Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jennifer
It seems fitting that with his progress, I should regress. Because the next thought that blasts through my mind is, What the fuck are you doing with him?
I can’t have him. I was never supposed to.
He’s too good a man to be with someone like me.
Mase was told he was rotten in his core, but it’s me who is rotten.
He pulls out of me slowly with a shudder, his dick still half-hard when he tugs his shorts back up and hands me my leggings.
He keeps watching me with a look I can’t figure out. Regret, maybe? Or maybe he’s looking for it on my face.
I struggle to hold my features blank, because I suddenly feel quite emotional about everything, and I don’t want him to think it’s because he did something wrong.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, putting the focus on him while pulling up my leggings.
Plus, I don’t want any awkwardness to grow with silence.
“That I just fucked you at the gym like an animal, and I’m not going to be able to think of anything else whenever I’m in this room.
Still don’t see any red flags?” His face says he’s playing it off as a joke as he extends a hand to help me up, but his eyes show vulnerability, like he’s still waiting for me to see he’s as awful as he thinks he is.
I let him pull me up and fall slightly into him. “I only see a green flag that’s been dragged through a bit of dirt.”
Mase huffs but seems to consider my words, maybe wanting to believe they’re true.
I look down at the mat. “It wasn’t my intention to come here and have sex with you, but I don’t regret being with you.”
Only you being with me.
Looking back up, I find that same indecipherable look. It unnerves me, because it feels like he’s looking right into my soul.
“I’m going to use the ladies’ room,” I blurt.
He nods, taking a step back. “Yeah, I, ah . . . I need to shower and get changed. Meet you up front after?”
“Sure.”
It’s only when I’m stepping into the women’s changing room that I feel Mase’s sticky release dripping between my legs, and I remember we didn’t use a condom.
And I’m not on the pill.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
I’m a mess on the best of days, and I cannot bring a baby into this world right now. Plus, I could never tie Mase to me that way, either.
I rush into one of the toilet stalls to get cleaned up and think of my options, but I pause when I see blood on the tissue paper, as well as his cum.
I quickly pull out my phone and check my period tracker app, almost crying in relief when I see that I am due tomorrow. It must have come a day early.
I close my eyes, dropping my head backward. “Thank freaking goodness.”
That explains my over-active emotions the past couple of days.
I finish cleaning up, thanking my stars that it didn’t come earlier tonight, or that could have been really awkward.
I’m out of pads, and low on tampons, so I make a mental note to stop and pick up more supplies, then fold a bunch of toilet paper to use for now.
I spend the next few minutes avoiding the mirror, then a few more extra minutes despising myself when I do end up looking.
Once I’m done, I make my way to the front entrance.
Mase is already there, showered and changed, looking so damn good as he sits on the bench seat, waiting, hands clasped below his chin in thought. Did I really take that long?
As soon as I step closer, his eyes lift to meet mine, then he reaches out and uses the waistband of my leggings to pull me into him as he stands, his arms wrapping around me for a hug.
Surprised, it takes me an extra second before I slide my arms around him in return.
“We’ve had sex twice, and both times, I’ve left you without so much as a touch. I want to fix that.”
I melt into him, breathing in the fresh scent of his spicy bodywash. “Neither of us have had normal sexual experiences, so I don’t hold it against you.”
He breathes deeply, hugging me a little tighter. “You make me feel like I could be normal one day.”
My emotions rise to the surface again, tightening my throat, and I have to hide the tears that fill my eyes. “You deserve everything, Mase.”
“So do you.”
I feel him kiss the top of my head as a single tear escapes, and I try to discreetly wipe it away.
I absolutely do not deserve this man.
We pull apart, and I get a hold of myself while Mase locks up. I’m only mostly okay by the time we get into his truck and start the drive back to Mase’s apartment.
“So, you’re not at work tonight.” It’s not asked as a question, but the question is definitely implied.
“I took the night off to come see you.”
He glances at me, eyes soft in the dark interior. Reaching over, he takes my hand and squeezes it, sending a tingle up my arm. “I’m glad you’re not there.”
“Me, too,” I whisper, staring at his side profile while my heart is caught between expanding and shriveling. I face forward again, trying hard not to let it show on my face. But then I remember. “Oh, can you make a stop on the way home?”
“Sure. Where?”
“Walgreens would be good.” I point to the sign up ahead.
Mase flings his gaze to me, and then back to the road, silent as he stares at the sign like I just gave him a puzzle to solve.
“Jesus.” He lets go of my hand and rubs his forehead before dragging his hand down his face.
“I didn’t even ask if you were on birth control. I’m sorry. That was really shitty.”
“Oh. Yeah, it wasn’t something I was thinking about, either.”
Scratching at the back of his neck, he asks, “Are you . . . on anything?”
“I’m not.” His face seems to lose color, so I quickly add, “But I actually just got my period right after we . . . and I need to pick up some feminine products.”
He probably thought I was going to pick up Plan B when I mentioned Walgreens, but thankfully, it’s not on the shopping list tonight.
“Oh.” He taps the steering wheel a couple of times, color returning to his face. “Yeah, sure. Absolutely.”
“Thank you.”
Once we’ve arrived and parked, I unbuckle my seatbelt, but Mase stops me with a hand on my thigh. “I can get it for you; just text me the brand and type. I’ll leave the truck running to keep you warm.”
I blink at him a few times. “What? You really don’t have to do that. I don’t mind running in.”
With a squeeze of my thigh, he pushes his door open. “It’s okay. You just relax. I’ve got you, Jayne.” Mase gets out without another word and starts walking away, not giving me a choice.
I quickly text him what I need, then lean my head against the window, staring outside while I think about all the ways I’m a horrible person, and wait for him to return.
Ten minutes later, he comes back carrying a bag of supplies, handing it to me when he gets in. “I grabbed you a few extra things, just in case.”
I peek into the bag, finding pads and tampons, as well as chocolates, candy, painkillers, and a heating pad.
My heart swells, the lump in my throat—that never truly left earlier—growing.
“Mase . . . this is too much.” It comes out wobbly, and I’m sure he can hear it.
Nobody has ever taken care of me like this.
“It was really nothing.”
I shake my head, holding the bag to my chest. “No, it was definitely something. You didn’t need to do that.”
After pulling out onto the street, he takes hold of my hand again, brushing his thumb across my skin as he looks ahead in thought. “I have this need to help women who have been abused—whether physically or sexually—to make up for my existence or something. I don’t know.”
Mase pauses for a moment but I know there is more coming; meanwhile, I struggle to swallow past the ache his words cause.
“I’ve always looked after my mother, because I love her of course, and because we only had each other, and she needed help with her sickness.” Another swipe of his thumb. “But mostly, it was because I felt like I owed her. I felt like I needed to help her to make things right.”
God, my chest feels like there’s a boulder sitting on top of it, and I wonder if it’s the same for him.
His gaze stays on the road, and he looks so calm, but I know there is pain underneath.
“It started out like that with you,” he admits, and the boulder grows in size.
“But somewhere along the way, need turned to want.” He finally casts a quick glance my way, noticing the tears have returned, then squeezes my hand again.
“I want to do things for you, Jayne. I want to help you. I like it.”
I shake my head because he’s just too good, and it’s eating me alive. Everything about this conversation makes me feel uncomfortable and cuts deep in my soul.
“I don’t know why you think I’m worth your effort.”
“I don’t know why you think you’re not,” he counters. It’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “Did something . . . did something else happen to make you think that way?”
Blood wooshes in my ears, and my skin itches with the need to lay everything out in front of him, just like he did for me.
Tell him. Tell him what you did. He should know.
But the second I open my mouth, nothing comes out.
Because Dylan’s threat seals it shut, and he’s not even here.
Instead, I tighten my hold on Mase’s hand, because I don’t want to let him go. “You see things in me that I don’t. It’s just hard for me to accept sometimes.”
He smiles a little sadly, because he knows there’s more that I’m not telling him.
“I expected you to leave after I told you everything—history taught me to expect it, and especially after what happened to you. And . . . what I admitted to you”—he says the last part quietly—“the fact that you didn’t, proves you have a big heart and give people chances. I like that as well.”
“I would never hold something like that against you, Mase. Never.”
Mase is quiet for a moment, stroking the top of my hand with his thumb. Finally, he murmurs, “It makes me want to keep you close.”
When we arrive back at his apartment, Mase tells me to go get freshened up, and by the time I come out of the bathroom, he has a few snacks laid out on the coffee table.
“Sit.” He gestures to the couch, then goes back into the kitchen. “Do you need me to heat up the pad?”
Too good, my mind screams.
But I still do as he says and fold myself into the corner of the couch. “No, the cramps aren’t bad yet.”
When he returns, he places a mug of tea alongside the other items on the table, then joins me on the couch, bringing the throw blanket across our laps.
“You’re . . .” I shake my head at a loss for words. This man. “Thank you.”
If I say it’s too much, he’ll just tell me it’s no big deal.
I wonder if helping is as natural for him as speaking.
We each pick at the snacks he laid out, and though we’ve sat in comfortable silence many times before, it feels deafening tonight, my thoughts particularly wild and loud.
“Will you tell me about your mom?” I ask, looking for a distraction. Plus, I’m curious about the woman who raised this wonderful man. “What happened after she was kicked out of her parents’ home?”
Mase leans back on the couch, puffing his cheeks, then releasing a slow breath. I almost regret asking. Maybe it’s too hard to talk about.
“If that’s not something—”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t know all the details, but I know she went to a friend’s place for a bit, until they found out she was pregnant and asked her to leave.
Then she bounced around from shelter to shelter, trying to stay away from child services, because she was worried they would take me away once I was born. ”
God, I can’t even imagine having to go through that at such a young age, especially after being assaulted.
Mase takes my hand and rests it on his lap, absently massaging my fingers like this is something we do all the time. In another lifetime, one where I wasn’t the destroyer of lives, maybe we could have.
I swallow, letting his fingers soothe some of the tension in my soul.
“At one point, she was at a group home with other women. They let her stay for free, but she had to do all the cooking and cleaning. But they always had friends over, or friends of friends, and people were constantly coming and going. So, not the best situation. She hated the revolving door of guests, particularly when it was men.”
I turn my hand over and squeeze his. “I get that.”
A sad smile tugs the side of his mouth as he glances at me. “Yeah, I guess you would.”
“Was she living there when she had you?”
“Yeah.” He leans his head against the back of the couch.
“She was drawing back then, and managed to sell some sketches, but it wasn’t much.
She ended up getting a job at a shitty diner, who paid her cash, just so she could be out of the house more often.
After I was born, she had no choice but to keep working to pay for me, and had to leave me with one of the other mothers who lived there. ”
“At least she had a bit of help there.”
“Mm, until one of the other ladies’ guests slipped into her room one night and tried to touch her. She screamed so loud the whole house woke up. Then, she packed me up and left.”
The mug freezes halfway to my mouth, and I whip my head around to face him. “What? Oh my god, Mase.”
He nods, chewing on his lip. “She ended up on her parents’ doorstep, and they let her stay for a few months. I don’t remember the details after that, but the next encounter with her parents was when I was four, and I know we were living by ourselves by then.”
“God, I don’t even . . .” I shake my head, not sure of what to say.
He hums, like he understands what I’m feeling.
“After those experiences, she hated being around groups of people and found it hard to leave the house. She spent her time at home, drawing and selling her sketches online to anyone she could. It wasn’t until I was in my early teens that the symptoms of her disease started. ”
And then he started taking care of her, feeling like he owed it to her for everything she went through. Or maybe he was already doing that as a kid, because I can totally see that, too.
We sit in silence for a moment while I process all he just said.
“So, that’s why you started doing the defense classes, and why you want to open your own place to help women. Your mom.”
The small smile on his handsome face is answer enough, and I have to look away before his beautifully dark and intense eyes bury too deep into my soul.
Leaning forward, I lift the tea to my mouth for something to do, then feel his palm land on my back. Ever since we left the gym, there’s barely been a moment when he hasn’t been touching me.
I don’t know if it’s because he realized that I don’t mind being touched by him, or if he’s just finally allowing himself to do it. Maybe it’s both.
Either way, the guilt continues crawling its way up from my gut to my throat, then into the back of my eyes, where they burn with unshed tears.
This man, indeed. He deserves so much more than he realizes.
Yet, I’m the burden he’s got.