Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Instead of going out for dinner, we order from the small pizza pub near campus and sit on the grass at the edge of the school.
“Hey.” I remember suddenly. “The other morning, you said you had something to tell me, but you wanted to see my face when you did, and then we only had a chance to text before bed. What was it?”
Mason freezes midbite, then chews it as slowly as humanly possible. After, he takes his soda and brings it to his lips for another snaillike moment, and I realize he’s delaying.
He’s nervous, and now I’m nervous.
“Never mind.” I shake my head, picking at a piece of pineapple. “I’m sure it’s not that big a deal and—”
“It is.” He cuts me off.
My eyes snap to his, and everything about Mason softens, even his tone, now so low I hardly hear it.
“It is a big deal.”
I swallow, shaking my head, now absolutely certain I don’t want to hear it. “You don’t have to tell me.”
He’s nodding before I’m even done. “I do. I do because it’s…” He trails off, closing his eyes.
My heart starts to pound in my chest.
“It’s about why I went to Alrick.”
A knot forms in my throat. “Oh” is all I can manage to squeeze beyond it.
Mason wipes his palms on his sweats and reaches out, taking my hands in his. He gives a gentle squeeze, and when my eyes meet his, he tries to smile. Tries and fails.
“You’re scaring me, Mase.”
“I found him,” he whispers, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly.
My pulse roars in my ears, too afraid to read into his words but fucking terrified I’ve misunderstood at the same time. “Found who?” I rasp, pretending there is more than one person he could be talking about when we both know there isn’t.
Mason tips his head, the saddest yet most tender curve to his lips. “He’s at Carmichael Cemetery on Fredricks Street.”
I stop breathing.
My vision blurs.
I freeze.
My heart jolts, maybe even stops.
Hot streaks roll like waves down my cheeks, and I can’t think.
Can’t hear or see.
So I close my eyes, and behind my lids, there he is.
The warmth of his smile and the calm of his eyes.
Deaton…
I choke, gasping for air as I stumble to my feet and walk away.
Mason calls out, but I don’t stop. I break into a run, and I keep going.
I run and run and run until I can’t run anymore, and then I collapse, but not against the ground.
No, he’d never allow that.
Strong arms catch me, lowering with me, and then I’m cradled in warmth. Cocooned in it.
He found him.
Nearly seven months ago, Deaton was buried without my knowledge. I wasn’t invited, and I wasn’t allowed to attend. I was to blame for his death after all, so his family taunted me, sending me the image of his casket and refusing to tell me where he’d been laid to rest.
I cried myself to sleep for weeks after that, the gaping hole in my heart widening with the knowledge that I’d never get to say goodbye. Knowing he’d never have a visitor because his family didn’t care. The boy who gave me my little boy would be forever alone, and there was nothing I could do.
But the man beside me…
I lift my head, blinking through the storm in my eyes until a soft brown pair comes into view.
Mason.
My lips tremble, and I clench my teeth, my face falling into his touch when his hand lifts.
“You did this for me.”
“Have you not figured it out yet, Pretty Little?” Mason presses his forehead to mine. “I would do anything for you.”
My emotions rage, and my heart twists, full of fear and relief and a million other things.
We stare at each other, and when his mouth parts, my eyes fall to his lips.
Reaching out, I run my thumb along his lower one, my entire body shaking.
This man, he’s been my rock. My friend. My savior.
My new favorite person.
He’s not just Mason.
He’s my Mason.
I look back and forth from his eyes to his mouth, pulse pounding out of control as I lean a little closer.
My eyes close, and his soft whisper rolls across my skin.
“No.”
I tense, gaze flicking to his pained one.
He shakes his head, desperation and sorrow in his tone. “No, baby.”
“Mase,” I cry.
But Mason only shakes his head, pressing his forehead to mine once more. “I want you to have to kiss me because you can’t stand the thought of not,” he rasps. “I want it to be desperate and urgent and necessary.” He swallows, whispering, “But I want it to be mine and only mine.”
Not his.
That’s what he doesn’t say.
He wants this, this surreal, gravity-defying connection that’s tethering us, but he wants it to be real. Ours.
More tears fall from my face, and when Mason tucks me to his chest, I burrow even closer. His arms tighten around me, and he holds me to him, rocking us back and forth.