: Chapter 22

Payton

Before, November

“Nate helped set up the nursery, and Lolli and I washed all his little clothes a couple of weeks ago. Everything is ready for him, but he seems perfectly happy squashing my lungs.”

Deaton links his hand in mine, chuckling softly. “Pretty soon, he’ll be here, and you’ll be wishing for a night of peaceful sleep,” he teases.

I smile, running my free palm up and down my belly. “That’s the same thing Vivian said.” I look up into his brown eyes. “You would like her and her husband. They’re nothing like our families. They’re kind and loving, and they go out of their way just to be a part of his life.” A pinch of sadness makes itself known, but I shake it off. “I wish you could have met Mason’s mom and dad. They’re good to me. Always checking on me.”

“I’m glad you have them,” he whispers. “Your new friends, too.”

Warmth washes over me, and I close my eyes, snuggling closer to him. “I don’t know what I would do without them.”

“What would you do without him?”

A frown builds, and I look up.

Deaton smiles down at me, but something rings, and he looks to the side a moment before coming back. “I have to go now, Payton.”

“Wait—”

The chirp of my phone wakes me, and I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing my dream could have lasted a little longer, but they never do. I always wake up too soon.

Sighing, I pick up my phone and clear the dumb weather notification that popped up. The time catches my attention—it’s nearly ten in the morning already. Mason and I stayed up way too late again watching old VHS tapes and arguing over who played the best Batman. Clearly it was Christian Bale.

“Shit.”

The low hiss comes from the kitchen, and I grin, the slight tinge of burnt toast teasing my nostrils. Thank God for the third trimester; no more obsessive vomiting over the subtlest of smells. I scoot to the edge of the cushion, using my arms to help hoist me off the seat.

It’s sad how much effort it takes to stand right now, but I guess that’s to be expected when you’re fifty-plus pounds heavier than normal.

There’s a soreness to the pads of my feet as I make my way into the kitchen, and when I come around the corner, I can’t stop the laugh that escapes.

Mason’s head jerks up, the action causing him to wince.

“You look⁠—”

“Sexy? Rugged? Like a total man’s man?” he supplies.

“Adorable.”

Mason glares, but it’s playful, and I move closer, swiping the flour off his chin.

He grins down at me. “Good morning, Pretty Little.”

“Good morning, Superstar. Why are you sneaking around the kitchen with a frilly apron on when you’re supposed to be resting?”

“I have rested. For four days, I’ve rested. I’ve sat on the couch all day, each day, and I can’t do it anymore.”

“But your ribs⁠—”

“Are going to heal just as slowly if I’m standing as they will if I’m sitting.”

I must be frowning, because the next thing I know, Mason is pushing closer, his knuckle running along my forehead.

“Pretty Little, as much as I like you worrying about me, and I do by the way, you need to stop.” His eyes lower to where my hand rests, and small bubbles seem to burst in my belly.

“Worrying about you isn’t hurting me, Mase, and just because you say stop doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

He nods, his attention still locked on my stomach. Suddenly his eyes pop up, and a smirk takes over. “Sit down, girl. I’m about to hook you up.”

And he does.

Mason pulls chocolate muffins from the oven and bacon-wrapped sausage from the air fryer, setting it out between us. He toasts a few slices of bread next, without burning them this time, and brings over a bowl of scrambled eggs he had sitting in the microwave.

I can’t stop smiling as he comes over to join me. “This looks amazing.”

“Good. Eat. We’re leaving this damn house today, so we need to make sure the little man is good and fed.”

My head snaps his way.

“What?” he mumbles around a mouth full of muffin.

“You really think it’s going to be a boy?”

Mason eyes me for a moment, then nods, his features softening. “I think everything happens for a reason,” he says gently, his hand tentatively reaching out to cover my own.

My eyes burn, but I don’t let the tears come. I’m hit with so much at once, denial and anger weighing down on me with that one line of his, but as fast as those emotions come, they’re washed away by a strange sense of curiosity and hope. I’m not sure how I feel about it.

“You think Deaton died for a reason?”

A sorrowful smile points back at me. “I think you lost someone you cared about, but you were given something even more precious in return. So…yeah. Of course there’s a baby boy in there, just waiting to meet his mama.”

Mason’s face grows blurrier by the second, so I look away, focusing on my food instead, and when a hot tear streaks down my face, the bitter cold they normally leave behind never comes.

Because Mason reaches up and wipes it away, leaving nothing but the warmth of his touch in its wake. Like the whip of whimsical wings, a flutter dances across my abdomen, and my limbs lock at the sensation.

My gaze snaps up, catching on Mason’s.

“It’s okay,” he says faintly, as if he knows what I’m thinking.

What I’m feeling.

As if he is feeling the same.

He can’t possibly.

Hell, I can’t possibly.

Can I?

No.

No, no.

I can’t.

I miss Deaton.

I love Deaton.

I only want Deaton.

Right?

Mason

She’s freaking out.

I don’t know if it was us waking in the same house and having breakfast or the comment I made about the baby being a boy. Either way, Payton is in her head, more so than normal.

Her every answer is a single word, and when she looks at me for longer than a second, her cheeks turn a truer shade of pink.

I think it’s fucking adorable, which is kind of messed up considering it’s probably a blush of embarrassment and not the sweet, shy little blush a woman gives a man she’s attracted to.

I’ve seen that on her before, because like it or not, she is attracted to me, but this is different. It might even be guilt, and that freaks me out. I can’t have her feeling guilty. If she does, she’ll pull away faster than a NASCAR pit stop, and there will be no one to blame but myself.

That’s not going to happen, though, because getting out of the house is as much for her as it is for me. I might still have wraps around my ribs and a sling rubbing my neck raw, but I can walk just fine, so I lead us from the house and down the road rather than to the sandy beach.

It might be November, but it’s Oceanside after all, so the sweats and hoodies we’re both wearing are more than enough to keep us warm.

I lead her down a side street that points to a few shops, and we make our first stop in a small candy store.

Payton’s eyes light up as she steps inside, her attention going to the giant wall of gummy candies right away. “I would have killed to come to a place like this as a kid,” she whispers, running her baby-blue painted nails along the acrylic dispensers.

I grab her hand, lifting to look closer at the color, and this time when she looks up and that blush comes back—it’s for me. A thrill of excitement rolls through me, but I tamp it down.

“I found it in the bathroom drawer.” She chews at her lips, the unspoken words hanging between us.

It’s baby-boy blue.

“I like it.”

She looks away, and a smile kicks up on my lips.

“So never been to a candy store, then?” I ask, lifting a giant gummy bear on a stick and showing it to her.

She gapes at it and shakes her head, picking up a tin box full of candies made to look like Band-Aids. She cringes, setting it back down. “Not once. There was one in the local mall back home, but my mom would never let us go in there. She said it was ghastly to even consider such a place. She saw some other kids stick their hands in a jelly bean dispenser once, and I think it freaked her out. That and we weren’t allowed sugar.”

“Not even Lucky Charms?”

“Especially not Lucky Charms.” She smirks, her eyes lighting up when she spots a container of chocolate almonds.

“Seriously?”

Her head whips my way. “What?”

“Almonds?” I make a show out of looking all around the space. “Out of all this, and you pick almonds?”

“They’re not just any almonds. They’re chocolate sea salt–covered almonds,” she teases back, holding them against her chest with a fake pout.

It’s so damn cute, I can’t help but reach forward and tug at her lower lip.

Her eyes flare, and she swiftly whips around, clearing her throat. “I think I’ll get the chocolate cashews, too.”

“Yeah.” I track her as she makes her way to the other side of the store. “You do that, Pretty Little. Anything you want is yours,” I mumble.

“Now that’s how you keep her happy.”

I look to my left to find a woman around my mother’s age. She has reddish-brown hair and a name badge that reads Margo. I smile, moving closer to the counter and checking out their fresh baked goods.

“So you’re going to be a daddy, huh?” The woman smiles, and my back muscles clamp tight. “That’s so exciting. And it looks like you scored some maternity leave of your own.” She jerks her chin toward my sling. “Milk it if you can, honey, ’cause before you know, it will be time to head back to work, and leaving her or that little one will be the hardest thing you ever had to do.”

My eyes find Payton across the room, watching as she tucks her long hair behind her ear, and there’s a stir in my chest, thick and heavy, and I swallow down the knot threatening to form in my throat. “Yeah,” I rasp. “You might be right.” The bell on the door chimes, and I snap out of it, facing the woman with a tight smile. “Can I pay for this and what she has now?” I lift the giant gummy bear I’ll never be able to eat and set it on the counter.

“You got it, stud.”

We’re out the door in two minutes, all possible awkward conversations between the two of them effectively prevented.

I don’t know why I didn’t correct her about the baby, but she kept talking, so I just…didn’t.

Didn’t want to.

Fuck.

“Hey, you okay?” Payton asks, already popping her treat of choice into her mouth.

I force a smile and nod but frown down at her treats when she tears into another. “You need to eat lunch before all that.”

She rolls her eyes but grins as she slides closer so she can tuck the almonds in the bag I’m carrying. “Fine, feed me then, Superstar.”

So I do.

We walk a little farther, deciding on a small Mexican restaurant with outdoor seating and a view of the ocean. It’s perfect for what I had in mind, so we wait for one of the tables on the patio’s edge to open before sitting and ordering our meals.

Payton only makes it through half of her fajita bowl before she’s sitting back with a satisfied smile, her eyes soft and trained on the waves ahead.

“I really like it here,” she says softly, her blue eyes finding mine. “I don’t think I would have been able to go back home even if…if Deaton hadn’t passed.”

My smile is small. “Maybe he would have stayed, too,” I offer, hating the bite of acid that coats my tongue at the thought and feeling guilty for it happening at all.

It’s so fucked-up, and I could never say it out loud but…

I’m happy he’s not here, but I’m not happy that he’s gone.

It’s a dickheads way of thinking, but it’s still the truth.

I wish she still had him so she wasn’t hurting or confused or heartbroken that her son would never know his father…but I also wish I could hold her how I want and touch her in ways I don’t think she’s ever been touched.

I don’t know if I would have fallen for her had he stayed, but I don’t see how I could have avoided it. Not that I would have ever done anything about it, and there are a lot of things that likely would never have happened had he still been here, lessening the pull I feel toward her. I think. Maybe.

But he’s not here, and that invisible thread that tugged me toward her from the start is thickening. It’s growing roots and digging deeper.

I can say with certainty there’s no stopping it now.

I’m already hers, and while she no doubt has an idea, she’s yet to realize how much she truly means to me.

“Yeah,” she agrees with a small smile, one that makes me wonder if she believes what she’s saying or if she’s saying it because she believes she should.

She looks out at the water again, and the lines along her forehead disappear, a serene expression blanketing her features as her palms lift to rest on the highest point of her stomach.

As stealthily as possible, I dig into the backpack I had slung along my good shoulder and click the on button on her camera carefully, popping off the cover on the lens the way I’ve seen her do a hundred times. I lift it, focusing on her, and press the button.

The unmistakable click sounds, and her head whips my way.

She frowns at first, then a blinding fucking smile curves her lips.

She laughs, then reaches over, taking it from my outstretched hand as if this is exactly what she wanted in this exact second. Her camera, to capture whatever beauty she saw through her eyes out in that water.

Before Payton pulls away, her fingers wrap around mine, and she gives a little squeeze.

I feel it in my chest.

In my core.

In that place in the back of my mind that’s begging for this to turn into something so much more.

She is the only beauty I see.

The ending I want.

I swallow as she lifts from her seat, moving closer to the water, and I watch her from afar.

When she finally comes back, she takes the seat beside me rather than across, her big blue eyes lighter than before and locked on mine. “Thank you, Mason.” She peeks up at me, a glow in her crystal-blue eyes that keeps getting brighter. She lifts the camera, taking a photo of the two of us, then says, “This was exactly what I needed.”

Do you think you could ever need me?

Payton

It’s a little after midnight when I’m woken by a harsh thump.

I jolt upright, the movement so quick I have to close my eyes to fight off a wave of nausea, and I notice the light shining through the jack-and-jill bathroom and into my temporary room.

Mason had decided to take Cameron’s room, so when he insisted I take Ari’s, the room on the other side of that connecting bathroom, I had to agree.

I sit quietly, waiting to see if maybe he just dropped something and fell back asleep, but then the sound of running water hits me, and I climb from the bed, moving closer.

My stomach clenches unexpectedly, and it only seems to get worse with each step. Once outside the bathroom, something has my feet coming to a complete stop.

It must be after midnight by now, seeing as we didn’t turn off the movie until after ten.

Why is he up?

Jesus, Payton, he probably just had to pee.

Shaking my head, I spin on my heels, but then I hear something.

Is the shower on?

Did he fall?

I lean closer, straining to listen beyond the spray, and what I latch on to is the sound of labored breaths. They’re harsh, hurried exhales. I take another step, just one away from seeing inside, when a low groan sounds, and my feet freeze in the entryway.

Another groan.

My skin prickles, goose bumps washing across my flesh and making me nervous. There’s no way he’s⁠—

“Fuck,” Mason grunts, and I jolt when there’s another thud on the other side of the wall.

Like his head has fallen back against it, as if the feelings he’s feeling are suddenly too much for him to hold it up. As if he’s overcome…

Oh my god, he is, isn’t he?

Heat explodes in my core, and my eyes fly wide with shock, the sensation startling but…not unpleasant or unwelcome.

What? No!

No, no.

I squeeze my eyes closed, realizing all too fast it wasn’t the best decision, as now, hidden in the darkness, desires too daunting in the light come to life, and the most sinfully surprising images flash through my mind.

Mason with his strong shoulders pressed against the wall, eyes closed, and those lush lips parted just enough for his tongue to taste the air. His abs taut and hips thrust outward, those long, lean fingers wrapped around himself as he⁠—

“Payton…”

My eyes fly open, every muscle in my body freezing.

Oh my god, he said my name. He’s pleasuring himself, and he said my name, and there’s a volcano erupting in my stomach. My hand shoots out to grip the wall, my toes curling into the carpet beneath my feet.

“You can come in.”

My back goes straight, my mouth agape. I open and close it several times, but all that comes out is “Uh…”

Come in? While he’s⁠—

“I could use the help.”

Oh. My. God.

He wants me to help?

A million hummingbirds take flight in my abdomen, and I swear my knees start to shake.

Wait. What’s going on with me right now?

“I could really use a shower,” he rasps.

Just like that, my mouth clamps closed.

Shower.

Shower?

Hesitantly, I mean with the bare minimum of movement, I peek my upper body around the corner, too afraid to look inside but rather finding him in the mirror instead.

My frown is instant.

Mason does have his back against the wall, and his head is resting against it, but his good hand is latched on to the clasp of his sling, the shirt he wore to bed tangled all around it.

His sweats are not down, and his dick is, well, most definitely not hard and in his hands.

So he wasn’t pleasuring himself to thoughts of me?

I feel the scowl before I know it’s coming, and then I flush all over.

Why is there a bitter taste in my mouth all of a sudden?

I clear my throat and slip inside. Mason instantly looks away, his cheeks tinged the slightest bit pink, and I realize he’s embarrassed.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this man, it’s that he hates feeling helpless, and he’s not a fan of being the one waited on, though he seems to love doting on me.

Even the day I met him, he filled my plate high with breakfast, breaking down the proteins and carbs and all this other crap the dedicated athlete knows all about.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was well aware carbs were in just about everything thanks to my mother’s obsession with my weight or that I wouldn’t be able to finish a quarter of what he served me without getting sick to my stomach.

Okay, enough stalling!

I push forward, grab Mason by the waist, and turn him. He jolts at first, then allows me to spin him around, and when I push gently on his good shoulder, he lowers onto the lid of the toilet.

When he finally looks up, his eyes widen, his good hand shooting to my forehead as panic pulls at his features.

“What?” I rush, my own hand shooting up to my cheek.

He frowns slightly, moving the backs of his fingers to my temple. “You feelin’ okay? You look like you have a fever, but my hand’s kind of numb, so I can’t tell if you’re hot or not.”

I might flush even more as I pull his hand away, turning his head so he can’t stare at me and pretending it’s so I can untangle his shirt. “I feel fine. Kind of pissed, to be honest.”

His head snaps back, eyes narrowed.

Chuckling, I turn his head again. “I am here for a reason, Mase. Did you think I was just trying to get out of my house?”

“Were you not?” he teases back.

Smiling, I tug his shirt over his head and ease it down the sling, letting it land around the clasped part for now.

Mase looks to me as best he can, and I raise a blond brow. “What good am I here if you’re not going to use me how you need to?”

Something flashes in Mason’s eyes, and he reaches out, his hand planting on my hip.

He gives a little squeeze, and I swear my pulse jumps. “Sorry, Pretty Little. You want me to use you how I want, then that’s what I’ll do.”

There’s an intensity in his eyes that holds mine a moment longer than it should. I think I nod, quickly leaning over so I don’t have to try and decipher the expression on his handsome face. I work the clasp of the back of the sling and ease it down his body, tossing it to the side.

Mason stretches his neck slightly, but when he goes to move his arm, he can only lift it so high. His jaw clenches, and he looks off again.

“Hey,” I whisper, and I don’t realize I’ve gripped his jaw and turned him back to me until his lips part, causing my thumb to slide up his chin, the tip tingling against his lower lip. I yank away, but Mason catches my hand before I can lower it and holds it in the space between us, his eyes locked on mine.

“Say what you were going to say,” he whispers.

I smile softly, tipping my head a little. “I was just going to say you’re going to get better and remind you that it’s only been a handful of days. You’ll be out of here and back on campus in no time.”

His gaze moves between my eyes, his hold on my hand tightening. “That’s the only part I’m not looking forward to.”

I cock my head, contemplating the easiest way to remove the bandages. “Going back to school?”

“Leaving here. Leaving you.”

My eyes snap to his, but I quickly dip them to his bandages once more, trying to hide the smile threatening to slip. “Such a kiss-ass.”

Mason’s chuckle is low, and hesitantly, he releases my hand.

“Okay.” I nod, taking in all the bandages across his torso. “So I take it we’re removing the wraps?”

Mason blows out a long breath. “I think it’s time, yeah. I’m starting to smell myself. Pretty fucking gross.”

“Yeah, I thought it was the feta earlier but…”

Mason’s arm is quick, fingers flying out and tickling my sides. I jolt backward, laughter spilling from me.

“Kidding. Kidding.” I move toward the drawers, digging through them for something to help. “How you still smell like you, I’ll never know.” Scissors. Score.

I hold them between us, and he spreads his legs so I can step closer, but I shake my head. “Up.”

He stands. “Smell like me?”

“Yeah, you know…like summer and citrus or a warm blanket right out of the dryer.” I purse my lips. “Maybe turn around so you can still keep your arm steady?”

He doesn’t move, and when I look up, he’s just staring down at me.

“Mase.”

He licks his lips, then nods and spins, and I start with the lowest wrap, gently sliding my finger between the cloth and his skin. Mason shivers, and I smirk.

“Cold?”

He huffs shaking his head, mumbling something along the lines of, “Something like that.”

I cut the bottom wrap off, and it falls to the floor at his feet. I suck in a sharp breath through my nose, my eye snapping up to the back of Mason’s head. He must hear it, because he turns slightly, but not far enough he can see my face.

There’re dark, purplish-yellow bruises all along his spine, and when I cut off the second set of wraps, they only get worse. They’re everywhere, in every shape and size all over his sides and wrapping up and around his shoulder.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

My fingers feather across the markings, trailing along the largest one at his side. Mason spins, and my hand is suddenly pressed to his abdomen. His muscles flex, and I swallow, looking up into his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he rasps, his fist wrapping around my wrist. I think he intends to remove my hand, and for some reason, my fingers splay out against his heated skin. His palm slides up until his fingers are lacing with mine.

My limbs start to shake, my breathing picking up, and it’s as if his caramel-colored eyes are whispering words not meant to be heard but felt.

I feel them.

But what am I feeling?

It’s new and…different. It’s painfully soft and strangely compelling.

“You don’t look fine.”

“What did I say?” he murmurs, tucking some loose strands behind my ear. “You don’t cry. Not for me.”

“I’m not crying.”

A sense of warmth gentles his features, and he releases me but only to grip my shoulder so he can spin me until I’m looking in the mirror.

My eyes find my own, the image blurry, because yes, there is definitely moisture in there, but my attention quickly flicks to the man at my back.

He’s so much taller than me, the top of my head just above his collarbone. Despite my swollen frame, his cages me in, his shoulders wider and visible behind mine, and when he steps closer, his stomach now pressed to my back, my heart jolts in my chest.

His hand comes around, gently gliding along my stomach as he turns his lips to my ear. They open, and my eyes close, the heat of his breath sending goose bumps down my spine.

My legs are tingling, it’s so strange.

I don’t hate it.

“No tears for me, Pretty Little…but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like that you care so much. In fact, knowing that you do does something to me.”

What does it do to you?

“I’m going to get into the shower now, gorgeous girl, just in case you want to keep your eyes closed.”

I swallow, but my eyes, they open without permission, latching on to his.

I can’t help but notice his pupils have grown wider, the golden brown now hidden behind a layer of darkness.

Mason takes a step back, staring right at me as he uses one hand to push his sweats to the floor.

They puddle behind my ankles, and my toes curl into the fuzzy mat beneath my feet.

My cheeks are on fire, my eyes holding and following his in the mirror’s reflection until he’s turning away, stepping into the shower, and closing himself inside it.

The moment he’s out of sight, the spell is broken, and I run back into the room, stopping to press my back against the wall.

I pull out the yoga breathing techniques, fighting for long, deep breaths and exhaling just as slowly. It doesn’t help.

I lift my shaky hands, staring at them in shock and confusion, then press them to my heated skin, explicitly aware my face isn’t the only part of me that’s on freaking fire, but a part that’s been dormant for a while now…if ever woken at all. A part of me I’m kind of scared to acknowledge but can’t ignore.

There’s a heat bubbling between my legs, threatening to grow into a boil, and my skin is tingly all over. My eyes fly wide.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, gently banging my head against the wall. “This isn’t happening,” I mutter, clenching my eyes closed. “I’m not falling for Mason.” I swallow, taking several long lungfuls. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

I yelp, spinning on my heels to find Mason standing in the doorway in nothing but a towel, water dripping from every inch of him.

“What?” I think I say.

Mason comes closer, water rolling down his face, his hair so dark from the water it’s nearly black. “You said you can’t. Can’t…what?”

“I…uh…”

His eyes, they’re roaming over every inch of my face, and I blush harder.

Can he see it?

Does he know my body reacted to his?

That I kind of want to know what it would feel like to be closer, if only out of curiosity.

Or maybe it’s a subconscious need for human contact or comfort.

Or maybe something else entirely…

Shit.

Mason takes another step, and I watch as fresh droplets from the fastest shower known to man slip from his sharp, slightly scruffy jaw onto his pecs. They’re impressive, perfectly cut and gleaming.

My throat grows tight, and when he nods his head toward the bathroom, stepping inside, my feet decide to follow, and we don’t stop until we’re in the room on the other side.

My eyes fly to the plush blankets on the bed, down comforter after down comforter thrown on top. Mason steps around me a moment later, basketball shorts slung low on his hips. Everything burns when I catch the smallest hint of dark hairs peeking out below his navel. And those hip bones, as sharp as a sculpture.

My god, what a perfect prize he would make behind my lens. I could win awards with his flawlessness.

Mason Johnson is…grown. He’s not a teenage boy on the cusp of adulthood. No, he’s all man. Strong and exquisite.

And shirtless and staring at me.

My head yanks down, chin practically digging into my chest.

“Come on.”

Oh god. There’s humor in his tone.

“Ari’s bed can’t be as comfortable as this one.”

“It’s not so bad” comes out before I can stop it, but as I say it, I realize I’m internally searching for an excuse to go back to the room I’ve been sleeping in. I don’t need one, though, do I? Mason asked me to come in here, and I…want to.

So I say nothing else. I climb under the covers, sitting up slightly from all the pillows. A sigh leaves me instantly, my smile wide and turning on Mason.

He chuckles, gazing at me with a gleam in his gaze. “Yeah, Cam’s bed is like this back home and at the dorm, too. She has a pillow topper on her mattress and still sleeps on top of a down comforter while covered in another. Girl’s a brat with a bad night’s sleep.”

Something hot spears my gut, and I flick my frown away before he sees it.

So he’s not only been in Cameron’s bed…but all her beds.

What does that mean exactly?

I did hear she had a crush on him growing up. Did something happen between them?

Is something going on with them now back at Avix?

Oh my god, Payton, why do you care?

“We used to pile in each other’s rooms every weekend, trading off houses each time, for movie nights and pizza. Hers was everyone’s favorite.”

I look over to find him studying me with a hint of a grin on his lips, like he knows what I was thinking, liked it, and that’s why he explained, but that’s weird, right?

Mason shifts, facing me as much as possible, so I make it a little easier on him and turn onto my side. He smiles down at me and laughs lightly.

“What?”

“You look cute like this, all snuggled up and shit.”

I roll my eyes at his teasing and settle farther into the blankets. “I would be so much more comfortable if I didn’t have a tiny human hanging out in my body.”

Mason grins, his eye falling to the large lump of blankets. He stares for a few moments, and then his hand disappears under the comforter. He doesn’t just lay it there, though. He slides it farther down until the hem of my shirt is in his hand and he’s pushing it up, the heat of his hand pressed directly to my taut skin.

A soft current courses through me, his touch like a tame note of electricity. I pull in a shuddering breath.

I can’t see where he’s touching me, the blanket still up to my chin, but his callused fingers leave a trail of warmth everywhere they go. He slides his hand from one side to the next, to the top and back down, pausing when he feels a small protruding point.

His eyes pop up to mine, nothing but the light he forgot to turn off in the bathroom cascading over us. “Does it hurt?” he wonders.

I shake my head. “Getting a little harder to breathe now that I’m so close, and my back hurts as much as my feet, but that’s just what happens at this point, I guess.”

Mason nods, then asks, a little more hesitant this time, “Are you afraid?”

A rush of sadness falls over me, and I look down for a moment, Deaton’s soft curls and infectious smile slipping into my mind. A weight falls on my chest when I realize I haven’t thought of him much this past week. I wasn’t asleep long enough for him to visit me in my dreams, but he will.

He always does.

I don’t realize a small grin is pulling at my lips until I look up to find a matching one on Mason.

“I don’t think so,” I finally answer.

“That’s good,” he whispers, and I can see exhaustion setting in.

We’re quiet for a few minutes, and when he shifts again, his gaze finding mine in the low-lit space, a small smile curves my lips. His words from earlier are like a warm blanket in my mind, and I tuck my hands under my cheek, staring up at him in the dark.

Not many people at my age know what it feels like to have something, or someone in my case, that you love taken from you. It’s a fucking nightmare that gives you legitimate nightmares.

It’s like being carved to the bone with a fillet knife, but instead of leading you to the good part, all you get is the bad.

The empty.

The bloodcurdlingly bare.

No matter what you add back or pump yourself with, it doesn’t go away. Your bones begin to ache with no exertion, and your heart threatens to explode with even the littlest of it.

People think they know how you should act or feel, how long you should mourn, when you should be better, and how hard the entire process will be, but they don’t. They couldn’t possibly.

Sure, it’s different for everyone, but at the end of the day, the base is the same.

You lost something, or something was stolen from you. You want it back.

Maybe it’s possible, or maybe it’s impossible, but that doesn’t mean the person with a chance hurts any less than the person without one. It just means we’re human and both must try.

Try and live with the hole, or try and fill it.

Or do nothing and get buried beneath it all.

Mason and me, it’s like we’re on the same page.

Both holding on to the shovel, but both drowning in a mountain of dirt that doesn’t seem to lessen, no matter how many times we scoop.

Mason with his slow recovery, and me with…god, I don’t even know how to put it into words.

But with Mason, it’s almost like I don’t have to. It’s as if he already knows.

Maybe because he’s lost something, too, albeit temporarily, but still.

Just because our pain is different, that doesn’t mean his isn’t as deep as mine.

We both may have lost what was supposed to be our future, but maybe there’s a purpose behind it all. A way to make us stronger than we would have been.

Maybe what he said to me is true.

“Hey, Mase,” I say, even though he’s staring right at me.

He blinks, a small smile on his lips encouraging me to say whatever is on my mind. For some reason, nerves swim in my stomach, and when I continue, my tone is so low I wonder if he’ll hear me at all.

“If everything happens for a reason, then maybe there’s a reason you got hurt.”

Mason’s eyes move between mine, and when he speaks, it’s in the softest of whispers. “I think maybe you’re right.”