Chapter 6 Cracks in the Wall
Falling Hard
The storm ended sometime during the night.
Unfortunately, the memory of what happened inside the storage shed didn't.
Three days later, Eli was still thinking about it.
Which was becoming a problem.
A serious one.
He sat cross-legged on the couch in his apartment, a notebook balanced on his knee and a half-finished cup of coffee cooling on the table beside him. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden patterns across the living room.
Normally, weekends were productive.
He organized interview notes.
Reviewed photographs.
Prepared questions for upcoming conversations.
Instead, he'd spent nearly an hour staring at the same blank page.
Every time he tried focusing on work, his thoughts wandered back to Mason.
Back to the storm.
Back to that moment.
The almost-kiss.
Eli groaned and dropped his head against the couch cushion.
This was ridiculous.
He was twenty-one years old.
Not fourteen.
Yet somehow his brain had transformed one almost-kiss into an obsession.
The worst part was that he couldn't even blame his imagination entirely.
Something had happened in that shed.
He knew it.
Mason knew it too.
The memory remained painfully clear.
The way the older man had stepped closer.
The look in his eyes.
The brief moment when the rest of the world seemed to disappear.
Eli had felt it.
Every second of it.
Then Mason had pulled away.
Abruptly.
As though he'd suddenly remembered something important.
Something that made continuing impossible.
The rejection shouldn't have hurt.
After all, nothing had actually happened.
Yet disappointment lingered anyway.
Not because Mason had stepped back.
Because for one brief moment, Eli thought he wasn't going to.
That realization made his stomach twist.
He reached for his journal.
Whenever his thoughts became too complicated, writing helped.
It always had.
Words made sense when emotions didn't.
At least most of the time.
Opening the worn notebook, Eli flipped past pages of research notes and personal observations until he found a blank section.
Then he began writing.
Not about the brickworks.
Not about his project.
About Mason.
At first, the words came slowly.
Cautiously.
As though admitting them would somehow make them more real.
He wrote about first impressions.
About the intimidating man who had pulled him away from danger near the kilns.
About the rough voice and scarred hands.
About the reputation everyone seemed to know.
Then the words changed.
Without permission.
Without warning.
He started writing about the things nobody else seemed to notice.
The way Mason checked on workers when he thought nobody was watching.
The way people trusted him.
The patience hidden beneath the gruff exterior.
The rare moments when he laughed.
The evenings spent reading poetry.
The kindness he tried so hard to disguise.
By the time Eli looked up, several pages were filled.
The realization hit him immediately.
None of those observations sounded professional.
They didn't belong in research notes.
They belonged somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere personal.
Dangerously personal.
He stared at the pages.
Then sighed.
"Well."
There was no point pretending anymore.
Attraction was one thing.
Simple.
Manageable.
This was becoming something else.
Something deeper.
Something much harder to ignore.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table.
A message from his friend Rachel appeared on the screen.
How's small-town life?
Eli laughed softly.
If only she knew.
After a moment, he typed a response.
Complicated.
The reply arrived almost immediately.
Translation: boy trouble.
His eyes widened.
How was that possible?
Rachel had known him for years.
Apparently that was enough.
Eli typed back.
There is no boy trouble.
Several seconds passed.
Then:
That's exactly what someone with boy trouble would say.
Eli tossed the phone onto the couch.
Traitor.
The annoying part was that she wasn't entirely wrong.
The rest of the weekend passed slowly.
Far too slowly.
By Monday morning, Eli found himself arriving at Blackthorn Brickworks earlier than usual.
Not because he needed extra research time.
Not because he had important interviews scheduled.
Because part of him wanted to see Mason.
That realization should have alarmed him.
Instead, it made him smile.
The brickworks looked different after the storm.
The red clay appeared darker.
The air felt cleaner.
Puddles reflected sunlight across the yard.
Workers moved through the property as another week began.
Eli spotted Mason almost immediately.
Of course he did.
The older man stood near the loading area speaking with several foremen.
Even from a distance, he commanded attention.
Not because he demanded it.
Because people naturally listened.
Eli watched him for a moment.
Then forced himself to keep walking.
Unfortunately, that didn't stop him from noticing things.
The way Mason rolled up his sleeves.
The way workers greeted him.
The way his expression softened whenever someone needed help.
The observations came automatically now.
Without effort.
Without permission.
Throughout the morning, the situation only worsened.
Every conversation seemed easier than before.
Every smile felt more significant.
Every glance lasted slightly longer than it should.
Several times Eli caught himself searching for Mason across the yard.
Each time he found him.
Which definitely wasn't helping.
Around noon, Eli sat beneath a shaded awning reviewing interview notes.
The sounds of the brickworks drifted around him.
Forklifts.
Machinery.
Voices.
Normal things.
Yet his attention remained divided.
Partly on work.
Partly elsewhere.
A familiar shadow appeared beside the table.
Eli looked up.
Mason.
"You're forgetting lunch again."
The statement wasn't a question.
Eli blinked.
"What?"
Mason nodded toward the notebook.
"You've been sitting there for an hour."
Embarrassment warmed his face.
Had it really been that long?
Apparently.
The older man placed a bottle of water on the table.
Then another.
"Eat something."
Eli stared at the bottles.
Then at Mason.
A simple gesture.
Small.
Almost insignificant.
Yet warmth spread through his chest anyway.
Because it wasn't about water.
It was about the fact that Mason noticed.
The fact that he cared enough to say something.
The fact that despite all his attempts at distance, he kept showing up.
After a brief pause, Mason walked away.
Returning to work.
Returning to safety.
Leaving Eli alone with his thoughts once again.
The younger man watched him cross the yard.
Watched workers stop him with questions.
Watched him disappear into the afternoon crowd.
Then he looked down at his notebook.
At the pages filled with observations.
At the words he'd written over the weekend.
At all the evidence he'd been trying not to acknowledge.
The truth had been building for weeks.
Moment by moment.
Conversation by conversation.
Smile by smile.
Now it stood directly in front of him.
Impossible to ignore.
Impossible to deny.
Eli wasn't simply attracted to Mason Voss.
He wasn't experiencing a temporary crush or harmless fascination.
Somewhere between the heat of the kilns, the red dust, the poetry books, and the storm-filled evenings, something much more dangerous had happened.
He was falling for him.
And judging by the way his heart reacted every time Mason entered a room, he was already much farther gone than he'd realized.
Ghosts of the Past
Mason had always believed the past was a dangerous place to spend too much time.
Nothing good came from living there.
The past couldn't be changed.
Couldn't be fixed.
Couldn't be rewritten.
All it could do was remind you of mistakes.
Regrets.
Losses.
Unfortunately, some memories had a habit of finding their way back regardless of how hard you tried to bury them.
Especially when you were already struggling to keep your thoughts under control.
Mason leaned against the tailgate of his truck as the last workers filtered out of Blackthorn Brickworks for the evening. The sun had already started sinking toward the horizon, bathing the yard in warm orange light.
Another day was ending.
Another day spent pretending everything was normal.
Unfortunately, nothing felt normal anymore.
Not since the storm.
Not since that moment inside the storage shed.
The memory returned immediately.
Eli sitting across from him.
The rain pounding against the roof.
The silence.
The way the younger man had looked at him.
The way Mason had almost forgotten every reason he should walk away.
Almost.
That single word had become his problem.
Almost kissed him.
Almost crossed the line.
Almost ruined everything.
Mason released a slow breath and climbed into his truck.
The engine rumbled to life.
A few minutes later he was driving along the familiar roads leading toward his small house on the edge of town.
Fields stretched endlessly on either side.
The setting sun painted the landscape gold.
Normally the drive helped clear his head.
Tonight it failed completely.
His thoughts remained tangled.
And most of them centered around one person.
Eli Bennett.
The kid had somehow worked his way beneath Mason's defenses without even trying.
That was what made it so dangerous.
Nothing about it felt intentional.
There were no games.
No manipulation.
No hidden agenda.
Eli was simply... Eli.
Curious.
Kind.
Stubborn.
And entirely too easy to care about.
Mason gripped the steering wheel tighter.
This was exactly how bad decisions started.
Not with recklessness.
With affection.
With attachment.
With convincing yourself that maybe things would work out differently this time.
Experience had taught him otherwise.
By the time he pulled into his driveway, darkness had settled across Blackthorn.
The small house sat quietly beneath the evening sky.
Nothing fancy.
Nothing impressive.
But it belonged to him.
Every mortgage payment.
Every repair.