reminding myself a friend is what he needs, not some guy leering at him, but damn, it was hard, and so was I beginning to be—and getting harder by the second.
His head turned toward me, and he opened his ice-blue eyes. I’d memorized the color this morning. “Hey, friend,” he welcomed me, his voice low and sleepy. The gruffness went straight to my cock, forcing me to bite back the groan forming in my throat.
I bet he sounded like this first thing in the morning. I shivered thinking about it. Fuck.
He hadn’t been alarmed, and he didn’t look scared or wary at hearing someone walking in the dark. In fact, he appeared extremely relaxed, and I warmed all over to think he already recognized me, and his lack of a reaction had nothing to do with the fact I’m the only person who lived next door.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” I apologized.
He waved the hand not holding the wine glass, beckoning me over. “Heard your footsteps on the gravel, so figured it was you.”
How did he know it was me and not anyone else?
“You have a particular gait,” he continued as if I’d asked the question out loud. “Slow and easy.”
“Oh,” I said, flattered he’d bothered to remember something so ordinary.
He was on the closest lounger to me, but as I went to head over to the other, he shuffled over on his. “Come sit here.” He patted the thin strip of lounger. “It’ll be easier to talk.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
Parking my ass on the edge, I faced him, the air stilling in my lungs at how utterly handsome he was. He hadn’t shaved, and my fingers itched to brush along his jaw, to feel the prickliness of his stubble against my smooth skin.
“You can’t be comfortable sitting like that,” he criticized. His hand moved to rest on my leg, warm and heavy, his fingers wrapping over my right thigh, pulling me in closer.
I let out a small involuntary moan. His hand was so close to my crotch, the heat from his palm burned all the way through my jeans and briefs to my aching balls.
His gaze shot to mine. “Sorry, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No,” I croaked, “I’m good.” His hand remained nestled nice and snug, his touch branding me. I was content to leave it there, making no attempt to move. Thank God I sat half hunched over on the edge of the seat as my cock was as hard as steel, and I had no other way of hiding my erection.
With my ass pressed right up against his thigh, I so badly wanted to lower the rest of my body down and snuggle closer into his side; restraining myself physically hurt.
Mason let out a low hum of contentment, as he brought his glass to his lips and took a large drink of wine. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his lips wet from licking them after.
“You went out?” he asked.
“For dinner with some friends,” I replied. “What about you? Do anything exciting, today?”
The corners of his mouth curved, making my pulse skip and my stomach flutter. “Oh yeah, lazed around, made dinner, watched the sun set. It’s been a tough day.”
“Sure,” I snickered. “Sounds exhausting.”
He briefly raised his head to look at me, his eyes glazed. “It really was,” he lazily replied, before settling back against the recliner. We sat in comfortable silence for a while, my gaze on his face before moving away to take in everything laying around him. A few real estate and fitness magazines, his laptop, and phone. Definitely a relaxing day. I scanned the small table on the other side to see if any of the items there might give me further insight into this intriguing man, stopping when I caught sight of the empty wine bottle.
“Wow. How much of this have you had tonight?” I asked half teasing, half serious. “I’d end up in a heap on the floor if I’d had more than a couple glasses of wine.”
He waved his hand around, absently dismissing my question.
I returned my gaze to all his stuff, noticing what looked like a bottle of prescription drugs for the first time, half hidden under a newspaper on the floor. I stretched down and retrieved them before giving him a sharp look. “Mason?”
He took a quick glance at the pills and rolled his eyes, like him having them was no big deal. “It’s fine.”
I stared at him, aghast. “It’s not fine.” How I hated the banal word, as it said zero about how the person actually felt. I scrutinized the label. “Should you be drinking if you’re taking anti-anxiety pills?”
He plucked the container from my hand and tossed it onto the floor. “I said it’s fine. I’m fine.” His voice had begun to slur slightly.
Refusing to let him rile me, I deliberately calmed down and replied softly. “You’re not fine, Mason. You’re taking prescription-strength drugs, and you’ve had at least a bottle of wine.” I rested my hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “Does that sound like someone who’s fine to you?”
Mason pulled his arm from my hold and roughly ran his fingers through his thick dark blond hair. “Maybe not. But it sure does sound like someone who wants to forget his fucked-up life for a few hours and chill the hell out.”
He swung his legs over the side and clumsily climbed off the lounger, some of his wine spilling over the rim of the glass and on himself in the process, the ruby-red liquid rapidly spreading across his light-blue polo shirt like blood. He tutted and absently wiped at his front as he made his way to the edge of his deck.
“Mason,” I said, the plea in my voice had him stopping and his shoulders drooping. He turned around to face me, but the action must have been too quick as he lost his balance and pitched to the side, before stumbling forward to try to correct himself. He landed hard against the deck railing, emitting a grunt of pain where the unforgiving wood collided with his ribs. The jolt caused his wine glass to slip from his grasp and tumble to the floor, loudly shattering all around him, sending the remaining contents splashing up his legs. “Shit,” he swore and went to move.
“No,” I shouted, jumping up from my seat, making him tense up and flick his eyes to me. “Your bare feet.”
Confusion marred his face as he dropped his gaze down to his feet and then up at me. Despite his assertion he was okay, he clearly wasn't. The combination of the drugs and all the alcohol were clouding his judgment and ability to think rationally.
“Please,” I stressed, “you’ll cut yourself if you move.” The panic in my voice must have registered somewhere in his addled brain because he looked at me, really looked. Then his hand reached out to grip the top of the rail. He swayed slightly but stayed put. Relief washed over me as I rushed to him, the glass crunching under my shoes. I cradled his face in my hand, his own fingers coming up to firmly grip my wrist. “Stay right here, okay?” He blinked a couple of times before agreeing. “I’m going to get a broom to sweep the glass away and get you some shoes.” I continued to look at him before adding, “I’m sorry for being so judgmental.”
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice strained, and I wasn't sure he truly believed me.
“No, no it’s not,” I answered, “I barely know you. Barely know anything about you or what you’re going through. I overstepped again, and it wasn't my place.”
He dropped his forehead to mine, his right hand snaking up to hold the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine at his firm touch. “Your words sounded too much like pity,” he whispered, his grip tightening. “I hate being pitied. Especially by you.”
I had no clue as to why he specifically put the emphasis on me, but I didn’t currently have the time to analyze his words as, for the time being, he needed my reassurance, not my questions. “I’m worried about you, Mason, but I don’t pity you, and I won’t…ever. I promise.”
He sighed, long and deep, obviously needing to hear my words to believe them.
“Wait here,” I repeated and, reluctantly letting go from his hold, headed inside. Unable to find a broom, I did instead find a pan and brush in a cupboard. On my way back out, I also grabbed his pair of leather flip-flops from inside the doorway. I held onto him as he put on the footwear, then methodically cleared a path on the deck, allowing him to walk without fear of any glass accidently cutting any part of his exposed feet. When I’d finished tidying up, I took Mason by the hand, instantly liking how he intertwined his fingers with mine. I gently tugged until he got the message and followed directly behind me as we made our way inside.