Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jennifer
It turned out not to be a one-time thing. For the past ten days, besides my night off, Mase has walked a short distance behind me, making sure I get home safely after work.
At first, I protested, but he just folded his arms and acted like I was the one being ridiculous, then waited for me to keep walking before he would move an inch.
He never asked me for anything in return, but after a week, I brought him another cookie as a pathetic thank you, handing it to him without a word.
I’ve been baking way too many cookies lately, and I’ve taken several batches to the homeless shelters closest to me.
I’ve been aware of Mase’s presence with every step I’ve taken, and I can’t seem to ignore him, even though I’ve tried. He hasn’t even attempted to start any conversations, yet my mind stays on alert, like it’s waiting to hear his voice.
He’s just always . . . there, like a handsome, muscular bodyguard.
It has been an equal amount of torture and comfort for me, knowing he’s ready to step in if I need him, even if I don’t deserve it.
And his presence doesn’t end when I’m inside my apartment, either. I’ve looked through my peephole and have seen him sitting at the bottom of my steps, scrolling on his phone for about twenty minutes before he leaves.
I don’t understand why he insists on doing it, but I don’t sense any nefarious reason.
Leaning over the counter, I peek out my kitchen window, watching as more snowflakes fall. Tonight was significantly colder than it has been, and it was snowing from the moment I—well, we—left work.
Chewing on my lip, I walk back to my front door to look through the hole again. Mase is sitting at the bottom of the steps, leaning back on his elbows while looking up at the sky as flakes fall around him.
What usually is a dark and secluded-looking set of stairs along the side of the building is now brightened by the snow.
I arrived home a few minutes ago, and part of me was hoping he would leave right away because of the decrease in temperature and increase in snow. No such luck.
Pulling back from the door, my lips thin as I contemplate. It doesn’t feel right to leave him out there in the frigid air like that, especially at this time of the morning, when he’s only here for me.
A few minutes later, I’m flicking the lock open, then closing the door behind me as I carefully tread down the snowy steps.
Mase turns to look up at me, then at what I’m carrying, a surprised and questioning look on his face.
“I made you some hot tea,” I tell him, holding out a mug. “And I brought you a small blanket.”
Slightly hesitant, he takes the mug from me, along with the blanket, no doubt curious about me initiating this interaction. “Thank you.”
I settle onto a higher step after brushing it clear of snow, then bring my mug close to my mouth, blowing at the steam. “Why do you sit here after walking me home?”
Bringing a hand up, he ruffles his wavy black hair, shaking off some of the snow. “Oh, just keeping the riffraff away.”
“But why bother? It’s late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. You could be at home in a warm bed right now.”
Mase’s shoulders lift and drop, like it’s no big deal. But it is a big deal.
“Do you remember that night you ran into me on the sidewalk?”
I stare at the back of his head, curious as to what he’ll say. I had wondered if he remembered that incident: that Halloween when I raced away from him like my life depended on it.
“Halloween,” I respond quietly, thinking about how scared I had been when I saw him and thought he was going to hurt me.
“You looked like you were two seconds away from having a panic attack, and were white as a ghost . . . and not from a costume.” He turns to look up at me. “That’s why I went after you. Probably wasn’t the best decision, but I was worried.”
My stomach turns. Is this his way of telling me he’s worried now?
I swallow, not really knowing what to say, apart from that he shouldn’t worry about me. “Why would you care, though? You didn’t even know me.”
“Do you have to know someone to care?”
I lick my lips, knowing the answer all too well. “No.”
After taking a sip of his tea, Mase leans back to look up at the sky again. “Why do you go by Jayne now?”
My eyes drop to the snow gathering on my shoes, and I absently flick it away. “It’s my middle name. I just prefer it.” Not a lie, just half the answer.
A soft hum rumbles from his chest. “I like it.”
Something warm settles beneath my breastbone, and I look at him again, wondering how someone can be a stranger, yet not feel like one at the same time.
“Do you like the snow, Jayne?”
At the weird change in subject, I take my eyes off him and watch the snow falling around us, light and fluffy. “I love the first snowfall,” I answer. “I love how pretty it looks, almost ethereal. And all the noise and chaos just seem to go silent. Kind of like right now.”
I can’t help but wonder if Jacob gets to experience the snow or a storm on a summer afternoon.
Has he gotten to see the stars and moon on a clear night?
I suck in a slow, cold breath, then release. “But I get over it pretty quickly, especially when I have to commute to and from work in it.”
Mase turns sideways to look up at me with those dark eyes, his big body folded on the old wooden steps. Snow is starting to gather on the shoulders of his black canvas jacket, but the plaid blanket I gave him draped across his legs is keeping his lower half dry.
“You said you’ve been working there for two years; where were you before that?”
An ache forms in my chest at the thought of my dad, though I’m not sure the ache is ever truly gone, just buried away amongst the muck.
I bring my warm mug up and press it to my heart in a poor attempt to ease the pain. “I was working for my dad at one of his offices in the city and volunteering at an animal shelter.”
“You were working for your dad?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Why not now?”
I swallow, looking to the side. “Things change.”
He makes a contemplative sound, and I look back at him, watching him squint up at the snow as if in thought, then he tilts his head. “Weren’t you going to become a vet or something?”
Surprised, my head pulls back. “How did you know that?”
Mase’s gaze drops to the stairs, jaw clenching. “Jacob. He told me and the other guys you were talking about it in class and said you were both going to UIC.”
Jacob knew about that? And he was supposed to go to UIC as well? God, why does that piece of information amplify every torturous feeling, making it far worse?
Eyes drifting close, my heart squeezes painfully. “I wanted to be a vet at one point,” I say quietly, ignoring my bathroom drawer calling to me. “But as I said, things change.”
Things like ruining people’s lives.
Jacob can’t achieve his dreams right now, so how could I possibly ignore that and still aim for mine?
That day in Dylan’s office when everything changed flashes to my mind. “. . . he must be sitting in that prison cell, wishing nothing but hell on you.” Things were kind of shitty before then, but that’s the day my life took a nosedive into hell, no doubt exactly where Jacob wanted me.
He’s supposed to be released from prison soon, a thought that has been frequently circulating my mind. I can only hope that things are okay for him when he gets out.
“I’m sorry for bringing him up.”
My eyes pop open to see Mase watching me, lips downturned and regret on his face again.
Don’t have regrets for me, have them for your old friend.
I wish I could say those words out loud; wish I could tell Mase the truth so he wouldn’t harbor this hatred toward Jacob. But the threat Dylan made still lingers, ever present like a dark cloud over my head. And too many people have too much to lose.
I shake my head, trying to clear it away, the memories, the sadness, the guilt, just for one fucking second while I enjoy the snow and my tea.
“What about you?” I force out to change the subject. “Do you only teach those self-defense classes? When did you move here from Plainfield?”
“I moved here maybe six years ago, and no, I’m actually a personal trainer at the gym as well.
It was an incidental gig that I fell into, and luckily for me, I ended up loving it.
Been there for maybe five years?” He turns enough to stretch out his long legs, then looks up at the sky again.
“Someday, I’d like to open my own place where I can offer more than just defense classes for women.
Maybe have people there who can help them learn a craft or skill.
Maybe have a therapist available for anyone who needs one. ”
I stare at him, my heart giving another little squeeze. He wants to help women even more than he does now? What an incredibly lovely, selfless goal to have.
Mase yawns, and I think again how absurd it is that we’re sitting out here on the cold, uncomfortable steps, at a ridiculous hour.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be nice to me. He shouldn’t be protecting me.
“How are you getting back home?”
Mase looks up at me, one side of his lip lifting. “Always trying to get rid of me. I’ll be leaving soon, don’t worry.”
I push to my feet. “It’s just that the snow is getting heavier, and I’ll be going to bed. There’s no need to sit out here.”
He stands as well. “My truck is parked near the club. I’ll take the bus back there.”
I nod, feeling awful that he has to do that because of me. “Okay, well, thank you again. Um, I’m going to head inside now. I hope it’s not a long trip back home.”
Turning around, I trudge up the rest of the stairs and step back inside my apartment, leaning against the door once it’s closed, my stomach tight and throat dry.
That’s the most I’ve spoken to anyone in years.
A knock on the door behind my head makes me jump.
I spin around, looking through the peephole, even though instinctually, I know it’s Mase.
He stands there, sprinkled with snow, the white contrasting his dark clothes, hair, and eyes. And in his hands, he’s holding the blanket and mug I gave him.
Slowly, I open the door again, my lips pulled to the side.
“You forgot these,” he tells me, holding out his hands.
I reach for the items, shaking my head. “Thanks.”
A small smile tugs at his lips, then his eyes drift to the side over my shoulder. “You have a leak in your roof or something?”
I follow his gaze to where the towel and bucket sit on the floor in my tiny kitchen. “Oh, yeah. The landlord, umm . . . he’s going to fix it soon. He owns and runs the store downstairs as well.”
He scans the rest of the tiny enclosure I call an apartment from where he’s standing in the doorway before settling his gaze back on me, nodding. “Think about coming to another lesson, okay?” With those parting words, he turns and walks down the stairs.