52. Mason
Mason
I sit up slowly, rubbing my face. My mouth feels dry. My head feels…off. Not pounding, or spinning, just slightly hazy, like there’s a thin film over everything.
I know I shouldn’t do it, even as I reach down and grab the bottle from beside my bed, drinking from it before my eyes are even fully open.
I keep lying to myself, saying it’s only this weekend, it’s only while he’s here.
Even I’m not dumb enough to believe that lie, though.
I feel it. I feel the beast being fed again. And it won’t take too kindly to being deprived a second time around.
I have too many other things to think about right now, though. I can’t spiral into the thoughts about what that says about me. I’ve gotta get up and get ready for the tours happening today, which, honestly, I want nothing to do with.
The routine after I step out of the shower is starting to feel sad and desperate.
I brush my teeth.
Then again
And again
And again.
I scrape my tongue.
Rinse with mouthwash.
Again.
Again.
Try to get dressed.
Take another drink.
Back to the bathroom.
Brush teeth.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Scrape my tongue.
Rinse with mouthwash.
Again
Again.
Put my shoes on.
Stare at the almost empty bottle.
Finish it off.
Repeat.
I feel like I’m going crazy, like my brain won’t settle until I’ve done every step. Each time making me hate myself more and more.
Reality slipping farther and farther away from my grasp.
It’s not even about wanting it anymore. It’s just about needing the edge shaved down. Just enough to take the panic off. Just enough to stand in front of my father today without shaking.
I go to sit down on my bed, elbows resting on my knees as I breathe through my nose—in…and out.
You’re fine.
You’ve brushed your teeth twelve times.
You’ve used almost the whole second bottle of mouthwash you had in the cabinet.
You’ve showered already.
You’ve changed into clean clothes.
You’re…fine.
I get up and head to the bathroom again anyway.
I brush my teeth one more time. Aggressively. My gums sting. I swish mouthwash until my eyes water. Then gum.
“Get it together,” I mutter to myself as I run a hand through my hair and head out.
The campus is already buzzing when I step out of my car.
Parents are everywhere—moms with crossbody purses and coffee cups. Dads in polos and sunglasses, walking around like they’re inspecting the entire place. Little siblings trailing behind, either bored or with their faces in a screen.
There’s a big banner stretched across the student center lawn: WELCOME TO FAMILY WEEKEND.
I shove my hands in my pockets and start walking toward the check-in tents near the stadium. My stomach twists tighter and tighter the closer I get.
I don’t see him yet, though.
Good.
I’m halfway across the lawn when I spot Simone. She’s standing with her parents near one of the information tables, laughing at something her mom just said. Her hair’s down today, soft curls falling around her shoulders. She’s wearing this white sweater with a pink tank top and jeans. She looks—
So good.
She looks like home.
She looks as serene as my brain feels when I’m around her.
I can’t explain why, but when she’s anywhere around, I can feel my brain let out this relieved breath, like just being in her presence calms my nervous system.
She spots me at the same time I spot her, and her smile shifts, softening for me.
God.
Don’t strike me if you’re up there. I’m actually calling on you right now. Begging, actually, for you to let me keep this girl in my life.
I don’t think I’ve asked you for much over the years, if anything, actually. So if you could do me that favor, that’d be pretty cool of you.
I swallow and walk toward her, forcing my steps to stay even, confident, normal, not like I’ve been trying to keep my balance all morning, and get the spinning to even out.
She lights up as I get closer. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say, praying my voice doesn’t sound as tight as my chest feels.
She turns slightly. “Mom, Dad—this is Mason.”
My heart drops into my stomach.
I’ve never met a girl’s parents before.
Ever.
I instantly straighten without thinking about it, wiping my palm subtly against my jeans before I reach out to shake her dad’s hand.
“Mr. Edwards,” I say respectfully. “It’s really nice to meet you, sir.”
He takes my hand. His grip is firm, steady. He’s taller than I expected, and has kind, quiet eyes.
“Nice to meet you, too, Mason,” he says.
Her mom steps forward, all warmth and perfume and soft smiles. “We’ve heard about you.”
That makes Simone freeze.
“Mom,” she hisses.
“Hopefully good things,” I say, glancing at Simone teasingly.
Her mom grins. “Mostly.”
Simone groans.
I turn to fully face them both again. “I’m really glad you guys could make it out. This is all…kind of a big deal around here. Did you get to come last year?”
“We did,” her mom answers. “The campus is so nice here. Way bigger than the college I went to back in North Carolina.”
“You went to UNCC, right?” I ask, keeping the conversation going.
“I did. Me and her dad did,” she tells me proudly, pointing to her husband. “Simone actually talks about us around here, huh?”
I nod. “She does.”
Her mom studies me openly. “Simone says you play football.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What position?”
“Wide receiver.”
“Oh,” she says, impressed. “That’s exciting.”
“It’s just a lot of running,” I joke. “Mostly me trying not to get hit.”
Her dad gives the faintest smirk. “And succeeding?”
“Most days,” I say lightly.
Simone bumps her shoulder into mine. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s one of the best players on the team. And he loves the attention.”
“I do not,” I protest.
We fall into this easy rhythm, and it surprises me how natural it feels. We talk about the game tomorrow, and how insane game days can get. About the sociology class Simone’s taking.
Her mom asks me what I’m studying, and I hesitate for half a second.
“Business.”
“And what do you want to do with that?”
I smile, trying to hide any annoyance at the thought of my future career. “Um, I’ll be working at my father’s real estate firm and eventually taking it over.”
Her mom tilts her head. “Wow. That’s impressive. You seem like you’ve got a really good head on your shoulders, son.”
If she only knew.
“I wish Simone would bring home a guy like you.”
Simone looks mildly horrified. “Mom.”
“What?” her mom laughs. “He’s respectful, very handsome, and polite. Why wouldn’t you date a guy like Mason?”
I feel Simone go still next to me, and when I look up, I see that her face has gone red.
I stare at her, assessing her thoughts, and then look back at her mom.
“We’re just friends, Mrs. Edwards,” I say smoothly. “And trust me, she could do a lot better than me.”
Simone’s eyes flick up at that.
Her mom waves a hand. “Oh, please.”
I look back at Simone and soften just a little. “Your daughter is lovely, and I’m glad to call her my friend. She’s…really special.”
That part isn’t fake.
Not even a little.
Her mom makes this little cooing sound. “Wow. See? How can you not fall for that?”
“Mom!” Simone hisses again, mortified.
Her dad clears his throat lightly. “Alright, hun. We should probably go sign in.”
Her mom squeezes Simone’s arm. “Okay, okay. I can take the hint. We’ll be right over there, okay, baby?”
They walk off toward the registration table, and Simone turns to me immediately when they’re out of earshot.
“Oh my gosh,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
I laugh. “For what? Your mom thinking I’m handsome?”
She shoves me lightly. “She’s so embarrassing.”
“She’s nice,” I say honestly. “Both of them are.”
She studies me. “You did well.”
I shrug. “I can be charming when I need to be.”
“You always are,” she says quietly.
That makes me smile. But before I can say anything back, I hear a familiar voice from behind me.
“Mason.”
I don’t need to turn around to know that the devil is close.
I watch Simone’s expression shift and reluctantly turn around, annoyed that after just one interaction with this man, she’s already affected by his presence, too.
My dad stands there in a tailored jacket, sunglasses perched on his head, and his hands in his pockets, staring at me with contempt.
“Why aren’t you answering my calls?”
I shrug. “Phone must’ve been on silent.”
He stares at me for a second like he doesn’t believe that. And I couldn’t really give less of a fuck if he does or not.
Then his gaze shifts…to Simone. He looks her up and down in a way that makes my stomach turn with irritation.
“Well,” he says coolly, “I see you’re still hanging around my son.”
Simone straightens slightly. “Hi, Mr. Sinclair.”
Her voice is polite and controlled, like always.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol coursing through me or just being over his shit, but I don’t even think about it when I step closer to him, lowering my voice. “Watch your tone with her.”
His eyes flick to me. Sharp and annoyed.
He doesn’t take too kindly to being the one told what to do around here.
“I don’t take instructions from you.”
“I’m not giving you instructions,” I say evenly. “I’m telling you to respect her before we have a problem.”
He scoffs. “You don’t get to tell me how I speak to anyone.”
I hold his stare. “If you want me to play the part and put on a show for you today,” I say calmly, “you might wanna do the same.”
The air feels thick as we stare each other down.
“Whatever,” he mutters, dismissing me as he turns to walk away.
“Sorry,” I turn and tell Simone once he’s gone.
She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I can handle him.”
“It’s not your job to,” I grit out.
“It’s not your fault either,” she says gently.
I hear my dad call out from across the lawn. “Mason. Now.”
I roll my eyes instinctively, then look back at her.
“You should probably go show your parents around,” I say softly.
She searches my face. “Are you okay?”
The haziness presses in for a second, but I smile through it.
“Yeah. Of course. I’m good.”