47. Mason
Mason
I’ve got arms full of toys, old drink cups, and trash I’m holding as I head into the kitchen when I hear them.
My dad and Rose are back.
Great.
My shoulder burns, still sore from the accident. I’ve been pushing through most days, but the ache is still there. Still reminding me of my fuck-ups.
“Boys,” Rose shouts from the kitchen. “Come sit down for dinner. We brought takeout.”
I was just about to start making the dinner they asked for…but okay.
The boys come rushing in and hug their mom, excited to see her after weeks of her being away.
All I want to do is turn around, set this crap down somewhere, and hide away in my room until this break is over so I don’t have to be around him.
But I don’t. I’ve made it this long. I can handle two more weeks.
I make myself move, make myself walk into the lion’s den, sober around my dad for the first time in years.
Rose notices me first. She turns from the kitchen doorway to face me.
“Mason,” she says brightly. “Hi, honey.”
I don’t have it in me to be polite, so I just nod, and she takes that.
My father walks in behind her, looking like he just left a board meeting instead of a life where he disappears for weeks or months and leaves his kids with a bunch of nannies he doesn’t even know the names of.
“Son,” he says coldly towards me. Like it’s not personal—it never is with him and me.
I look over to see Asher and Easton already at the table. Their feet don’t touch the floor when they sit in those tall chairs, and the sight of it makes my chest ache. They’re still so little, still my babies.
Everything inside me wants to say, screw school, screw anything but being back here so I can protect them, give them what they need.
But even the desperate part of my brain knows that’s not an option.
Not with him. If I tried, he’d just cut me off.
I’m an adult now; he’d have every reason to kick me out and keep me out of their lives for good.
So I play my part.
I have to.
For them.
I place their toys in a basket by the stairs and then set the cups in the sink before walking over to the table. As I sit down, Asher glances up at me like he’s checking to see how I’m feeling now that they’re back.
Something a kid his age shouldn’t have to worry about.
Easton just looks down at his lap. Quiet. Always quiet when Dad is around.
Rose claps her hands once, coming to stand by my dad’s chair. “Okay. Dinner. Everybody sit. We’re going to have a nice meal together now that everyone’s home.”
Weeks after Christmas…? Weeks after not hearing from y’all once? Weeks after I had to step up and give them what y’all refuse to give these kids?
Yeah, sure. Let’s just have a great fucking dinner, and that’ll make everything better.
“So, Mason,” she says as she sits. “How’s school going? How’s…football? That’s going well, right?”
“It’s going fine,” I answer.
My father cuts into his steak, not looking up. “Define fine.”
I take a bite of food just to keep my mouth busy before having to respond to him, so my words don’t come out as bitter as I feel.
“It’s going.”
He watches me like he’s assessing a stock he invested in. “We need more than ‘it’s going.’ How’s your shoulder feeling? Is it affecting your game?”
“Considering I was in an accident that fucked it up pretty badly and it’s not healing well, I’d say yeah, it’s still affecting it. But don’t worry, I’m pushing through, wouldn’t wanna be more of a disappointment or anything.”
He lifts his fork, pointing it towards me. “Don’t get smart, son.”
Rose laughs lightly. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t mind him. He’s probably just tired.”
My dad doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Mason doesn’t get tired.”
That sentence is supposed to be a compliment, but it feels more like a threat.
The boys start talking about school—Asher excitedly describing the project I’ve been helping him with all break, Easton quietly answering when his mom asks him questions.
Rose at least seems interested in them. Dad barely listens. He just eats, nods, and drinks from his glass of wine like his only job around here is to provide a roof over our heads, and then use us as he pleases—pawns on his board, in his game.
I sit there and answer when spoken to, but my thoughts aren’t here; they’re on that bruise.
I can still hear his tiny voice saying I’m sorry, Mase, like it’s somehow his job to apologize for a grown man losing control.
My jaw is starting to hurt from how hard I’m clenching it, having to sit here and listen to him.
He speaks again, keeping it casual—cold even. “You staying in shape over break?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He looks over at the boys. “Practice and discipline. That’s how you become something in life, boys. That’s why I’m so tough on my kids.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Since when did discipline need to come with bruises?”
My dad’s head snaps up to look at me. His jaw tightens.
The table quickly goes quiet. Rose freezes mid-bite. Asher’s fork stops halfway to his mouth. Easton’s eyes flick toward me, then down. My father sets his knife down slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s not the kind of man who will explode like a ticking time bomb.
Guess what. That’s where we’re alike.
I can go off too.
“Who are you talking to, Mason?” he asks, this calmness settling over him, like he doesn’t even care that someone is calling him out.
I don’t look away. “I’m pretty sure I’m talking to the only person in this room putting their hands on those boys over there.” I look over to Rose. “Unless you do too…”
She looks at me with sincere eyes and shakes her head no.
I look back over to my dad. “Guess that leaves…you.”
“You better watch your tone, boy.”
“Watch your fucking hands, and keep them off those boys.”
My father’s face doesn’t change much. That’s what’s scary about him. He can be so cruel and cold.
“It’s none of your business how I choose to raise and discipline them,” he says evenly.
“It is my business. It will always be my business. It became my damn business when you had me raising those boys when I was only fourteen years old.”
Asher makes a tiny sound and curls in his shoulders like he wants to disappear.
That hits me in the heart, making me feel something violent and primal.
My father turns to him. “You ran and told your big brother?”
Asher shakes his head fast. “No—no, sir. I didn’t—”
I slam my palm on the table before I can stop myself, hard enough to make Rose jump.
“Don’t talk to him like that,” I growl. “Don’t try to make him scared of telling anyone that you put your hands on him.”
My dad just looks annoyed. “Watch your tone.”
“Watch yours,” I shoot back. “You’re barely around, and when you are, you think the solution is to hit them? Be a better dad than that. Show up more than the damn nannies and treat your kids like more than just property!”
He leans back slightly in his chair. “What do you know about being a damn dad?”
The question is meant to put me in my place. Instead, it stings in this deep, humiliating way because the answer is, more than he fucking does.
I swallow. “I’ve been more of a dad to those boys in the last three weeks than you have their whole lives. Hell, I’ve been more of a dad to them since they were born.”
Rose lifts her hands like she’s trying to calm a couple of wild animals. “Okay, okay—let’s not do this at the table—”
“Shut up,” I say without even looking at her, too pissed off to care if she catches any stray attitude.
Her mouth drops open.
My father’s eyes narrow at me. “Do not speak to my wife that way.”
I can’t help but laugh right in his face. “I don’t care if she’s not the one hitting them; if she can’t stand up to you and tell you it’s wrong, then she’s just as bad as you are.”
“You’re overstepping,” he tells me, so calmly that it pisses me off.
“I’m protecting them,” I spit. “Something you don’t know how to do without scaring the shit out of them.”
He takes his wine glass and slowly sips from it. “They need the structure.”
“They need love! They need a dad who actually shows up.”
He looks at me over his glass like his patience is starting to run out. “At least they’re not being raised by a pussy like your mother was.”
I freeze, clenching my fist and biting the inside of my cheek from how irrationally angry this man can make me.
Rose sucks in a breath. “Scott—”
I stand so fast my chair scrapes the floor. He just looks amused, and it makes me want to break something—preferably his face.
“Say her name again,” I warn. “Say one more fucking thing about her.”
“Sit down,” he says, waving his hand in the air.
I take a step around the table, getting closer to him, wanting to shut him up.
“Mason, please—” Rose says, desperately.
Easton whispers, “Mase…”
I glance at him, and the way his eyes look scared makes me hate that I’m doing this in front of him.
My feet don’t stop, though. Not until I stop right beside my father’s chair, towering over him for a change. His cologne stings my nose. It smells expensive and clean, like he’s never had to scrape himself off the floor of his own life.
“You don’t get to talk about her,” I say through my teeth. “You don’t get to disrespect the one person who showed up for me and actually cared about me when you were nowhere to be found!”
He stands up slowly until we’re face-to-face. “I was busy keeping a roof over your head and expensive clothes on your back and paving you a clear path to success, you ungrateful prick.”
He’s taller than me by a couple of inches, and he always makes sure I remember it. Trying to intimidate me.
His voice drops dangerously low. “You don’t want to start a fight you’ll lose, son.”
My pulse spikes as I feel his breath on my skin. “Be a fucking man for once in your life,” I hiss. “If not for me, at least be a stand-up man for those boys.”
His lips curl up slightly. It’s not a smile, though. “I am a stand-up man, and I am the man in this house. Don’t forget it.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem,” I snap. “‘Cause you’re a pretty shitty one.”
I shove him. It’s not even a full-body hit, just a hard push to his chest, but it’s enough.