26. Simone #3
I don’t have enough drinks in me to be able to turn off my feelings like he does, so I let everyone else start hyping him up before I find my way back over to our table and sit down.
I pull out my phone and text Lydia that the night is going well, and I’ll call her on my way home.
Then I open Tyler’s text message and send him a picture of me and a couple of the girls from tonight, wanting to show him how cute I feel.
Wanting some kind of attention from him.
The only response I got back was, “Glad you’re having fun.”
I place my phone back in my purse and rest my head on my hand, sipping on the glass of champagne in front of me.
I watch as Mason continues to find more drinks and pull different girls into the circle to dance with him, being the life of the party…hiding under all the alcohol and attention.
Eventually, he comes stumbling over, barely holding his eyes open, his tie crooked, shirt half untucked, sweat dampening the blonde strands of hair on his forehead.
He places a hand on the edge of the table, trying to steady himself as he sways from the alcohol. Even his smile is crooked and sloppy.
“There she is,” he slurs, pointing at me like I was missing. “My favorite person.”
I stand up quickly. “You need water.”
“Water?” He scrunches his face like I just offered him poison. “Simone. I don’t need water. I need—” He pauses, thinking hard and squinting his eyes, “—another drink.”
“No,” I say, gently grabbing his wrist. “You’re done.”
He laughs, loud enough for heads to turn. “You’re bossy.”
Tank appears out of nowhere, eyes widening when he sees Mason’s state. “Geez, Sinclair. You look like a newborn baby deer trying to walk for the first time.”
Mason sticks his middle finger up at him. “Your jokes suck.”
Tank looks at me. “We should get him out of here.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, already looping my arm around Mason’s waist. “Help me.”
Tank gets his other arm, and we start walking him toward the side door. Mason slumps a little bit, leaning against me with all his weight. I stop, having to pull my heels off.
Tank reaches his hands out to take them, and I gladly hand them over for him to hold for me.
“Wher’re we goin’?” Mason murmurs into my hair.
“Home,” I tell him softly.
“No,” he insists, loud and slurred. “No, I’m not going back there.” His voice cracks. “Fuck, I don’t—”
My heart aches. “The Sig house, Mason. Not…home, home.”
“Oh,” he breathes out, relieved, then slumps over a little more.
Chase meets us out at the front.
“Fuck, Sinclair…what the hell?”
Tank shakes his head at him. “Can you take us all back to the house?”
Chase nods.
Once we’re all in the car, Mason falls into my lap in the back seat. I feel like I’m right back to having Lydia in the same spot.
It makes me realize how alike they are in some ways…but how very different they are in others. Where Lydia’s destruction is usually loud, Mason’s is quiet. He holds a lot in. He paints on a fake smile and makes everyone else around him happy…even when he’s not.
Mason mumbles something I can’t fully make out, but it sounds something like, “Fuck, I miss her so much.”
I can’t tell if he’s talking about a girl or his mom. Both still make my heart hurt for him.
“What did you say?” I ask, running my fingers through his hair.
He moves his hand up to rest on my leg and turns his head slightly. “Why am I…never enough for…anyone?” he whispers.
“You are,” I tell him, my heart tripping over itself to comfort him.
He shakes his head on my lap. “Not for my own dad, not for Delilah, not for Jackie…not for any of my…friends—”
“You are for me,” I say, cutting him off.
I don’t know who some of those people are, but screw them for making someone like Mason feel less than.
Mason is one of the most genuine, caring, and kind-hearted guys I know.
Yeah, he might hook up with a lot of girls, and people will call him a typical playboy, but he would never intentionally hurt anyone or disrespect them.
He also may have been raised by a shitty father, but his mother had to do something pretty fucking right to have made Mason the man he is today.
When we get to the house, Chase helps me pull him out of the car. Mason stumbles, curses, and then laughs at himself all in the span of two seconds.
We drag him upstairs, and Chase pushes open their bedroom door.
“Let’s get him in the bed,” Chase says, already pulling off Mason’s jacket.
I kneel in front of Mason, untying his shoes as he leans backward onto his palms.
“I got it,” he says, attempting to help, but then he just…doesn’t. He stares at the floor instead, eyes glassy.
Chase takes over, tugging off his shirt while Mason keeps apologizing under his breath.
When we finally lower him into the bed, he looks so unlike his normal confident, in-control self. It makes my heart break a little, wishing I could help him, wishing I could help whatever is going on inside his head.
He looks at me and reaches his hand out to cup my face before dropping it to his side. “Simone?”
“Yeah?” I answer, brushing some hair away from his forehead.
His voice comes out so small, barely even a whisper. “You’re—you’re my…best friend.”
My chest feels like it’s being forcefully ripped open, spilling out all these feelings I don’t have names for with Mason.
“Get some sleep,” I whisper.
He nods slowly as his eyes drift closed, and then he’s out.