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)
“I’m guessing you haven’t talked to the others?”
I wince, feeling a little guilty. “I’m sort of…hiding out?”
He turns his head my way fully, worry etched in his brown eyes when he’s the one who’s hurt. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
Something stirs in my stomach, drawing a sort of tension there. Mason is sitting here, hardly able to move a muscle, and he’s worried about me?
“I’m fine,” I manage to whisper.
Now he glares, and a low chuckle leaves me.
“Honest.”
“Tell me anyway.”
I fight a smile. Even in complete disarray, he’s still got his bossy boy edge. Or man.
I peek at him a moment, taking in his sharp features and vivid dark eyes.
Yeah, he’s no boy.
Clearing my throat, I focus on his hand. “So my dad showed up out of the blue.” I pause, scoffing as I unfold my legs to get more comfortable. “Well, supposedly it was out of the blue. I grilled Parker, and he swears he didn’t know he was coming, but I feel like that’s a lie.”
Mason nods slightly, waiting for more.
“Anyway, he asked me to dinner, and I felt like I couldn’t say no, so I ended up agreeing, canceling on Lolli last minute.”
“And?”
I smash my lips together. “And I wish I hadn’t.” I frown. “It’s just we’re not exactly father and daughter anymore, you know? When my mom refused to let him see me after he left her, he didn’t exactly go out of his way to try to get around that. But now that I got out of that house, he’s been around, if only over the phone, since he still works as much as he did when we were kids. I do appreciate the effort, I guess, and I love him in a way I could never love my mom, but I lost him a long time ago. I learned how to be fine with that.” I shake my head, looking away.
“What is it?” he asks.
This time, it’s me who drops their head back. “He asked me to move in with him. Says he has room for me and the baby and—”
“No.”
My eyes flick up to his, and his narrow further.
“You can’t go. Don’t go.”
My stomach stirs with something unnamable yet familiar, and a heat touches my cheeks. “I don’t want to. I like it here.” I peep at him to find a strained expression on his handsome face, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure what would come out if he opened his mouth.
“Anyway,” I quickly continue. “He took me to this cute little restaurant in Santa Monica, and when he dropped me back off this morning, I just…walked over here. Lolli’s and Kenra’s cars were both parked in the driveway, and I didn’t feel like talking. I’ve been sitting on the back patio all day.”
“Did you eat?”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you eat?”
Fighting a smile, I look up into his brown eyes. “Yes, I ate.”
I hold his stare, and with every moment that passes, a deeper sense of torment creeps into his gaze. He wants to talk, but he can’t quite form the words yet.
It must be bad.
The last thing he needs is to feel forced to chat when he isn’t ready. I would know. So I take a page from the Mason Johnson playbook, prop my head on my fist, and say, “Want me to kick his ass?”
I don’t know who “he” is, and clearly a fight didn’t do this to his body, but the line I borrowed from him does its job.
Another pained laugh escapes him, and he turns to me with a wretched smile, borrowing a line just the same. “So how boring is photography?”
“Well, Superstar.” I shift toward him. “Let me tell you all about it…”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mason
Before, November
I wake with a wheeze, pain cording through me like venom entering the bloodstream, making it hard to fucking breathe. My entire body aches as if I were hit by a dump truck, then tossed into it with a load for compaction.
My lungs can’t stretch past half-full, and my ass is sore from being in a sitting position all through the night. I turn my head, my jaw clenching at the strain it puts on my shoulder, and I spot my phone on the nightstand. I try to reach for it, but it feels like I’m being torn in two.
“Fuck,” I pant, and the short gasps only make everything hurt even worse. “Ahh,” I groan as I toss my legs over the side of the bed, taking short and quick exhales as I tug myself over until my feet can reach the floor.
My eyes squeeze closed, and sweat beads at my forehead from the little exertion. I’m so fucked, my muscles screaming ten times louder today.
My attention falls to the wraps along my ribs, and I glare at the sling holding my throwing arm against me.