4. Mason
Mason
Damn.
That felt good.
Seriously double-damn good…
I push open the door of the stationary store and step out onto the sidewalk with a spring in my step I haven’t felt in years.
The little bell jingles behind me like it’s laughing at how easily that sassy little thing just got under my skin.
Luke.
Fuck, that boy is trouble wrapped in the sweetest package I’ve ever seen. Smart mouth, quick comebacks, and those big eyes that flash defiance one second and melt the next. Most boys I’ve met over the years either try too hard to impress or go all shy and quiet the moment I turn on the stern voice.
Not Luke.
He gave it right back to me. I chuckle low under my breath as I tuck the memory away like a trophy.
The main strip of the town stretches out in front of me, bathed in that perfect mid-afternoon sunlight that makes everything look warmer, softer, like it belongs in one of those postcards they sell at the tourist kiosk by the park entrance.
Ancient oak and maple trees line both sides of the wide sidewalk, their leaves just starting to show the first hints of autumn gold. The branches arch overhead like a natural canopy, dappling the pavement with shifting patterns of light and shadow.
Independent stores nestle shoulder to shoulder: colorful awnings over the bakery with its perpetual scent of fresh bread and cinnamon rolls, the little bookstore with handwritten recommendation cards in the window, the hardware store where old Mr. Granger still yells “Morning, Mason!” even though it’s three in the afternoon.
Familiar faces nod or wave as I pass.
Mrs. Henderson pushing her grandkids in a double stroller. Two of the firefighters from Station Two grabbing coffee to go. A couple of Littles I recognize from Connor and Kaleb’s wider circle skipping out of the toy shop with new stuffies clutched tight.
This town… it hits different every time I come back from the rig.
Peaceful. Down to earth. Real.
The kind of place where people actually know your name and give a damn. For a second I let myself imagine what it would be like to be here more often. Not just four weeks of leave before another four-month grind out on the water.
No. Really here.
I imagine waking up in my cabin every morning, grabbing breakfast at the diner, maybe walking this exact strip hand-in-hand with a certain firecracker who blushes when I call him little one.
Luke’s hand in mine. His laugh echoing off these old brick buildings.
Me pulling the boy close when the evening chill rolls in off the mountains, pressing a kiss to the top of his head while he pretends to complain about my beard tickling him…
The image feels so vivid I can almost smell him… something sweet like vanilla and that faint clean sweat from the gym. My cock twitches in my jeans at the thought and I have to adjust my stride.
But then reality crashes back in like a rogue wave.
Four months away at a stretch.
No phone signal half the time and an internet connection so unreliable it may as well be 1993 all over again.
And then coming home exhausted, beat up, smelling of diesel and saltwater. What kind of life is that for a boy like Luke? He’s got his apartment, his jobs, his friends. He doesn’t need some grumpy mountain man who disappears longer than he stays.
The fantasy fizzles, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. I shrug it off, rolling my shoulders like I’m shaking off a heavy set at the gym. No point dwelling on shit I can’t change right now.
I’m here. He’s here.
And tomorrow morning I’m spotting Luke on that bench whether he likes it or not.
My feet carry me toward the diner on autopilot.
The scent of fresh coffee and grilled cheese hits me before I even push through the door.
The place is busy but not slammed: locals at the counter, a few families in the booths.
I slide into a stool at the end of the polished wood counter and nod at Rosie, the no-nonsense waitress who’s been here longer than I’ve been alive.
“Double espresso, Rosie. Make it strong enough to wake the dead.”
Rosie grins, already reaching for the portafilter. “Rough day, big guy?”
“Something like that.”
The coffee arrives fast and bitter-perfect. I wrap my big hands around the tiny cup and take a sip, letting the caffeine hit my system. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see Kaleb’s name…
CHOP: New wellness spot just opened on the edge of town. Hardrock Healing Club. Sauna + cold plunge. You in? Don’t make me suffer alone, asshole.
I snort. Woo-woo nonsense. Saunas and ice baths? Sounds like something city folks pay too much money for. I type back quickly…
Mason: Hard pass on the fancy spa shit. I’ll stick to real recovery—beer and darts.
CHOP: Scared you won’t last thirty seconds in the cold plunge, asshole?
The damn bastard knows exactly which button to push. I glare at the screen, jaw tight. No way I’m letting him think I’m soft. Not happening…
Mason: Fine. One hour. Try not to cry when I outlast you.
I down the rest of the espresso in one scalding gulp and signal Rosie for another.
“Better make this one a triple shot,” I growl. “Apparently I’m doing ice baths today.”
Rosie laughs and gets to work. By the time I finish the second cup my blood is humming with caffeine and reluctant anticipation. I toss some bills on the counter, wave goodbye, and head out.
* * *
The Hardrock Healing Club sits on the western edge of town just ahead of where the forest starts to thicken.
From the outside it looks more like an upscale mountain lodge than some trendy wellness center: rough-hewn timber beams, big stone foundation, massive windows reflecting the pines.
Inside it’s even better.
Warm lighting, the rich scent of cedar and eucalyptus, soft instrumental music playing low. Exposed wood everywhere, clean lines mixed with rugged texture.
I truly hate to admit it, but it’s fucking nice. Stylish without being pretentious. Rugged without feeling like a logging camp.
Kaleb’s already in the changing room when I arrive, stripping down to swim shorts. He grins like he’s won the lottery. “Knew you’d show. Pride’s a hell of a drug.”
“Shut up and show me this ice torture chamber before I change my mind,” I laugh, a look of somewhere between trepidation and outright panic on my face.
We grab towels and head through to the sauna area. There are three wood-burner saunas of different sizes, all glowing with heat. We pick the medium one, step inside, and close the thick cedar door. The heat slams into me immediately… dry, intense, perfect.
I settle onto the upper bench, leaning back against the warm wood, legs spread, arms resting on my thighs. Sweat starts beading on my chest within minutes.
Kaleb sits across from me, already glistening. “So. You gonna tell me about the boy or do I have to drag it out of you?”
I stare at the glowing rocks in the heater.
Luke’s face flashes behind my eyes—flushed cheeks in the stationary store, that playful smirk, the way his breasts pressed against his shirt when he folded his arms and sassed me.
“Can’t stop thinking about the damn boy,” I admit, voice low.
“Met him at the gym yesterday. Saved his ass from a bench press gone wrong. Told him he’s training with me while I’m in town.
He’s… different. Sassy as hell. Smart. Got this sparkle in his eye that makes me want to—” I cut myself off, rubbing a hand over my face.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not looking for anything serious. ”
Kaleb chuckles, the sound echoing in the hot wooden box.
“Bullshit,” Kaleb barks. “I’ve known you twenty years, Mason. You don’t get that look in your eye over some random training partner. Let your feelings rule your head for once. Stop overthinking the rig schedule. Life’s short, brother. You deserve something real.”
I grunt, shifting on the bench as the heat sinks deeper into my muscles.
My mind supplies a very unhelpful image of Luke in this sauna with me…
naked, skin pink from the heat, sitting between my legs while I run my hands over his slick body, telling him exactly how to breathe through it.
How he’d whimper when I got stern. How he’d melt when I praised him for taking it so well…
My cock thickens against my shorts and I have to adjust the towel over my lap.
“Enough of that shit,” I mutter, changing the subject. “Time to see if this cold plunge is as brutal as they say.”
We step out of the sauna and the contrast hits like a slap. Cool air on burning skin. We walk over to the cold plunge area—three metal tubs sunk into the floor, each with different temperatures displayed on digital readouts.
We pick the middle one.
2°C and, to put it in the clearest terms: Absolutely Fucking Freezing.
Kaleb goes first, lowering himself in with a loud hiss. “Motherfucker!”
I follow, stepping into the icy water. The shock is immediate and vicious. Cold spears up my legs, my balls try to crawl back inside my body, every muscle locks up. I growl through clenched teeth as I sink down to my neck, gripping the edges of the tub like it might save me.
“Three minutes,” Kaleb grits out, voice strained. “Don’t you dare tap out first.”
The water feels like knives. My heart hammers. But I breathe through it—deep, controlled breaths—just like I do when the rig is pitching in a storm.
One minute. Two. My body screams. Luke’s face appears again. I imagine him watching me, eyes wide, biting his lip at how tough I am. Telling him good boy if he ever tried this with me. The distraction helps.
At exactly three minutes I surge up with a roar, water cascading off my body. Kaleb follows right after, both of us gasping, laughing like idiots, skin bright red and tingling.
“Fuck yes,” I growl, shaking water from my hair. “That was brutal.”