19. Mason
MASON
The hungry, intense way Lilah grabbed onto my shirt and slammed her lips into mine replayed in my mind like a highlight reel I never wanted to fade.
The heady dose of her body pressed against me left me craving even more.
Standing still on the ice with hundreds of sharp glares stabbing into me was worth it for the glorious seconds I had her in my arms. And the punishment that awaited me was what I deserved.
Thoughts of the kiss and her fingers pressed against my chest followed me throughout my days. One kiss and I craved the next one.
Zoe snapped me back to reality and banged her feet into the back of my seat. “Please, Mason. Please.”
“Come on, Mason.” Galen chimed in from the passenger seat, smirking while rolling his coin.
I should slap it out of the window.
“I’m not getting on stage in tights to dance ballet.”
“You don’t have to wear tights.” Her head popped between the seats.
“Zoe, he absolutely has to wear tights.” Calder’s massive pain-in-the-ass head also leaned forward between the seats.
“The choreography is so easy.”
“See, Mason. Easy choreo. And ballet’s great for athletes.” Erik smushed his face right against the side of the car and my headrest.
I shoved his head back and stared at the face paint smearing my hand.
“You messed up my face.”
“If you messed up my car, I’ll kill you. And since the guys are so interested, maybe one of them would like to volunteer.”
“But you’re her big bro. She doesn’t see what an asshat you are yet,” Calder said with laughter in his eyes as I stared daggers at him in the rearview before pulling into a spot at the community rink.
“I’ll come to the recital, Zoe, but I’m not even that flexible.”
She burst into laughter. “You don’t have to do the splits, Mason. I can show you the dance.”
“Yeah, Mason. Let her show you the dance.” Galen didn’t look up from his phone.
I tramped down my annoyance. “We’ll see.”
Calder dragged her duffel, Galen had her sticks in one hand and his phone in the other, and Erik held her hand. “Please, please, please.” Her begging continued on our walk across the parking lot.
“Please, please, please, Mason.” Erik pressed his palms together to beg with Zoe. The two of them looked at me with puppy dog faces.
“We’ll talk about it later. Focus on your game.”
Zoe pouted as the guys loaded her up with all the gear that was almost as big as she was so she could drag it into the player’s entrance.
“Don’t worry, Zoe, just keep asking. You’ll wear him down eventually.” Calder patted her on the shoulder.
The door slammed.
“You’re all assholes.”
Galen and Erik didn’t even try to stifle their laughter.
Calder’s cheek twitched and he clamped a hand on my shoulder. “I think we all deserve a little retribution after you pulled a deer in headlights routine on the ice a week ago. So it feels like we’re all being damn forgiving.” He flung open the rink doors.
“They’ve got Capri Suns and hot dogs. This is the best game ever,” Erik said, jogging toward the concession stand, and the other two followed.
I clenched my jaw, irritation prickling at me as I scanned the stands for a seat.
Alena sat a few rows from the rink wall with a pink scarf tucked into her black coat and sunglasses that hid half her face, pretending she didn’t notice the stares and whispers. She ran her fingers across the page in her book.
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
She turned the page. “I have come to every game, every season. Why wouldn’t I be here?”
“When my father said you were spending Thanksgiving in Rhode Island, I thought you’d have to pack.”
“Packing over Zoe’s game.” She scoffed, tugged off her glasses and set them in their case with what might’ve been a furrowed brow, if her face wasn’t under a doctor-supervised freeze.
“Don’t say such stupid things. Although maybe this is your new problem.
Stupidity.” My hackles raised and my lip twitched.
“When your father gets back, there will be questions about your game.”
I leaned away to get a better look at her. “How’d you hear about that?”
“I hear many things.” She adjusted her scarf. “Plus, Zoe was shouting about it in the car when we went to pick up our new dresses after getting our nails done.”
“Will there also be questions about your shopping?”
She tilted her head with a smile. “By now you must know your father only cares about hockey.”
I dropped into the seat beside her, resting my arms on my legs and locking my eyes on the ice. “Hockey above all.”
“A determination for excellence for all his children.”
“Then he should be there for Zoe too.”
“Do you truly want your father to train Zoe as he’s trained you? As he’s trained Bair?” There was a gentle, curious probe to her question.
An unsettled grip tightened in my chest.
She patted my leg. “No, I think her enjoying her time on the ice in her own way is what she needs.”
“You don’t want her to focus on ballet?”
“She does both.” She shrugged and tapped a manicured finger against her lips. “Her skills continue to grow in both. Maybe she chooses, maybe she doesn’t. It’s her decision.”
As much as I might worry about Dad not showing up for her at hockey, I needed to show up at ballet too.
Whatever Zoe wanted to do. She didn’t have to perform—not like I did.
Not like Bair. In that moment, I didn’t have that deep-down, gut-grinding competitive bite in my brain that usually flared whenever Bair popped into my head.
“I’d have thought you’d want her to be a mini-you.” I glanced over at the woman whose whole life revolved around appearances. Married to my father, wanting to mold Zoe like my father molded me made sense.
“I want her to be a mini-her. What’s best for Zoe is always whatever makes her happy. And for now, that is hockey and ballet. Maybe next year it will be French and archaeology. Whatever it is, I’m here for her. She’s my little one.”
As much as she tried to play the frigid ice-bitch, Alena’s softness for Zoe continually earned my respect. She could’ve resented us showing up on her doorstep with a duffel bag of dirty hockey gear and a couple of bags of clothes I’m sure she’d discarded.
Can’t say I’d have blamed her. But her being good to Zoe had dissolved any ideas I’d had of hostility or shitty kid behavior.
The guys piled into the seats beside and behind us. Erik had two hot dogs, nachos and two Capri Suns. Galen finished a soft pretzel and Calder carried a small popcorn.
The kids burst onto the ice for their warm-up.
The three of them stood up and whistled like the idiots they were, but Zoe’s skate-by, grinning beneath her helmet, made me less annoyed.
She waved to us like she hadn’t seen us only minutes ago.
Then the players lined up, fidgeting even in the few seconds of concentration needed before the whistle blew.
An uneventful first period rolled into a second. Zoe had a few close calls, but both shots were blocked. Then it happened, and I watched the shift in her posture.
Zoe’s full-sprint breakaway across the ice left everyone rushing to catch up before she made it to their goal. Too late. The puck flashed past their goalie before they’d even seen her hit the center line.
We all erupted, drawing more than a few stares from the other parents and onlookers. Her team celebrated, cheering and swarming her. Zoe flagged on the ice and skated toward her team box. She was struggling. Before I could jump up, Alena was down the stairs.
She yanked an inhaler out of her purse, barged into the team box, whipped Zoe’s helmet off.
I got there when Zoe inhaled her second puff and was nearly knocked over when the guys slammed into me, rushing to see if she was okay.
Alena crouched down, letting Zoe lean against her even though she was sweaty and covered in her gear.
“She’s okay. She’s okay.” Alena gave us a reassuring nod and rubbed Zoe’s back. “Strong girl who made an excellent goal.” Though she played the polished, cold bride to a Russian hockey star, there were always hugs and comfort for Zoe.
After a few minutes, Alena walked with Zoe to the locker room. She hadn’t had an attack in a while. Usually the cold air in the rink helped stave them off.
My teammates stared at me with matching worried expressions.
“She’s good. Alena’s got it handled.” There were many nights she’d sat with Zoe and the nebulizer.
Zoe’s team won and the guys gave her hugs before she climbed into the car with Alena to head home.
With Alena looking after my sister, I didn’t worry. Alena wouldn’t let anything bad to her.
I’d never had a mom like her in my corner.
That thought hit me like a skate to the chest.
Two days later, the Lilah Kiss still replayed in my mind on a maddening loop.
At this point, I was half-aquatic. In the shower, I’d jerked off to the memory of the scorching press of her lips against mine an embarrassing number of times.
I wanted to do it again. I wanted to hold her up against the closest wall, sink my fingers into her hair and kiss her until she was gasping and needy.
Then all those the raw, hungry feelings that drove me to distraction were zapped from my body when the Willowcrest gates closed behind me.
A weighty, claustrophobic anxiety replaced those feelings as my car crawled to the front of the house where the matte-black Bentley was parked. My father was home.
My whole body shifted into high alert the second I stepped over the threshold, but there wasn’t a raised voice or stern look. My footsteps echoed. Zoe and Alena were out. Silent heaviness blanketed the space.
The doors to my father’s office were closed, and though they were always closed, now they hummed with the pulse of pressure, expectation, disappointment.
I stood outside the doors with both hands behind my back, waiting for him to emerge. There was no point in going to my room or anywhere else when I’d only be anticipating the outcome of my decision.