How We Deal With Gravity(54)
“One, I didn’t get into fights. At least not back then. I had really bad allergies, and my nose just bled a lot. But thanks for thinking I was a hoodlum,” he says, pulling his shoes from his feet, kicking them to the corner before hitting the lights and motioning me to move over in the bed. “And second, my mom was a bartender, not a nurse. She did the best she could, and so did I.”
Well shit, now I feel bad. I stop my laughter and force my lips into a straight line as best as I can. “Thank you. I’m sorry,” I say, and he just rolls his eyes at me, which unleashes the laughing again.
“Next time, I let you bleed out,” he says, sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head, which now has my laughter completely hushed. I shouldn’t be here. Not with my dad downstairs, not with Max in bed down the hall, not for a second night in a row. This is too much, too fast.
“I…uh, I should go,” I start to get up, but he rolls to his side and lays his arm heavily over my chest.
“Uh uh. Ray’s busy downstairs. And you heard him, he said to take care of you. You stay here tonight. I’ll set my phone to wake us up before everyone else,” he says, his expression not one to argue with.
“I don’t know,” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“You’re staying here. If your father wants to kick my ass over it in the morning, I’ll remind him that it’s probably not a good idea to throw beer bottles at the wall,” he says, and it makes me wince remembering my dad’s outburst.
“Okay…and thank you—for taking care of me. I was careless,” I start, but he puts his fingers on my lips quickly before rolling closer on his side and kissing me gently on the cheek.
“I think I made it pretty clear today, Ave…I’m in this—both feet,” he says, his face serious, the golden lines in his brown eyes lit by the stars outside. I can’t help myself, and I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, looking at it curl softly in my hands. He shuts his eyes when I do.
“I like your haircut,” I say. He smiles, turning his head just enough so his lips catch my arm, and he kisses it.
“Me too,” he says, reaching up and scratching at his hair, before letting his gaze fall open to me again.
“Thanks for talking to my dad—about Adam,” my heart starts to speed up remembering my father’s reaction. My dad trusted Adam, treated him like his own son when we got married. He used to tell me how happy he was I was marrying a good man like Adam Price. I think that’s what gets at my dad the most—the guilt. I don’t blame him. I was just as enamored. Adam was the valedictorian of our high school, and we both went to college together. My dad didn’t even blink when we said we were going to live together—instead, thrilled to see the ring on my finger. It was always his fear—that his little girl wouldn’t have anyone to take care of her. And when we got pregnant early, my dad didn’t even lecture—he just beamed, over-the-moon to be a grandfather. He was Adam’s greatest fan, all the way up until the day Adam walked away. And then…Adam gained the most threatening enemy in the world.
“He wanted to go find him, but I told him he left,” Mason says, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I realize what Mason said.
“How do you know he left?” I say, scooting away to look at him completely. I know before he says anything—it’s written on his face, and it comes out with the heavy breath he exhales. I suppose deep down I maybe knew all along, but it still feels like a surprise.
“That’s where I was this morning. I couldn’t let him get away with it. I know, it wasn’t my place, but I’m sorry, Avery. I just…I couldn’t,” he says, his eyes falling to mine, pleading with me to understand. He’s so afraid I’m going to be angry, but instead, Mason may have just completely crawled inside my heart.
“My hand feels better,” I say softly, watching as the line of his mouth inches slowly into a smile.
“Come here,” he says, laying his arm flat for me to lie on, his other above his head, waiting to embrace me. I keep my eyes on his as I move my body closer, careful of my hand, and just careful in general.
His skin is warm against my face. I’m lying right along the tiger’s tail on his tattoo, and I let my face fall so I can look at it closely, tracing the lines with the tips of my fingers. Mason slides his hand up my arm to my wrist, careful not to squeeze against my bandage, and brings my fingers to his lips, kissing them softly.
“I’m so sorry, Avery,” he says, moving his head against mine. “I’m sorry you hurt yourself, and I’m sorry Adam is such a prick. And I’m sooooo sorry if I was ever mean to you. I didn’t know how much you meant to me,” his words literally knock the breath from my body, and I slide myself closer into his arms, pressing my lips to his with all of my might.
“Don’t,” I say, suddenly not wanting to hear him apologize…ever. For years, all I wanted was to see Mason Street grovel, to feel sorry, and to feel pain. And now all I want to do is love him.
I love him.
Chapter 15: Fitting In
Mason
Claire was on board with my plan. I had a feeling she would be. I was surprised she didn’t try to pry for details about Avery and me, but I guess chicks only really do that to each other.