26. Simone #2
The guy gets in his face, and even though the music is drowning out most of what they’re saying, I can tell people feel the tension around us. Everyone nearby has already stopped dancing and started staring.
“I said…your girl looks hella fuckable. I’m just saying, if you wanna trade…” He gestures to his date, who’s now wearing a hurt and embarrassed expression on her face, “I’d be down.”
Mason shoves him, and the guy stumbles. A couple of guys around catch him, and I immediately grab Mason’s arm.
“Mason! Don’t!”
“You won’t be touching her,” he spits.
The guy rights himself and laughs.
“Oh, I’m so scared. Better listen to the little pretty bodyguard you got there.
You know, you’ve always been such a pussy, Sinclair, even if you hide it well from everyone else.
” He pauses to look Mason up and down in disgust. “I hope you have fun this Christmas break back home this year, kissing Daddy’s ass for your allowance. ”
Mason shoves him so hard this time that he falls to the floor.
“Mason!” I yell, grabbing his arm and yanking him back.
The Kappa guy stands back up, wiping his hands on his jacket, and stepping forward again, chest puffed up this time.
“Hit me,” he challenges. “Come on. Be a man for once and throw an actual punch. Didn’t Mommy and Daddy raise you to be a man? Oh, that’s right…you don’t have a mommy anymore.”
I feel Mason’s rage beside me. It’s like there’s actual fire burning under his skin, and the heat is intense.
He pulls his arm from my grip, looking ready to swing on the guy.
“Mason, stop,” I plead, stepping in front of him. He doesn’t hear me—or he doesn’t want to.
“Mason!” I say louder, firmer, with both hands on his chest. “Look at me.”
His eyes flick down to mine, and it’s like the room finally registers to him again. I can see it—the hurt, the fury, and the alcohol all twisting together, becoming something dangerous that could get him in trouble right now.
“You hit him,” I whisper, “and they’ll throw you out. You’ll be giving him exactly what he wants.”
I feel the rise and fall of his breath as my hand stays on his chest.
“Please,” I add. “Please walk away with me.”
He swallows hard, eyes still locked on mine, trying to weigh whether he’s going to listen to the angel or demon on his shoulder.
The Kappa guy snorts behind me. “That’s what I thought.”
Mason lunges at the guy.
I shove my hands against his chest in the same second that Tank and Chase grab him from behind.
“Bro, chill,” Tank says.
“Simone’s right,” Chase adds beside him.
Mason never takes his eyes off the guy. “Say one more thing—”
“Enough,” I say firmly, pulling at his arm.
Then slowly, and reluctantly, he finally lets Tank and Chase pull him back.
The Kappa guy laughs like he won this little pissing contest he tried to start.
I tug at Mason’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get some air.”
He finally lets me pull him away, but his chest is still heaving like he wanted that fight, like he was craving the release it would give him.
Once we’re outside, sitting on the steps, Mason pulls the flask out from his pocket and drains what was left in it.
I stare off, my mind racing in loops and stuck thinking about the boy beside me and all the pain he carries.
“What’s going on, Mason?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, flatly, as he sets the flask down on the concrete steps beside him.
I turn to look at him, and he’s staring down at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with me, too lost in his own thoughts right now.
“Hey,” I whisper, getting his attention. He finally looks up slowly, locking his sad eyes on mine.
“What is it?” I ask him softly.
He holds my gaze for a moment, weighing his words, weighing his feelings…weighing all the emotions he’s holding back.
“I really hate the holidays,” he finally says.
“Because of…your mom?”
I see his mouth twitch, that movement guys do when they think they have to be strong and hold back tears. Then he just nods, not being able to get any words out at first.
“Honestly, Sim,” he says quietly, “sometimes I think I’d rather put a bullet in my head than go back home—”
“Mason,” I gasp out. “You can’t say that.”
“I’m serious,” he says, wiping his face with his sleeve, trying to hide the single tear he let fall, “those boys are the only things that keep me going most days…and fuck him for trying to take them away too.”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make it better. I don’t know how to take away the kind of pain he feels.
I just know how to be there.
So that’s what I do.
After a couple of minutes, he stands back up, putting his hand out for me to take. “Let’s go dance, pretty girl.”
I take his hand and slowly stand up. “We don’t have to, Mason—”
“I really don’t wanna talk anymore. I just wanna have fun and forget about that crap.”
“Okay.”
We walk back in, side by side, his arm brushing against mine as we walk down the narrow hallway back into the banquet room.
He holds the door for me and paints his fake, happy smile back on.
The room has gone from slow dancing to real party music, and Mason quickly swipes two more drinks off a tray, handing one to me and downing the other.
I take a sip of mine and place it on the nearest table before he grabs my hand and drags me back onto the dance floor, shouting the lyrics to Hotel Room Service by Pitbull.
He turns the party Mason back on like nothing even happened, bringing out every move he has and letting the crowd swallow him.
Everyone around makes an open circle, and he finds the center instantly, giving them a show.