How We Deal With Gravity(14)
“I don’t like interrupting. You’re being…creative,” I say, averting my gaze again because I can’t take the attention. Mason is so damned confident. It’s off-putting.
“Ha, you’re funny,” he starts with a chuckle. I raise an eyebrow, not really following where he’s going with everything. “I’m being creative. Haven’t you been listening? I can’t figure out a simple bar. I’m just wavering all over the place, and nothing feels right. I don’t even know why I thought I could do this in the first place. Bir…I mean, Avery—there is nothing creative going on for you to interrupt. I’m not sure there ever was.”
Now it’s his turn to look away. He kicks his guitar case open with his foot and leans forward to place his guitar inside and close it again. He lets his hands linger on the case for a few seconds before he flips the locks in place and then slides the case over to the wall. His eyes are locked on it, and for the first time ever I swear I see a look of disappointment on Mason Street’s face. Maybe it’s my motherly instincts, or maybe it’s how much Max has changed me as a person, but suddenly I’m on my feet and stepping inside Mason’s room, sitting down beside him.
“You wanna know something?” I say, my heartbeat racing in my throat. My voice is shaky, and I can feel actual nerves starting to build in my belly.
Mason leans forward and buries his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes and smoothing back his hair before turning to look at me—and when he does, my heart stops suddenly. I’ve only been this close to Mason Street once in my life, and his eyes are the same gold they were then. I’m pretty sure my body is covered in sweat now, but I ignore it. I remind myself I’m an adult, and Mason Street doesn’t have any power over me.
“Sure, I wanna know something,” he says, his lips twitching into that faint cocky smile permanently etched into my mind. Even his smile is the same. Why am I sharing this with him? Why do I care? Why can’t I just let Mason Street suffer a little?
“Oh, it’s stupid. Never mind, I’m sorry…” I start to get up, forcing myself to remember that I put Mason Street and all of my girlhood fantasies about him in a box—a box I locked up with an imaginary key and threw into the depths, never to be dug up again. I’ve almost convinced myself to leave when his hand grazes mine, urging me to stay.
“Please. I want to hear,” he says, his smile gone, and his eyes locked on the place where his fingers are barely touching my skin. My brain is totally confused by his touch. I’ve hated him for so long. But I loved him before that. And now, with him here, in our house—I’m not so sure I can keep hating him. But I’m also kind of mad at myself that I don’t want to. I feel…weak.
“Okay, this is a secret,” I sit back down and let out a deep sigh. I can feel his eyes on me, and I give myself a short glance to decide if he deserves this. Maybe I’m imagining it, and maybe I just want to make it be there, but there’s a desperation I see in his face that tells me he does. So I give in and share a little piece of me, let him see himself through my eyes. “One time, when you were staying with us for a weekend—I think you were sixteen? You were messing around with some old songs that you could cover. Do you remember?”
Mason takes a deep breath, almost like he’s giving up. “I guess. I don’t know, Avery. I used to do that shit all the time,” he says, almost deflated.
“Okay, yeah. But this day was different. You were putting together a list of cover songs, stuff you wanted to play at Dusty’s—just you. No band,” I wait, and he nods, remembering. “You were toying with ‘Wild Horses’ by the Stones. You kept slowing it down, even more, changing it up and playing around with the melody. You worked on it for almost an hour. I swear…you sang that song maybe a hundred times.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he says, the corner of his lips pulling up into a fond smile. “I never did play it. Couldn’t get it right.”
“That’s just it, though,” I say, looking away, afraid that if I have to look at him I’ll chicken out. Instead I focus on the small string hanging off my shirt, twisting it around my finger.
“You had it right, Mason. You had it so right. Every single time you played it—it was right. And when you weren’t looking…” Oh god, oh god, oh god. I’m really going to do this. “I, uh…I sort of recorded it.”
I don’t even have to turn my head to feel the full force of his smile. I don’t know if I feel giddy or mortified—either way, I just made Mason Street’s entire f*cking day. I’m biting my lower lip with enough force that I’m sure my teeth are going to puncture it when I finally get the courage to look at him again, and sure enough—he’s grinning ear-to-ear.
“Look, I didn’t tell you that to make you get all goofy on me,” I say, standing and smoothing out my shorts so they hang a little lower on my legs. Suddenly, I feel vulnerable even having my bare feet on display in front of him.
“I know, I know,” he says with a light chuckle. He follows me to his doorway, leaning on the frame as I step into the hallway, to safety. He says he knows, but his damn smile is still in full force.
“It’s just…” I purse my lips, trying to find a way to say something to him that might make a difference. Something that will penetrate him—not the usual gushing and flattery he’s used to from women. “It’s just you’re so goddamned talented, Mason. My dad always believed in you. And so did I.”