Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Mase
If ever I were to break, I’d never pick her arms to be the ones I would fall into. But this wasn’t a choice. It was a need, and she showed up.
A feeling I’ve not felt for many years weighs heavy on me, a feeling I know comes with a loss.
As a child, my mother’s passing was hard to take. It didn’t make sense, and it impacted me for years. I thought it was my age that made it feel the way it did, but the ache in my chest now tells me I would never have been prepared when it came to losing them.
I thought I was strong.
Walking back to the house with Nina under my arm, I draw from her strength, but I know it won’t be enough.
Her head lifts to mine, and she gives me a strained smile. As we near the house, I stop where I stand and pull Nina into me.
“I’m sorry, Pix.” I kiss her head.
“Sorry?” she questions as I turn and walk towards my Bentley, leaving her behind. “Hey!” she shouts. “Mason, what about Scar?”
My gaze catches hers, anger brimming behind her deep chocolate pools. “I’ll see you at home.”
Her brows rise in surprise as I shut the door, start the engine and tear off out of the drive.
Nina
My heart burns as I make my way up the front steps and into the house. I give a small smile to the Montgomerys who sit in the lounge, but I don’t stop, moving towards the kitchen where I see Lance leaning in the doorway.
I place my hand on his back. “Excuse me,” I whisper.
“Nina,” he utters softly, his face solemn.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and avoid eye contact with him. I can’t deal with Lance being nice right now. It will send me over the edge.
“Where’s Mase?” Elliot asks, tipping his chin.
I look around at the boys, shaking my head, not knowing what to say.
Charlie drops his head, his hands shoving deep in his suit trousers. He knows.
“He hates it here, I don’t blame him,” Scarlet murmurs from the island.
“He fucking left?” Elliot spits.
Any other day I’d defend him, but that’s the last thing she needs to hear right now. Walking to the island, I lean in and hug her shoulders. “What can I do?” I ask.
Her hand encases mine, squeezing tight. “Nothing. Mase is going to need you.”
“I know.” I just hope he lets me.
“Scarlet, honey.” Frey steps into the kitchen with red-rimmed eyes, the only tell that she’s upset. “Glen and I think it would be best that you come home with us this evening, or we can come here for a couple of weeks. We don’t want you here alone.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” She gives her a small smile, and I see the strength behind it. She pulls me tighter to her back and sets her shoulders square, already putting on a front, reminding me of her brother.
“I’m going to go get things straight at the office,” Charlie announces, nodding at Elliot then leaning down to kiss Scar on the forehead. “Call me if you need me, okay?”
“I’ll come with you,” Lance mutters, his hand on the back of his neck as if he’s uncomfortable. He gives Scarlet an awkward nod then turns to leave. Charlie following behind.
“Where do you want to stay, Scar? You can come home with us, or we can come here,” Elliot asks.
“I can’t leave.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she bats them away. I look to Elliot, his own eyes shining. “I can’t leave them,” she adds.
Their sadness seeps into me as their heartache becomes my own. How can someone be here one day and gone the next. Just like that.
“Then we will come here. Give me an hour, yeah.” Elliot looks at me, and my stomach drops. I stand conflicted because that means an hour away from Mase. But Scarlet needs me too.
I nod my head, letting him know he can go.
“You don’t have to stay. You can go to him,” Scarlet tells me.
“I know, and I will.”
We sit in comfortable silence, her head resting on my shoulder as we allow the calmness in the house to settle between us.
After twisting my key in the elevator, I stand with my foot tapping, and my hands running through my hair.
Emotions. I know he will be feeling so many of them right now. I expect it. But the unknown scares me because I have no idea what I’ll be walking into.
The only thing I do know is he will be hurting.
The doors slide open, and my heart sinks as the smell of cigarette smoke fills me, along with a heavy beat. It’s so loud I can’t make out the words.
Broken shards of a whiskey bottle lie at the bottom of the staircase, the amber liquid that it bathes in telling me he didn’t drink much of it.
Taking the steps two at a time, I push through the bedroom door, my shoulders dropping when I hear the shower running.
“Thank god.”
Just as I pass the bed, I kick a bottle. An empty bottle. Picking it up, I walk to the bathroom door and push it open, steam billowing out as I enter.
I can’t see anything. “Mase?”
Stepping around the tile wall, I find him lying motionless on the shower floor and completely naked.
I remove my shoes and drop down next to him, my clothes getting soaked through.
“This helps?” I ask, looking at him.
He shrugs, not giving me his eyes, but I can see the bags that sit beneath them. I didn’t notice before, but seeing him now, he looks tired.
“You don’t need to be here.”
“Yes, I do.” I take his hand and sit him up, pulling us both out of the spray.
He sways as he rights himself.
Looking up at me, his cold stare slices through me. “You’d be better off without me.”
I lick my lips, trying to find the right words. I get why he is lashing out, but it doesn’t make it easier to listen to.
Dropping my eyes, ignoring his comment as I grab a towel. “Get up, the water is going cold.”
“You should go, Nina. You shouldn’t be here,” he slurs.
“I want to be here. Now, get up.”
He grasps my face, bringing me close. “You wouldn’t want to be, not if you knew,” he snarls.
I go to grab his hand that holds me, and he yanks it back with a hiss. I grab his wrist, noting the stream of red running down his arm. “You’ve cut yourself.”
“I’m fine.” He shrugs me away, getting up in a rush and staggering from the shower as he makes his way into the bedroom.
“Here,” I hand him a towel to cover himself, but he doesn’t take it from me. “Let me see your hand.”
I watch as blood drips to the plush carpet.
“You’re perfect; you know that? So. Fucking. Perfect,” he sniggers. “You made it so easy for me. Then you left.” He swipes the blood from his forearm, and it splatters the bed.
His perfect body ripples as he jerks around the room on unsteady feet, and it only makes my heart hurt more.
“Mason, now isn’t the time, please.” I plead, holding out the towel to him.
He’s talking rubbish, and despite how much his words hurt, I know they’re coming from a place of pain.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you.”
“Why did you come here then? Huh? For this?” He starts to pull at his hardening length, and I turn, disgusted, leaving the room and leaving him. “Off you run.” He laughs at my retreating back.
Once I’m out of sight, I take a moment, leaning on the bannister and taking in a deep breath.
Don’t let him push you away.
I go to the kitchen, find the first aid kit, and then grab the dustpan and brush and some kitchen roll. I clean up the mess at the bottom of the stairs, then make my way back to the bedroom, hoping he will have calmed down a little.
Mason is sitting on the ottoman when I enter the room, his eyes cast down at the ground. He has a pair of boxers on, and a towel is wrapped around his fist, the blood already tainting it a deep red.
I kneel at his feet and take his bloodied hand, not wanting to look into his eyes in case I find the anger that was there before.
The cut isn’t overly deep, but the alcohol he’s consumed is making it bleed heavier. I try to wrap it the best I can, but I know he will need to get it checked.
Once I’m finished, I sit for a moment and stare at the ground between us.
Silently, he takes hold of my chin in his bandaged hand, lifting my head. Tears line his face, his eyes filled with so much pain it threatens to destroy the both of us.
But it’s my Mase.
“Promise me when I’m sober.”
“Baby.” I pull him to me, wanting nothing more than to take it all away.
I want to tell him that everything will be better in the morning, but I can’t promise that right now.
It’s been two weeks since Anthony passed away. The funeral was four days ago, and it’s only sent Mason deeper and harder into his grief. He won’t let anyone in, me and Scarlet included.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that he attended the funeral, but I was, considering I almost left without him when he refused to leave his office that morning. I felt proud when he joined me in the foyer, dressed in his sharp suit, face stoic as he masked the hurt.
Scarlet struggled through the ceremony, but Mason was there to hold her together.
They held each other up.
The boys have visited daily, but with Mason out of the office, Elliot needed to be in his place. He hates to see Mason hurt like he is, but he knows it’s part of the process.
We all want to help, but none of us knows how.
As much as Mason tried to change my mind, I decided to cancel my place in the showcase. I couldn’t put in the time it deserved, and with everything else that happened, it didn’t seem so important. I knew I couldn’t go away and leave him, not when I was afraid he would break at any minute.
I had all the time in the world to pursue my dreams.
Routine fell over us. Every morning I’d wake to an empty bed, the shower running, and the en suite door locked.
He works out, showers, goes to his home office until eleven at night, and then crawls into bed where he wraps me in his arms, neither of us getting any sleep.
Scarlet has been over twice, but I know things are strained between them since she asked Mason to come to the house to go through Anthony’s things. It’s probably the reason I’m lying alone in bed at two a.m. I know it’s been on his mind since she asked.
Climbing from the bed, I make my way to his home gym, finding him running flat out on his treadmill with his earbuds in.