27. Mason
Mason
Fuck.
I so fucked up.
Like royally fucked up.
Like pathetically fucked up.
What is wrong with me? Whose bright idea was it for me to get that wasted?
I roll over in my bed—head pounding, body sore as fuck, and stomach turning like an old washing machine on the spin cycle.
I look down to see I’m only in my dress pants with no shirt on. I rub my face, trying to adjust to the curtains, and wince at the stabbing headache from the light.
I blink a couple of times and see someone standing in front of me—two someones. I look up to see Bash and Erik, looking down at me with their arms crossed like disappointed parents.
Hell, get in line, I guess.
“Good…morning?” I say through the haze.
Bash shakes his head, but a little smirk appears.
“Did you have a fun night?” he asks.
I shake my head, then pull the covers back over my face.
Erik rips the cover back down, and I groan. “Hey. No shame. We’re not here to give you a lecture.”
Bash gives him a confused look. “I thought that’s exactly what we were here to do?”
Erik slaps his arm. “We’re just here to check on him.”
“Why are y’all here to check on me?” I ask, rubbing my temples.
Bash chuckles. “Because I got a text from you at two in the morning that was beyond incoherent and an obvious cry for help. Thought we’d come see what the damage was this morning.”
I frown and reach toward my nightstand, feeling for my phone. I finally find it, and when the screen lights up, my eyes almost burn out of my skull.
“Shit,” I mutter, squinting.
Bash leans over. “Read it out loud.”
I scroll up and see the text I sent him last night:
Mason: Bashhh bro ur a good guy dont every be like me. i hate it here. i hate everything and everyone
He points at my screen. “There’s another one.”
“Yeah…I see,” I say, glaring at him.
Mason: do u have coke? what does feel like? Will make me forget?
I close my eyes.
“Awesome,” I mumble. “Love that for me.”
Erik’s voice softens. “It’s okay, you were drunk. I’ve seen worse texts from sober people.”
I snort. “Doubt it.”
Bits and pieces of last night start coming back in flashes.
The Gala, Simone, that beautiful dress, her laughing under the dim lights. Then the Kappa dickhead, me wanting to kick his ass.
I swallow, jaw tightening.
Then it all kind of…smears together—random flashes of dancing, girls in sequined dresses, some chick handing me her high heels so she could dance better, Tank talking shit, Chase yanking my arm, getting put in the car, Simone’s hand in my hair.
I cringe at the thought of how pathetic I must’ve looked.
“Memory coming back?” Bash asks.
“Unfortunately,” I say, dropping the phone onto my chest.
“I can’t move,” I mutter.
“Sad story,” he says, deadpanned. “Do I need to go find a tiny violin?”
I flip him off and force myself to sit up. My head feels like someone is trying to carve their initials into my skull with a butter knife.
“Go slow, man,” Erik says. “You stand up too fast, and you’re gonna be kissing the floor.”
I swing my legs over the edge and brace my elbows on my knees, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
I look down, hoping to see Simone’s name, but it’s just the guys for the Sig house group chat talking about last night.
A wave of dread hits me harder than the hangover.
“What?” Bash asks.
I shake my head. “I was…with Simone last night. I have no idea how bad I made it. I feel like I ruined the night for her.”
Bash nods slowly. “So…text her.”
I look down at my phone, thumbs hovering over her name. I barely know what I said or did. I don’t know what to do other than apologize for the whole night.
I groan and start typing.
Mason: I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to ruin your night or be such a shitty date.
Bash nods towards the door. “Come on, hungover Ken doll. Get ready, take some Advil, and let’s go get food. In that order.”
“Jesus,” I mumble, standing up slowly.
Bash raises a brow. “Careful calling his name. He might show up.”
I roll my eyes and hold onto the dresser until the spinning settles.
I huff out a laugh. “If Jesus can take hangover headaches away, I’ll sign whatever contract he wants.”
Erik grins. “That’s not exactly how it works, but noted.”
I grab a hoodie off the floor, sniff it, decide it’s passable, and toss it on.
I choke down some Advil, splash water on my face in the bathroom, and meet them downstairs.
We walk off campus in the freezing cold and hit the cafe everyone swears serves a breakfast that cures any hangover.
The smell of bacon and coffee almost makes me throw up, but I try to keep it down. I slide into the booth across from them and drop my head onto my forearms.
“You look like death,” Erik says casually.
“I feel worse than death,” I mumble into the table.
Bash orders for me like I’m five—a greasy breakfast platter, extra hash browns, and the biggest coffee they have.
I don’t even argue with him when he pushes the plate in my direction.
“So,” Bash says once the waitress leaves again, “you wanna tell us what’s actually going on, or are you just planning on drinking your way through the new year without stopping? Cause I’ve barely seen you outside of class or on that football field.”
“Why would anything be going on?” I ask. “A guy can’t just party a little too hard by accident?”
“The kind of partying you’ve been doing doesn’t look like it’s by accident. It looks pretty similar to the way I used to party.”
I roll my eyes. “This isn’t some cry for help, Bash. It’s just the holidays…and I’m feeling…festive.”
He and Erik both give me a ‘bullshit’ look, but don’t push it anymore.
I look down at my phone and still don’t see any messages from Simone…
which I hate. I hate not knowing if I ruined her night.
She leaves for Christmas break tomorrow, and I don’t want to spend the next month or so unable to make things right if I screwed up in any way.
“I’m gonna go…check on everyone back at the house before they head out for break when we’re done here.”
Erik smirks. “Tell the Gamma girls I said hey,” he teases.
Bash isn’t even paying attention, lost in his own thoughts.
“When are y’all heading out?” I ask.
“I’m driving down Friday,” Bash says.
“I’ll…be here,” Erik says, looking down at his plate.
It’s awkwardly silent for a moment before I make it even more awkward.
“So…how does the whole exiled from the family thing work anyway?” I ask him. “Like…you can’t see or talk to any of your family? Even extended?”
Bash kicks me under the table, and I wince, bending down to rub my shin.
“Geez, I’m just curious.”
Erik shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I get the curiosity.”
“See,” I say mockingly to Bash. “I mean, look at him. He’s the biggest contradiction of a person if I’ve ever seen. Rough around the edges, yet clean-cut and all holy. It’s very fascinating.”
They both laugh.
“Well,” Erik starts, “my dad is the Sergeant-at-Arms of the…club, which just means he handles the ‘enforcement.’”
I nod. “Sounds…bad ass.”
“You can say that. Anyway…that kinda made him have to be…stricter when it came to my…departure.”
I can see Bash listening intently, taking in the information that’s oh so rarely ever given to us by Erik about his family.
I rest my head on top of my hands. “Keep going.”
Erik rolls his eyes. “Basically, I’m a civilian to them.
Nobody in the club talks to me unless they need a favor; I’m not allowed around there, and I can’t reach out unless it’s some kind of emergency.
Haven’t heard from my dad once since I left, and I barely talked to my mom when I was around, so it wasn’t that different once I left with her.
I still kinda secretly keep in contact with my cousin who I was close with, but… that’s about it.”
“Did you and your dad have a close relationship…before you left?” Bash asks him gently.
Erik’s face drops just slightly. “Um…our relationship was…complicated, to say the least.”
I suck my teeth. “Well, welcome to the fucked up fathers club.”
They both just stare at me, and I can see Bash trying to hold in a laugh.
I put my hands up. “Sorry—language. I really need a swear jar.”
Erik just shrugs, and I hate the way his tone has gone to shit now, like I can hear the sadness in it, but he plays it off.
“Cussing ain’t the end of the world,” he says, looking off into the distance, “don’t let us or anyone else make you feel uncomfortable about it.
I’ve worked a lot over the years on my anger, and cussing less just helps me not stay in that angry mindset, personally.
But I don’t really think everyone has the same conviction around it. ”
“Unless you try to cuss me out,” Bash jokes. “Then we might throw hands.”
“I could take you,” I tell him, smiling.
We both wait for Erik to chime back in, but he doesn’t, and it’s just silent for a while as he’s stuck in his own thoughts.
“Okay…enough of all that,” Bash announces, clearly reading Erik’s mood shift. “Boy’s day before everyone splits for break?”
Erik nods, shifting his attention back to us.
“I’m down,” I tell him. “Just let me…”
“Let him go check on his friend—I mean, friends,” Erik says, perking back up and winking at me like he knows something no one else does.
By the time I get back to the Sig house, the hangover is slightly more manageable. But you know what they always say…the best way to cure a hangover is to…drink more.
Something like that.
I pull a bottle of some kind of whiskey from the cabinet and pour two shot glasses.
Leaning back on the counter with one hand, I down them back to back.
Tanner walks into the kitchen and stops when he sees me.
He looks down at the watch on his wrist and then back to me, chuckling. “Damn, Sinclair.”
I shrug. “I’m celebrating.”
“Celebrating what exactly?”
I wave him off, already pouring another shot. “Christmas break…the sun coming up…hell, I don’t know, whatever there is to celebrate.”
“Hmm. Okay, whatever you say. Just leave us some liquor for us to come back to, yeah?”
I down the shot and give him a sarcastic thumbs up as he walks off.