Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Roman
He should have turned up.
It’s fine.
It’s not fine, Rome. He should be here. Your dad should be at your graduation and if you can’t be mad at him, then I’ll be mad for you.
- Conversation between Mase, age 18 and Roman, age 18
It’s seven in the morning and Mase is testing the edges of my patience. I’m not an angry person. When everyone else is losing their shit, I’m the one who stays calm, but Mase is avoiding my calls, and I spent all night driving about local bars trying to find him.
The last time I pulled an all-nighter I was in college and apparently thirty-one is the new old because I did not feel this shit back then.
I want to be in bed. Sleeping or buried in my book. But I know Lola’s going to be stressing about her sign until it’s sorted so I’m here, pulling up in front of Jarred’s house and putting the truck in park.
I’d wanted to drag Mase out with me. The fresh air would have done him good and given us a chance to talk but when I couldn’t find him, I gave Jarred a ring.
The guy’s going through a rough time at the moment, so I appreciate it all the more when he jumps down off the porch and opens the passenger side door. “Roman,” he says in greeting as he snaps in his seat belt and tips his head back against the headrest.
“You sure you’re good? I can do this myself if…”
“No. I need the break.”
I turn the engine on and glance over at him before reversing. Bags hang under his eyes, and his loose blond hair is all roughed up. He looks worse than I do but he shakes it off before I can ask any questions.
“So, what do you need the second pair of hands for?” he says, sitting forward, his hands gripped around the seatbelt.
I pull out onto the road and the heat in the truck cools as the breeze filters through the windows. “Driftwood hunting.”
We drive the five minutes down to the shore and park by the Marina.
It used to be a fishing dock but now it’s mostly filled with sailing and house boats.
The beach’s main swimming area is kept clear of debris during the summer season, but the edges of Surfer’s Bay down here by the Heart Home Lighthouse are a treasure trove of detritus that washed up during winter storms.
Across the boardwalk the cafés and beach shops are just opening up. Kelsey is out setting up the crate tables at the Lagoon and I raise a hand in greeting as Jarred and I hop off the marina dock and down onto the sand.
It’s quiet this early in the morning, the beach mostly filled with surfers rather than families, and the rushing sound of the waves hitting the shore soaks through me.
I’ll never get bored of living by the sea. The few times I did go back to London I nearly went insane staying in the city. Here, you can walk outside and not feel trampled on by the world around you. Even in the summer, when the tourists descend, there’s still this ever present calm.
We leave the beach seekers behind though and head for the rougher edges of Surfer’s Bay. Sand kicks up inside my shoes as we pick our way around rocks and over broken branches.
“So, who’s the girl?” Jarred asks.
I stop scouring the debris and cut him a look. “There’s no girl. This is for Lola.”
Jarred toes a piece of dried-up seaweed out of the way. “You do realize Lola is a girl, right?”
I yank at a branch lodged between two rocks. “No, Lola is my best friend’s little sister.”
“Ah.” Jarred nods his head, a lopsided smile on his face. “So does Mase know?”
I find a flat piece of driftwood half buried under the sand. “There’s nothing to know,” I say as I grab the end of the wood and tug on it.
Jarred comes over to help shift the driftwood.
“Right. So, taking time off work to scour the beach for the perfect piece of driftwood for Lola is just a nice pseudo-brotherly thing to do?”
My gritted teeth grind into each other as I lie like the businessman my father wanted me to be. “Precisely.”
Jarred hums in disbelief and I flick some of the sand off the driftwood over his shoes in retaliation.
We’ve dislodged the piece now but it’s not big enough for Lola’s sign.
It ends up taking us three hours and a trip down the coast to find a piece of driftwood that works. Jarred helps me haul it into the bed of my truck and then carry it onto the patio next to the stables when we get back.
We put the sand covered three-meter-wide driftwood down and dust off our hands. “You want a lift back?” I ask.
“Nah, I’ll walk.” Jarred reaches back and rubs his neck. “Listen, for what it’s worth, if Cooper wanted to date my little sister I’d lose my shit. But then Brynlee’s fifteen. Lola’s a grown woman, Roman, and you’re a good man.”
An acrid taste sits on my tongue. “You think Mase will see it that way?”
“If it were a fling or you were just playing about, then no.” He nods to the driftwood where it’s sitting on the sheet of tarpaulin I spread out earlier in preparation. “But no one puts this much effort into a fling.”
I sigh and drag a hand over the scruff on my jaw. “So what do I do?”
Jarred lifts his shoulders. “Talk to Mase. He’s a reasonable guy.”
Yeah, he is. If only I could find him.
Jarred says goodbye and leaves me to mull on his words as I deal with the driftwood.
The piece we finally found is not that far off the one I saw out back at Lola’s. The surface is fairly flat but either end has a cool jagged edge. The whole thing is covered in sand and bits of dried algae though, so I pull out the hose pipe and wash the dirt away.
The sand comes off alright but the algae is harder to budge and I end up grabbing the brush we use to clean the barbecue grill and getting down on my knees to scrub it away.
It’s hard work but it’s the sort of satisfying manual labor that I normally find meditative.
Instead, my mind keeps going back to Lola.
The fact Jarred picked up on it means I’m not hiding how I feel about her half as well as I thought I was. And my plan to keep my distance is becoming more and more shot.
Jarred is right, Mase is a reasonable guy—except maybe when it comes to Lola. I don’t think Mase is going to be thrilled if I turn around and say ‘by the way, I’ve been fantasizing about your little sister for the past seven years and now I want to make her mine.’
I get the opportunity to ask him sooner than I expect though.
I’m busy studying the design for the sign I swiped from Lola’s shop when a rustling sounds from the orchard.
“Ow, fuck.” Mase stumbles out of the trees, knocking a branch with his flailing arm and sending my apples flying.
I tuck the design away and go to him, looping his arm around my shoulder when he trips again. “Jesus Mase, you smell like a fucking brewery.”
He hums. “We should open a brew-err, brewery together. You and me Rome. We’d make a killin’.” He sways, almost dragging me with him. “Who needs the fucking military?”
I shake my head and try not to breathe in too deeply as I drag my drunken friend towards the stables. I stop beside the fence that houses the outdoor shower.
“Mase?” I wait till his glazed eyes find mine.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t hate me for this.”
His face scrunches up. Then I shove him through the saloon style doors into the shower and turn the faucet on cold.
“Fucking Christ!” he yells as the doors swing shut and ice cold water rains down on him.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I order before heading inside the stables to grab him a towel and some dry clothes.
When I come back out, Mase is standing outside the shower stall like a drowned rat. Drops of water run down his face and his shirt sticks to his chest, but his eyes are a little clearer.
I chuck him the towel and try not to smirk.
“Dick,” Mase mutters, pulling the towel off where it landed on his shoulder.
I shrug. “You were destroying my orchard.” I hang the shorts and T-shirt over the side of the shower stall. “Get changed and come inside. I’ll make you a grilled cheese.”
“Fuck yes,” Mase groans.
He disappears back inside the stall, his shoes squelching with each step.
I heave out a sigh and go back inside. I’ve never seen Mase this drunk before. Lola was right, he’s not okay.
I’m laying the cheese on the bread when Mase drags himself through the front door.
He walks over to the other side of the island, his hands gripping either end of the towel slung around his neck.
He’s got this tortured look in his eyes, like there are so many thoughts fighting for control and he doesn’t know where to start.
I pour him a glass of cold water from the jug in the fridge and slide it over the island to him.
He stares at it for a moment then picks it up and sits down on one of the faux-leather cushioned bar stools. “Thanks.”
He sits there in silence for a while, his forearms resting against the island as he stares at my spider plant.
I carry on making the grilled cheese. I’ve known Mase since we were fifteen and he needs time to process when he’s upset. He’ll talk when he’s ready.
When I turn my back on him to heat the frying pan, he clears his throat. “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have turned up here like this. I was over in Mount Bush when I got your voicemails and…” he trails off.
The bread sizzles as it hits the pan. I put down the spatula and turn back to face him. “Please tell me you didn’t walk all the way here from Mount Bush?”
He grimaces and runs a hand over his buzzed hair. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Christ, Mase. That’s like a two hour walk. You’re lucky you didn’t end up as roadkill.”
“I can think of worse things.”
My chest avalanches. “Mase…”
He waves a hand through the air and slings back the rest of his water. “Ignore me. I’m not making the best of decisions these days.”
I think of the state Lola was in yesterday partly because of what Mase said to her, and my jaw tightens. “Trust me, I know.”
He winces and fiddles with his empty glass.
The bread starts to catch, and I quickly flip the sandwich over. “Is this because of work?” I ask.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” The words feel like they’re torn from him, all jagged glass around the edges.
I sigh and concentrate on the grilled cheese for a moment, catching a drop of melted cheddar on the edge of the spatula.
I put the spatula down and turn around, crossing my arms over my chest. “Yeah, well you might have to, because whatever you’re doing now isn’t working.”
Mase squeezes his neck. “I’ll stop drinking.”
“Will you though?”
He won’t meet my eyes, and I drop my voice. “What happened on that mission, Mase?”
Just the mention of the mission I’m pretty sure started all this makes him tense. “It’s classified.”
“It’s me,” I counter but Mase stays tight lipped and then I smell burning.
I twist to grab the pan and tip the grilled cheese out onto a plate. I cut it in half, the bottom is a little charred but it’s food and it will soak up some of the alcohol in Mase’s system.
I round the island, pull out the neighboring stool, and plant the plate in front of him. “Eat,” I say, sitting down and stealing half the sandwich. “Do your parents know about you being discharged?”
Mase picks at the crust. “I can’t tell them.”
I give him a look. “I guess keeping big news to yourself runs in the family.” He’d thrown such a fit when Lola hadn’t included them in her plans and here he was doing the same thing.
He grunts. “Thought you were supposed to be on my side.” It’s a good-natured jab, he’s not actually mad but therein lies the problem.
I’m his best friend. I shouldn’t be going anywhere near his little sister.
Mase rests his elbows on the island and locks his hands behind his head. “I have no backup plan, Rome.”
Mase decided he wanted to join the Canadian Special Ops when he was sixteen and that was it. I helped him train every holiday. We spent hours running, hiking, and camping out in the wilderness.
When everyone else was making plans for college he was set on preparing for basic training. We never thought about what would happen after. There wasn’t supposed to be an after. But now there is.
“We’ll find a backup plan,” I tell him.
He sighs and tears off a bite of grilled cheese.
We eat in silence for a while. The cheese is hot and stringy, but I barely taste it, too caught up in my thoughts as I try to find a way to make this better for Mase.
I was an only child until I met the Fords and then practically overnight Mase became my brother. I want to be able to fix this for him, and I hate that it’s not that simple.
Part of me wants to push, to get him to tell me whatever it is he’s holding back. But he’s been avoiding me a lot lately and I don’t want him to shut me out if I push too hard.
I slide off the stool and pick up our plates. After I’ve rinsed them off and cleaned the pan, I brace myself against the island. “Look, I’m not going to push but whenever you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me.”
Mase smirks at me. “At the end of a two hour walk down coastal roads and through an orchard?”
His joke feels a little too raw. “Yeah, well, if you weren’t living at some bar in Mount Bush these days, it wouldn’t take you so long to get here.”
Mase sobers, the self-effacing grin slipping from his lips. “Okay. Can’t say I didn’t deserve that.”
I huff out a harsh breath. I’m torn between being angry at him for how he’s treating Lola and feeling sorry for him for the shit he’s going through. “I get that you’re living your nightmare right now, Mase,” I say, “but you’ve got to stop with the drinking.”
He meets my gaze across the island.
“You feel like you want to drink, come here instead. I’ll put you to work picking apples.”
His lips twitch in a smile, but his eyes are dead. “That’s your dream, not mine.”
The joke falls flat and frustration spikes inside me. “Mason,” I say his name like it’s an order.
He snaps to attention and loses the smirk. “Yeah. Alright. No more drinking.”
Mase stays the rest of the day, so I don’t get a chance to finish cleaning off the driftwood. I somehow don’t think me saying I’m just going out back to make your sister her dream sign is what he needs to hear right now.
I’m lying by omission by not telling him I’m helping Lola, with the sign and the apples. It feels like shit but the alternative—staying away from Lola—feels worse.
Maybe if Mase was his normal self, I would take Jarred’s advice and talk to him. But he’s clinging on by his fingertips right now and I’m not going to drag him down. Not when there’s barely anything to tell anyway.
If the situation changes, if Lola lets me do to her the things I want to do…
Fuck. I screw my hand up into a fist and push away images of Lola spread out on my bed.
She’s my best friend’s little sister. I cannot go there. Not now. Not when Mase needs me.