Chapter 8

LILY

Mason drives us for twenty minutes toward the edge of the city. The whole time, he refuses to tell me where he is taking me.

“Have you ever had patience?” he asks, glancing over at me with a smirk.

“Maybe once when I was ten.” I shrug. I actually think I was born without any patience.

Mom used to say I was just like my father and couldn’t wait for anything. Now I wonder if she meant Murray or my real father.

I don’t get a chance to dwell on that because Mason slows the car down before stopping at a lookout.

“Whoa,” I whisper to myself as I take in the city lights. “It’s so beautiful.”

I rip my eyes away from the view and look at Mason, who is also taking in the view.

“It is,” he agrees, turning his head toward me.

“How’d you find this place?” I take my seatbelt off and turn in the seat so my body is facing him.

“Stan told me about it,” he replies, moving so he’s in the same position as me.

“Who’s Stan?” I ask, threading my fingers through his.

“He’s a guard,” he replies.

I nod, pretending I know what position that is.

“You don’t have to pretend that you know.” He laughs before resting his head on the headrest and getting serious.

He continues, “College classes, football—it’s a lot. I wish I had more time with you, Princess.”

“I know, me too,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Two more months, then we get a break. I play on Thanksgiving Day, then the rest of the weekend, I’m all yours.”

“It’s nearly been a year since my accident,” I blurt out. I have no idea why I said it, but I feel like I need to get it off my chest.

“I know,” he replies quietly, stroking my hand. “Are you okay?”

I chew on my bottom lip, not really knowing how to answer. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” I sigh.

“Like physically, I’m okay most of the time. But then I’m sad. Mom hasn’t spoken to me since she left the hospital,” I babble, trying to get how I’m feeling into words.

“Dad wants me to go home for Thanksgiving, but the weather is always bad around then, and I’m too scared to drive in the rain, and if I tell him that, he’ll just cry or try to put me into therapy.”

Mason frowns at my words, letting go of my hand. “You’re scared to drive in the rain?” he asks quietly.

“Not all the time. Just when it’s pouring.” I shake my head. I can handle some drizzle, but when it starts to get harder—that’s when my anxiety spikes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, still frowning.

“It’s not that big of a deal. I live on campus.” I try to brush it off.

“Is that why you wanted to live on campus?” he questions.

“Partly,” I answer honestly, immediately regretting it. I wish I’d just said yes. Because now I know Mason is going to question the other reasons.

“Why else?” he asks, just like I knew he would.

I chew on my bottom lip, not wanting to have this conversation yet.

“Come on, Princess, you can’t upset me,” he reassures me.

“I…,” I begin before clamping my mouth closed again. “It’s just that…” I sigh, dropping my shoulders, deciding to just bite the bullet and tell him.

“Everyone leaves me, and I don’t know if I can handle you leaving me, Mason.”

Hurt flashes through his eyes. “I’m never going to leave you, Lily,” he says, squeezing my hand gently.

“But you never know,” I say. “You’re going to become such a hot shot on campus, and who knows, you might leave me.”

“I’m never letting you go, Lily Bennett,” he promises before kissing my lips gently.

“You are stuck with me forever and ever and ever,” he says, kissing me again another three times. “Okay?” he asks, holding my face squished between his hands.

“Okay.” I smile the best I can with a squashed face. I’m not one hundred percent sure that Mason won’t leave me; everyone else I’ve loved has left. How can he know?

“Are you hungry?” Mason asks, clearly pleased with my response.

“Starving,” I agree, suddenly aware of my intense hunger. “Can we get something unhealthy?” I ask, batting my eyelashes and giving him my best “pretty please” face.

All he and Liam have been eating lately is chicken, broccoli, and rice on Fridays, and quite frankly, I’m over it. They don’t even add sauce!

Mason lets out an overly dramatic sigh and drops his shoulders. He flicks his eyes from the road to me and back quickly.

“Fine. I suppose we can have McDonald’s,” he says, sighing again and clearly holding back a smile. “Coach said I should try to gain some more muscle,” he begins to explain.

“More muscle?” I question, reaching out to stroke his already strong bicep, which he flexes under my fingers.

“Is that even possible?” I ask, shaking my head. I can’t picture Mason getting any bigger or stronger.

“Hey, you never told me if Coach Grant called yet,” he says, changing the conversation and reminding me of my earlier disappointment.

“I haven’t heard a thing,” I groan, throwing my head back against the seat. “I really thought I played great. I guess I’m not as good as I was before the accident.” I sigh, fighting back the tears I can feel building up in my eyes.

“Hey, look at me,” he says softly, brushing his fingers across my cheek before cupping it and gently turning my face to his.

“Just because you haven’t heard anything yet doesn’t mean you didn’t get on the team,” he says. His voice is steady, his eyes never leaving mine, not even when he brushes away a tear that managed to escape.

“I’ve seen you and Britt play over the summer, and you’re even better than before,” he adds before brushing his nose against mine.

“There is no way you aren’t making the team,” he whispers before gently placing his lips against mine. I instantly start to feel better, hope beginning to form again.

He’s right; I am a boss-ass volleyball player! And even if I’m not as good as I was, I know I’m a better player than most people.

“And if you don’t get on the team, they’ve obviously taken bribes,” he jokes, pulling back the slightest amount.

“Obviously.” I smile back before his lips are back on mine, kissing me softly.

He deepens the kiss, his free hand moving to my waist and pulling me in close, our bodies pressing together in the narrow space of the car. My fingers instantly reach for the back of his head, pulling him closer to me as the kiss grows more heated, our breaths mingling between eager, desperate touches.

His hand slides from my waist down over my hip, gripping me tightly as if he’s afraid to let go. I let out a soft gasp, which only seems to fuel him. His fingers find the hemline of my sweater, brushing against the sliver of bare skin beneath as he pulls me tighter onto his lap.

This is it. This is all I want or need. Just Mason. No parties, no drama, no doubts. Just us, tangled up together.

“I need you, NOW,” I say, getting bossy as I usually do when he’s holding me like this.

Just as he slips his hand underneath, we’re broken apart by a loud siren and flashing red-and-blue lights.

We pull apart quickly.

Mason looks in the rearview mirror and hisses out a “shit.”