Chapter 73
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
MASON
I pulled into the parking lot of the diner right behind Micah’s truck, still pissed off that he’d won the coin toss that put Dakota in his passenger seat instead of mine.
The sky was gloomy, the clouds crawling low and dark over the Earth.
A few small raindrops speckled my windshield as I parked, then hopped out.
On the roof of the diner, a red and green sign buzzed, glowing through the increasing rain.
Micah was leading Dakota in through the front door, bell jingling over their heads, so I jogged across the cracked pavement to catch up with them.
The atmosphere of the diner was familiar, my feet scuffing over faded yellow floor tiles as I made my way over to the booth Dakota and Micah were sitting at.
The sound of quiet chatter, silverware clinking, a receipt being torn off the roll, and sizzling griddles in the kitchen filled the air. Dakota wasn’t sitting next to Micah; she was on her own side, motioning for me to join her. I slid into the booth without giving her a second to change her mind.
Last time I’d been in this diner was before Micah’s death, on the day Dakota shot me. On the day she told me she loved me for the first time. Then, she’d wanted Micah and I to sit on the same side of the booth, for fairness. Not now.
“Do you want the usual stuff?” I asked her, slinging my arm over the back of the booth, my hand dangling near her shoulder.
“Yes, please.”
I nodded, ignoring the way my chest felt tight. I hadn’t directly looked at Micah once since sitting down, but I could see him in my peripheral vision, could sense his presence far too easily.
What will I find when I do meet his eye? What’s he thinking? How does he feel?
I wanted to know if he regretted what we’d done with Dakota last night. What we’d done with each other.
I didn’t regret it.
A waitress arrived at our table, and I placed the same order as last time.
Some cups of water, one coffee, and a double stack of blueberry waffles.
My hand drifted over to Dakota’s shoulder, brushing her thick sweater.
A few golden-blonde strands of hair were draped over the soft knit, silky under my palm.
My fingers trembled slightly so I squeezed her tighter to stop their motion.
Thankfully, it didn’t take our waitress long to return with the water and coffee, which gave me something to do with my hands. I took a sip of water, eyeing Dakota making her usual pyramid of plastic coffee creamer cups.
“I like this place,” she commented, eyes skimming the license plates all over the walls. She dumped all the creamers into the coffee mug and stirred it. “I’m happy we went here.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, sipping my ice water again, fingers slick on the condensation-covered glass. “I like it, too.”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Dakota announced abruptly, then stared at me until I got out of the booth so she could walk past me.
I watched her walk away, heavy boots stomping on the floor, long hair swishing.
My hands were really shaking by the time I sat back down, still avoiding looking at Micah, gripping my cup a little harder.
It didn’t make sense for me to avoid him now, not when I’d sucked his dick in front of Dakota last night—and vice versa—but we no longer had the comfort of darkness to ease the tension between us, nor the comfort of Dakota’s presence.
We had a pendant lamp, green vinyl booths, and an abandoned mug of too-sweet coffee.
His fingers drummed fast on the table, and I glanced over at his hand.
He marked Dakota as a baby.
He’s the reason I’m alive. Through her.
It was really raining outside now, clear rivulets streaming down the fogged glass windows spanning the entire wall. I looked out at the puddles in the parking lot, the raindrops splashing into them, the shattered reflection of the sky on their surfaces.
The sound of our waitress returning with waffles caught my attention, so I turned back and thanked her as she set the plate down. Tart blueberries, sweet waffles, individually-wrapped foil packets of butter, a sticky pitcher of syrup.
Steam curled lazily off the stack.
I looked at Micah.
He was already watching me. I couldn’t decipher his expression. I didn’t want to try.
I cleared my throat, pushing the plate in his direction. “Do you want…”
“No. You can have them.”
“I’ll save them for when Dakota comes back,” I settled. She’d want more syrup on them than I would likely provide. She liked drowning waffles. I liked drowning girls.
And boys—boy.
Just the one.
Micah.
I dared to meet his eye again, my teeth digging into the inside of my cheek, molars clamping down until I tasted blood. A million different things I could say circled my brain, but none of them ever found my tongue. Messy, twisted, disgusting emotion pumped through every beat of my heart.
The dead air was suffocating me.
“She’s going to be disappointed,” I said under my breath, my eyes sliding to stare out the window again.
“About what?”
“Us.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that.”
But he did know what I meant. When my gaze caught on his, I could see it. Dakota had gone to the bathroom to give us the opportunity to interact alone, but whatever she was hoping for wasn’t within our grasp.
Maybe I wanted it to be.
Maybe I was sick of pretending I didn’t crave every inch of him.
But my cravings could never replace the sick nausea in my stomach every time I thought about the type of life he actually deserved. I wasn’t in it. Even if I wanted to be.
I almost did something terrible to him. I broke him down to nothing, made him feel like he couldn’t be honest, that he had to run.
How was I supposed to ignore that now? It didn’t matter if he was content to ignore it, because I felt incapable.
Dakota didn’t want me to let Micah slip from my grasp again, but…
“She doesn’t have to be disappointed,” Micah said, something uncharacteristically vulnerable in his gaze, like a thread pulling tight, fraying, trying not to snap.
My heart lurched.
“I don’t know.”
His foot bumped mine under the table. I swallowed hard, trying to force myself to pull away, my pulse beating up in my throat. I didn’t want to be the stain on his life with Dakota.
I couldn’t pull away, though.
His shoe against my shoe.
His eyes holding my eyes.
Do you actually want this?
Do you actually want me?
Do you still love all the parts of myself I hate?
No.
You can’t. You don’t.
“What are you thinking?” he asked. For a moment, I wondered how we looked from an outside perspective. Two men, staring at each other over a stack of blueberry waffles with an intensity that seemed out of place in this diner. Carrying enough history to smother ourselves.
I clenched my jaw.
“I’m thinking about going to get Dakota so she can eat before the waffles get cold.”
“She’ll come back when she’s ready.”
“Do you not want her back?”
“Of course I want her back.” His brows furrowed, anguish etched into his expression.
“Okay.”
I turned my head, moved my foot, staring again at the rain trickling down the glass.
I felt lost. Completely fucking lost, unable to navigate this moment with the person who knew me better than anyone, the person I’d spent more than half my life in love with.
And I was still probably in love with him.
But what the fuck did that mean now? What the fuck were either of us going to do about that?
I could never admit that to him. What would he think if I did?
Was I the only one of us who felt this way?
Did it even matter?
Either way, I was a fucking burden to him.
Dakota’s boots thudded on the tile as she approached and I gratefully turned towards her, moving so she could slide past me into the booth. Her eyes flicked back and forth between us. Whatever expression she saw on my face made her frown, but she didn’t comment on it.
“Can you please hand me the syrup?” she asked.
Micah pushed the pitcher towards her. She poured a generous amount over the stack of waffles, keeping the stream going until sticky liquid was pouring off the sides and onto the plate.
“You think that’s enough?” Micah joked.
“Just wait until I finish eating the top waffle,” she warned, picking up her utensils. “Then I’m going to pour on even more—to accompany the second waffle.”
“Right. Of course.”
“Do you want some?” She offered a bite, waving her fork.
“Sure.”
Dakota reached across the table and Micah ate the waffle right off her fork, sitting back while he chewed. Every time he looked at her, he was at ease. Every time he looked at me, he had the same vulnerable thread pulling in his gaze.
I flexed my jaw, rolled out my shoulders.
“Mason?”
“Yes, baby?” I turned to look down at Dakota.
“Your turn for a bite.”
“Alright.” I obliged her, opening my mouth for the syrup-drenched bite she gave me.
“Pretty good, right?”
“I mean, yeah. But we’ve already established I like the blueberry waffles here.”
Micah watched our exchange with interest—and some torment, as he caught my tone. Dakota and I had history with this place, outside of him.
“Our first date was at this diner,” Dakota explained to him. My chest tightened with her choice of words, an ache spreading across my heart. First date. Was it a date? I guess. A date for two fucked-up people. Waffles and suffocation.
“Oh,” Micah replied.
The rest of the conversation fell away into the sound of Dakota cutting and eating her meal. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Every single one of my thoughts were hung up on the man sitting across from me, and I knew he could sense it.
Maybe his thoughts were hung up on me, too.
But neither one of us said anything else.