Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jennifer
Of all the possibilities I could have imagined, of all the options or reasons I considered for Mase being such a solitary man—for him not having friends, for him dedicating most of his life to helping women, for him being single—the fact that he might be the result of his mother’s sexual assault was not one of them.
I can’t even fathom what it would have been like for him to live with that over his head at such a young age, feeling isolated from his friends, feeling like a mistake, feeling like he was hated before ever being given a chance. It must have messed with his mind.
Clearly, it did mess with his mind.
The thought cleaves my heart open, making it bleed.
All the remaining pieces had snapped into place after he told me. And I finally understood why he keeps to himself. Why he’s so alone.
I know he expected me to hate him for what he is, and for what he thinks he is, but how could I?
He is not his father, or sperm donor as he said.
He is not Dylan.
My eyes stay glued to Mase as he demonstrates a bear hug attack, and the different maneuvers to use depending on how the attacker is gripping you.
His class is in a different room tonight, toward the back of the gym in a space with no windows.
He told me he likes the other room with the large window wall because nobody feels like they’re trapped in there. But a group of teenagers from the youth center have been working on a beautiful mural this week to cover the plain white walls, so here we are.
I’m supposed to be at Tease right now, but I called in sick to come here and see Mase instead.
It hasn’t felt right going there lately, but it especially hasn’t felt right since we slept together.
I’m sure I’ll get shit from Chester tomorrow, but this is worth it. He is worth it.
Surprise had flashed on his face when I turned up tonight, followed by a small frown, but he didn’t attempt to keep me out of his class.
I think he knows I wouldn’t try to talk to him during his lesson. I’ll save it for when we’re finished.
It’s been two days of avoidance, of us circling each other in the apartment, and stilted words spoken here and there, and I can’t stand it. I miss his smiles. I miss his words. I miss the closeness we developed, and the companionship.
He even sent a female Uber driver to pick me up instead of coming himself. The sight of it idling outside the club the first night had been like a punch to the gut I hadn’t been prepared for.
I just wish he believed what I said about him, because I certainly do.
I don’t think he’s evil, and I don’t believe he’s capable of forcing himself on a woman, no matter how much he thinks he is.
He spends so much of his time helping women defend themselves.
So, for him to suddenly become the very thing he’s spent so much of his life shielding others from?
No, there’s not even a sliver of my mind that thinks he’d hurt me or anyone.
I watch as Mase lets Rachel—the woman he’s using to demonstrate the move on—knock him to the ground, after showing her how to kick out one of his legs.
I can’t seem to look away.
He’s dressed in a pair of black gym shorts that sit low on his hips, and earlier, he had lifted the bottom of his muscle shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, which gave me—and every other woman in here—a glimpse of the V below his abs.
I had remembered running my fingers over the hard ridges, feeling the light dusting of hair, and I’m sure color tinged my cheeks.
“Very good,” he tells Rachel. “Now, let’s try it with me holding your wrists.”
My eyes track the way his muscles flex with every bend, twist, and jab, and I realize I’ve only ever admired the muscles on him, rather than looked at them as a threat, like I would with others in the past.
“Okay, now I want you to pair up.” Mase briefly glances at me, and I swear, I see his body tense before he looks at the others.
“One of you will be the attacker, using different holds from behind, and the other will practice the ways I’ve demonstrated to try to break free from them. Then you can switch places.”
Me and Mandy—the woman closest to my right—pair up and begin working on the maneuvers for the next twenty minutes. My favorite way ends with Mandy, my attacker, on the ground, just like I was all those years ago.
After we’ve all practiced on each other a number of times, Mase has each woman come to the front to demonstrate on him, so he can personally adjust anything they might be doing wrong.
Each woman except me, that is.
He skips over me entirely, then starts reiterating the few things to keep in mind, depending on the size of the person and where we are at the time of the attack.
I’m not overly surprised, and if the others noticed, they don’t say anything.
Picking up a stack of papers from the ground, he begins handing them out.
“This sheet details the moves you learned tonight, so you don’t forget and can continue practicing at home.
” He hands me one, his dark eyes staring into mine for a moment before he continues, “Tomorrow night’s class will be focusing on getting out of a chokehold, whether standing or pinned to the ground.
It can be triggering for some, but if that’s something that interests you, feel free to drop in again. ”
He dismisses the class, and after collecting their jackets and bags, the women start exiting the room.
I linger, then follow them out to the exit, checking to make sure the space is empty before I lock the door behind the last woman who leaves.
Mase is usually the last one at the gym after his class is done and is the one to lock up for the night, so we’re alone.
My heart picks up speed as I walk back into the room we were in.
Mase is walking to where his towel and water bottle are when I re-enter and doesn’t notice me.
With his back to me, he tips the water up to his mouth, not hearing me walking in his direction, the padding below my feet absorbing my steps.
Finally, Mase turns around and sees me, surprise flickering across his face before it tugs down into something solemn, something vulnerable. “Are you here to tell me that you’re going back to your apartment?”
God, he really was expecting me to leave, wasn’t he?
“No. Not at all.”
“Then what are you still doing here?”
I lift my chin. “You didn’t let me demonstrate the maneuver on you.”
He swallows, looking away. “I was watching you. Your moves are good.”
I step a little closer. “Mandy is smaller than me. I would rather test my moves on someone who has no problem holding me down.”
Midnight eyes snap back to me. “I do have a problem with holding you down.”
Mase’s wavy hair is slightly damp, causing the ends to curl around his ears and neck, his jaw is set, a muscle popping occasionally, and those bottomless eyes definitely hold secrets . . . I just didn’t realize they were the painful type.
“I meant strength-wise.”
He stands there, muscular arms limp at his sides, veins running down his tattooed forearms to his big hands, chest broad and solid.
The man looks like sex personified, yet he’s only been with one other woman and has denied himself the true pleasures and connections associated with sex his whole life.
Not that I can talk, but at least I understand where I broke. His breaking was done beneath the surface and was never located to be fixed.
All I wanted to do when he was telling me about his past was reach out and wrap my arms around him. He’s done nothing but encourage me—make me feel stronger and make sure I was okay—all while his soul was in pieces.
I wish I could share the parts of my soul that aren’t ugly and tainted, and put him back together.
Mase has always been the one to help me, and everyone else, so I want to be the one who helps him this time.
I don’t even know if there is anything I can do, but I have to try something. Convince him somehow.
I take a step, then another, until I’m standing directly in front of him, neck craned to look up at him. A mix of clean sweat and the lingering scent of his woodsy body wash envelops me as I inhale, heart pounding.
“Jayne,” he whispers, tone almost desperate. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Do you honestly think you’ll suddenly lose control and do something you’ll regret?”
His silence is answer enough, and it breaks my heart all over again.
“You won’t, Mase.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“You won’t,” I repeat, then reach up and place a hand on his warm chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart through the thin fabric covering him.
His jaw tenses, muscles coiling. He’s trying to hold himself rigid, maintain that control, but I feel the slight tremor running through him.
“I know you’re scared of yourself, but I’m not scared of you. ”
Eyes closing, he drops his chin. In acceptance? Defeat? Denial?
“It’s hard to quiet the demons telling you something is wrong with you,” he finally says.
“Then I will speak louder than them.” I add my other hand to his chest, palms sliding a little higher.
“I don’t think there is something wrong with you, and I don’t think you’re evil.
” My fingers reach his shoulders. “I don’t think you’re a pervert.
You’re kind and caring.” He lifts his head, opening his dark eyes I could easily sink into.
“Amazing and selfless.” Both hands drift toward his neck. “You deserve happiness.”
“So do you,” he counters.
My eyes fall to his chest. No. I really don’t.
But I don’t say that; instead, I give his shoulders a little push. “Now, are you going to let me test out what I learned on you?”
His brows dip. “Jayne.” He says it almost in warning.
“Grab me.” I push his shoulders again. “Wrap your arms around me.” When he continues to stand there, I shove him again. “Mase—”
It happens in the blink of an eye. His hands whip up to grip my arms, then he spins me around in one quick move, trapping me with my back against his chest, his arms wrapped around my front.
The movement is so sudden that I gasp.