Chapter Twenty
Ash
After my sobbing fit, I gave myself a damn good shake and stood from the dusty wooden floor. I should have felt better after telling Mason to take a hike, letting him see I was worth far more than he was prepared to give.
So how come I didn’t? How come I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut and continued kicking me while I lay in a crumpled heap on the ground?
Surveying the room and thinking about the total mess of the whole house, my heart sank. Staying here wasn’t an option, even if I wanted to. Plus, the beds were in bits in the garage and the old mattresses were long gone. Retrieving my phone from my bag, I dialed the one friend always there for me when I needed him. Sawyer.
His side rang for a while until he eventually picked up. “Hey, buddy.”
I tried for bright and breezy. “Hey,” I replied, but the slight crack in my voice must have given me away.
“Are you okay?” When I didn’t answer, he asked, “What’s wrong? You’re not hurt, are you?”
Not unless you count a broken heart as hurt, no. I caved. “Mason.”
To his credit, he didn’t lecture me or give me the third degree. “I’ll be finished up here in the next half hour. Go straight to my trailer, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Would it, um, be okay if I stayed with you for a couple days?” Despite this being the reason I’d phoned him in the first place, I hated asking.
“Sure,” he replied not missing a beat. “I don’t have much, so bring whatever you need with you.”
“Thanks, Saw.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s only the couch, but it is nice and comfy.”
“Believe me, anything’s better than a dirty floor.”
A bell dinged a couple of times in the background. “I gotta go, okay? I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.” Feeling a tad better, and no longer like I had a heavy weight chained around my neck, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door. I had a fair distance to go as Sawyer lived on the far side of town closest to the forest, but the walk would do me good and might help me get my head in order.
Melrose Pines sat a half mile away from the last of the houses in town, down a long track and positioned well out of sight, as of course, no idyllic tourist town wanted to be known for having a trailer park.
Sawyer’s home had originally been his pop’s before he died, and the closer I got, the more I realized it wasn’t in the best condition, pretty much matching the rest of the trailers situated on the park. The dirty siding had come loose in places, and the windows were in sore need of repair and a damn good cleaning. I could offer to help pay to get the repairs done since I had money, but Sawyer would instantly reject my proposal with a polite but determined thanks, but no thanks. He may not have much, but he was a proud and stubborn man, and charity would never be accepted, no matter what.
I sat on the front porch steps and waited as the last of the sun’s rays warmed my face while I enjoyed the brief peace and quiet before the chorus of insects took over for the evening. About ten or so minutes later the distinctive rumble of Sawyer’s truck coming up the lane announced his arrival. He parked beside the trailer, jumped out, and headed over.
I stood to greet him, and he slung his arm around my shoulder and drew me in close. “Let’s get inside and get you settled,” he said, pulling me along with him up the three steps. “We can have a beer and order takeout; then you can tell me what’s going on.”
He unlocked the door and went in. I followed, but stopped at the threshold as he moved through the space putting on a few lamps. Glancing around, I concluded the place looked infinitely better on the inside.
“Bit of a difference, huh?” he stated as if reading my mind.
He’d painted the main room a pale cream. The supposedly comfy sofa sat against one wall, a chair side on to it, all dark blue. A low unit sat on the opposite wall housing the TV and satellite entertainment system. Some custom-made side tables with wooden tops and square black metal legs flanked the sofa, and a coffee table sat in front. The kitchen, also updated, gave me the distinct impression all the furniture was made by Cam. I made a mental note to call him next week about designing my own kitchen. Sawyer’s home had a modern and relaxing vibe. I liked it, though it’s not what I expected at all.
“Huge difference,” I agreed smiling at him.
He returned my smile, pleased with himself at catching me off guard.
I’d forgotten that about him. What he let you see on the outside—his grease monkey staple of dirty jeans, steel-toed biker boots and a black T-shirt, giving off the whole bad boy vibe—gave no hint at all of what lay on the inside.
“Make yourself at home.” He threw over his shoulder as he headed down the small hallway to the rear of the trailer. “I need to get all the crud off me, so I’ll grab a shower and be right out.”
“Sure.”
He pointed to the kitchen. “Takeout menus are in the drawer nearest to you, and the beer’s in the fridge.” He disappeared into his bedroom. “I need pizza,” he shouted, “loads of meat.”
Five minutes later, the pizzas were ordered, and taking a beer, I wandered into the living area. Kicking off my sneakers, I dropped down on the sofa, which was as comfortable as he said, then settled in.
I deliberately shied away from thinking about Mason. I’d talk about him soon enough so refused to give him any more brain time than he deserved. Taking a swig of beer, I stretched out and closed my eyes, waiting for my buddy to return.
Sawyer landing beside me on the sofa woke me. “Sorry,” I mumbled, sleep making me groggy. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep. Things must be taking more of a toll than I anticipated.”
“Things?”
“The renovation mostly. You see people renovating houses on TV, and they look all amped up and full of energy, but no one ever tells you how tiring the work is. Add in what’s going on with me and Mason, and I’m exhausted.”
“What is going on with you two?” he asked. “It’s why you’re here isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“So?”
“You were right.”
He furrowed his brow. “About?”
“Me wanting to help him work out his issues. Getting too close. Getting hurt. You name it.” Gripping my beer bottle, I took a long drink, grimacing at my lukewarm beer.
Sawyer studied me for a while, his eyes flitting over my face. “Okay. What now?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Not able to sit, I got up and wandered around the room. “He doesn’t trust me. After all the things I—” My words faltered as right there was the part that sucked the most. I’d tried to be his friend, to be what he needed, and had tried to be nothing but open and honest with Mason from the get-go. I worked hard not to overwhelm him in any way, letting him get to know me, get relaxed in my company. I was there if he needed me or left him alone to work out his problems if he didn’t, all the while hoping to earn his trust.
I’d done everything possible to make us work, but my efforts hadn’t been enough, would never be enough. If he didn’t trust me already, he never would.
Sawyer stood and opened his arms. “C’mere,” he said. I crossed the floor and was enveloped in his welcoming embrace. Relaxing against him, having someone there for me for a change, made me even sadder as I realized how much Mason had held himself back.
Not in bed. There, he truly let go, allowing me brief access to the open and giving man I knew him to be. But out of bed, when he had to be a part of the world around him, a part of life, he’d keep a huge piece of himself hidden away, even from me, and that had hurt deeply.
Sawyer ran his hand roughly over my short hair. “He’s an asshole, and if he can’t see what a great guy you are, then fuck him; he doesn’t deserve you.”
Unbidden, tears filled my eyes. His words were meant to help, and I took them for what they were, but they only made me think about all other men who’d left me. Were they all assholes too?
“Doesn’t stop me hurting.”
A tighter squeeze. “The way you’re feeling at the moment, this comment might not help, but we’ve all been there, Ash.”
Sniffling, I wiped my nose with my hand. “Way to make me feel special,” I grumbled.
He waggled his eyebrows. “Can’t have you thinking it’s all about you now, can we?”
“Asshole.”
He stiffened. “Yep, ask anyone; they’ll all tell you the same.” His response held a note of bitterness I wasn't expecting and made me wonder what’d happened to him over the last few years to warrant that type of reaction. “This beer ain’t cutting it no more.” He released me and headed to a cupboard in the kitchen. “You wanna shot of bourbon with the next one?”
I eyed him warily, but agreed, not wanting to refuse and let both of us have a shitty night. Anyway, a drink or two might help me relax as I sure as hell needed something to release the tension in my neck and shoulders before the stress gave me a migraine.
The pizza arrived about twenty minutes later, helping to sober me up after having had three rapid shots in succession. Another hour and more beer and shots later, we were done, and I don’t remember the blanket being thrown over me or passing out on the couch.
*
Banging in the kitchen had me jerking awake, the loud noise like someone playing the drums right beside my head.
I mumbled my annoyance and got a snicker for my trouble.
I felt like crap on a stick.
This is why I never drank spirits. They always, always , gave me a crippling hangover.
Peeling open my eyelids, I squinted in the direction of the noise to find Sawyer dressed for work and making breakfast.
“What’s the time?” I griped, trying to dislodge my dry-as-a-desert tongue from the roof of my dumpster-tasting mouth.
“Six thirty.”
I groaned. Six thirty’s way too early for anyone to be up.
“I need to open the garage,” he carried on as if I was coherent enough to have any sort of conversation. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of sleeping in.”
An indignant grunt was all I managed in response.
“There’s cereal in the cupboard and eggs in the fridge if you want breakfast.”
I gagged, clamping my teeth down hard to keep from throwing up.
“Painkillers and water are on the coffee table and the bucket’s there if you need to puke.”
Peering down, sure enough, I spotted a blue plastic bucket on the floor with some water in the bottom.
He pointed his finger at me. “Make sure it all goes in there and not anywhere else.” Walking to the door, a bacon sandwich in his hand. Ooh, bacon. I gagged again. “I’ll be home by seven. Keys are there.” He motioned to a bowl on the countertop. “Not that I expect you’ll be getting off your ass anytime soon to use them.” He left a minute later, sandwich shoved in his mouth, closing the front door softly behind him and leaving me alone.
I dozed for a couple more hours, but the same as any other time I had a hangover, once awake, I never fully got back to sleep, no matter how much I needed to. Instead, I incessantly replayed every encounter I’d ever had with Mason in my head, from the moment I’d met him to the hideous argument yesterday afternoon, trying to find the exact moment when he’d made his choice about not trusting me. I couldn’t pinpoint any specific time at all, no matter how hard I tried, leaving me with only one depressing answer.
He’d never trusted me in the first place.
Throwing off the blanket and stumbling to my feet, I made my way to the bathroom. The painkillers and water had helped, and I didn’t feel anywhere near as bad, but my mouth tasted of garbage, so I needed to brush my teeth and shower the hangover away.
On the couch again a half hour later, I contemplated going to check on my house and maybe continue where I’d left off yesterday, but in the end I decided not to, nowhere near ready to risk inadvertently bumping into Mason, or Gabe for that matter.
That wasn't the real reason for stopping me, of course.
No, the real reason was far more pathetic. I didn’t want to work on my house alone with no Mason beside me to help or talk me through what we were going to do next. His enthusiasm and drive were infectious, and just being in his presence had me striving to achieve as much as I could, while doing the best job possible. If he wasn’t around to share the experience with me, the renovation would quickly lose most of its luster.
I flopped down sideways on the couch and released a long and frustrated groan. Somewhere along the way, I’d begun to picture me and Mason living in my cozy beach house. The two of us snuggled up under blankets on the sofa as a storm raged outside. The wood burner alight, logs crackling, the flames keeping away the winter chills. Or us both lazing in bed on a Sunday morning after hours of lovemaking, music playing softly in the background. Or me sitting at our new kitchen island watching Mason as he cooked a tasty meal for us to eat.
I’d yearned for a place to call my own for so many years, and now my dreams had finally come true, I didn’t care in the slightest. The house would be amazing once finished, but as my home, my sanctuary? Unless I had Mason there with me to share my life, it would be nothing more than a place to eat and sleep.
The stark truth of this realization rocked me to my core. The only reason to settle down in Melrose Bay and be happy here was all due to Mason. He’d become my solid foundation, which had nothing to do with me inheriting the beach house whatsoever. It didn’t matter if I lived in a tiny studio in the middle of Bum Fuck, I’d be happy and content if I’d have Mason by my side.
In the past, I never stayed in one place long enough to put down roots, and I’d never needed to. There’d been no one special enough to keep me there, to ground me, to make me contemplate staying put.
I’d always blamed my ex-partners because they had been the ones to leave me. I’d listened to their reasons and explanations as to why I wasn't the one for them and accepted their answers at face value as it was easier to do so. I’d never fully committed to them, or showed them enough emotion, or care and attention to give them a reason to stay. Never once did I question the motives behind their departure, or why the pattern kept repeating itself over and over. I guess if enough people tell you the same thing, it inevitably lodges somewhere deep in your subconscious. Then, the more the cycle continued, the more I expected to, leading me to withdraw my feelings from them more and more, as at the time had felt the only way to protect myself. God, no wonder my ex-partners had left me. They weren’t at fault, I was. I went through the motions of being in a relationship, when in reality I’d never truly been in one, not until Mason.
He was the only person I’d ever considered remaining in one place for, and wasn’t that worth fighting for? Wasn’t he worth fighting for as hard as I possibly could? I fully appreciated how difficult the task I was undertaking would be, and Mason definitely wouldn’t make it easy, but I at least had to try one more time to get through to him. Convince him I was the right person, the only person for him. Show him how perfect we could be together if he could only trust me enough to allow me fully into his life. If I failed—I suppressed a shudder knowing it was a distinct possibility with how wary and protective Mason was with his heart—I’d lick my wounds and reluctantly move on, no matter how much it hurt to do so. At least I’d have given it my best shot, and whatever the outcome, I could hold my head up high.
But, how the hell did I go about persuading a commitment-phobic man working through the pain and suffering of a devastating attack, one who trusted hardly anyone, to take a chance on me?
Throwing on my shoes, I grabbed my wallet, phone, and the keys from the bowl. First, I had to knock his socks off. Make him see exactly what he was missing out on. Appealing to him, begging if necessary, to take the leap since he deserved to have me in his life, the same way I deserved him in mine.
Being buffeted by the welcome breeze on my walk into town cleared out the last vestiges of my hangover. Since Sawyer eating his bacon sandwich had played on the big screen in my head all morning, I headed to Cassie’s Diner. Tucked around a corner off the main square, the locals loved it, as they got to enjoy tasty food and a friendly face without the hassle of the tourists crashing their peace and quiet. Aunt Mary Ellen used to bring me here after our weekly hikes, and as I walked in the door the familiar smell of fresh coffee and the best pastries for miles around assailed me, taking me right back to my childhood.
“Morning, hon,” the waitress welcomed me. “Table for one?”
“Please.”
“I have the perfect spot.” Grabbing a menu, we headed to the seat in the window alcove at the high narrow bar table overlooking the park.
I sat. “Great, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, hon. I’ll be back in a second with some coffee.”
Ten minutes later, and far more relaxed after having ordered my favorite egg and bacon sandwich, I soaked up the atmosphere and sipped my caffeine as I waited for my food. While reminiscing about ice cream sundae’s, the bell over the door chimed another customer’s entry. After a few moments, I sensed someone next to me, so turned my head to check who it was, and there stood Gabe at my side.
He gestured to the vacant stool beside me. “Mind if I sit down?” Not waiting for my answer, he took the seat, regardless. We were quiet; neither of us, especially me, wanting to begin a conversation. I sipped my coffee and stared out the window at the children playing on the grass.
“Hey, sugar,” the waitress addressed Gabe when she placed my food on the counter in front of me. “You want the usual?”
“Please, Shirley.” A genuine smile lit his face. “Thank you.”
I gawped at him.
“Where did you think I went while you and Mason were fucking like rabbits?” he asked me casually. “I needed a place to escape while you two had your get to know you time.” I continued to stare at him. “Besides, I’ve been coming here for the last year or so. The food’s amazing and the free Wi-Fi allows me to work, so it’s not like I had nowhere else to go.”
His thoughtfulness at giving Mason and me the space to get better acquainted showed an incredibly kind side to his personality. His efforts had been in vain as it turned out, but the gesture was a thoughtful one all the same.
It had only been around twelve hours since I’d last seen Mason but seemed more like an eternity. I’d gotten used to having him around and being without him didn’t sit right at all.
Gabe’s coffee and pastry arrived.
“You not getting Mason a coffee?” I asked, trying to make my question appear like I only had a vague interest in his answer.
He shook his head. “No, he left early this morning.”
My stomach dropped through the floor. “Left?”
“Yeah, he took my car. Went back to the city.”
Oh .
“Wait.” I raised my hand. “You let him go to the city alone? What if he has a panic attack or actually gets attacked?” Horror filled me at his complete disregard for Mason’s mental health and well-being. “What happens when he gets there and has to face all those people?” I bunched my hands into two tight, painful fists to stave off my growing anger. He was his best friend, wasn’t he? Why the hell didn’t he go with him? “What the fuck were you thinking?” I groused loudly. Loud enough for the conversation to lower behind us as all eyes turned our way.
“He’s a big boy; he’ll cope.”
“He’ll cope. He’ll fucking cope; he’ll…” I spluttered to a stop, unable to speak, the words stuck in my throat, as picturing Mason facing all the fear and stress on his own filled me with horror.
“What’s it matter to you anyway?”
“What does it matter?” I gawped at him, incredulous. “What does it matter? I love him, you fool. Of course, his safety and protection matter to me. Everything about him matters to me, and if anything happens to him, so help me God—” I stopped midtirade to stare at the disgustingly smug look on Gabe’s face. The fucker had played me. “You are such an asshole,” I grumbled at him. “A total Grade-A fucking asshole.”
His laughter was deep and rich and almost made him likeable again for a second. Almost.
I took a few sips of my coffee before working up the courage to ask the one question that’d been stressing me out all morning. “How is he?”
He mulled it over. “Scared.”
My head whipped around in a second.
“He knows he fucked up. He’s just not sure what to do about rectifying his mistake.”
“And leaving town is gonna help how?”
Gabe’s eyes instantly hardened, his mouth flattening into a thin slash as the protective friend emerged. The swiftness of the change took me by surprise. “Hey, cut him some slack will ya? He’s already had enough pain, enough hurt, and more than enough trauma without you ripping him apart too.”
Guilt whacked me with the force of a truck right in the gut. “Sorry.” Picking up my sandwich to hide my embarrassment, I went to take a bite, but my stomach instantly rebelled at the thought of eating, so I dropped the food back onto the plate. “He hurt me too.”
He let out a resigned sigh. “I know, and so does he.”
“Does he?” If there was any way to prove we could move past this problem, I needed some sort of confirmation he understood and acknowledged what his actions had done to me.
“He does.”
“But?”
“Give him time, okay?”
Time. Time for what? I might be waiting around for weeks, months, hell, years until Mason figured out he was ready.
“I promise you he’s worth the wait.”
I squinted at him. The emotion in his voice the most he’d ever emitted when I was around. “Mason and I have been friends for a long time, and he’s never acted this way around anyone else but you, ex-fiancée included.” He left the sentence hanging as I tried to decode exactly what he meant.
When Mason had spoken of his ex, despite the circumstances of their breakup, it was obvious he missed her. Despite how good I imagined we could be together if we managed to resolve our current issues, deep down, where I kept all my fears and insecurities, there remained a lingering doubt I’d forever be compared to the love of his life and would always come up short. She’d left him, so I’d assumed, however unrealistic and unwarranted the notion may be, that he still carried a torch for her, and being with me was an easy way to get his rocks off and take his mind off the fact she’ll not be coming back.
But perhaps, if what Gabe said was true, maybe my skewed belief I’d always be second best in a relationship with him was no longer a viable assumption. It might also mean I’d given Mason one more reason to stay safely behind his walls and not trust me since then he’d be able to protect himself and not get hurt. Great for him. Not so great for me.
Then again, perhaps I was the one who needed to trust in him more, lower my own walls, and fully let him in. Help him believe I’d never hurt him and never leave him, which would be tough to accomplish, I know. But maybe I should have tried harder, put more effort in, instead of doing the one action he feared the most and run. It might have been all the reassurance he needed to take the final step.
I fiddled with my napkin and stared out the window, seeing nothing but my long list of faults. “Is he coming back?” I asked quietly, not entirely sure I wanted to hear his reply.
A hand landed gently on my shoulder and squeezed a couple of times. “Yeah, he’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”
I swallowed hard. “Good. That’s good.”
Gabe picked up his coffee and pastry and made to go.
“Thank you.” I gave him a crooked smile. “Maybe you’re only a Grade-B asshole after all.
He laughed again and I liked that we were back on track. If Mason and I were to have any type of future, I expected I’d see a lot more of the man, so there was no point in us being enemies. Forging a friendship might take time but was worth pursuing for no other reason than to please Mason and make his life a bit less stressful.
“No fucking way,” he replied heading for the door. “Grade-A asshole all the way, baby. Grade-A all the way.”