Fallen Crest Home (Fallen Crest High #6)(61)

I had to laugh.

I’d been avoiding Analise for so long, but this was the moment we would really cross paths: in the freaking grocery store. My aisle was next to hers, but there she was, holding a bag of coffee. No one else was in the aisle, and she hadn’t looked up. I could still go.

But I must’ve made a sound because even as that thought flitted through my mind, she looked over.

She dropped her bag of coffee. “Oh.”

A lump formed in my throat.

It wasn’t surprise, or fear, or pain that flashed across her face. She didn’t pale. Whatever was going on with her face, I was not seeing those things, because that didn’t make sense. My mom was evil. She was a bitch. She was the monster who wanted to take Mason’s future away, not this woman who seemed to shrink in size the longer I stood there, staring at her.

She hadn’t seemed like this before, when I saw her walking. She’d looked like a ghost then, an eerie figment of my imagination. This woman was real. I could see emotions inside of her.

“Stop it.” I couldn’t take it.

Seeing her as a real person was too much.

She’d bent down to pick up the bag, and paused when she heard me. She looked up, suspended there a moment, before she snatched it. Straightening, she frowned at me. Her gaze grew clouded, and she dropped her eyes to the coffee.

I expected a scathing comment.

I braced myself, ready.

Nothing.

She wouldn’t tear her gaze from that damned coffee bag.

I couldn’t handle this. I strode forward and took the bag from her. “You’re not going to say anything?”

She swallowed, looking at me, but not really. I felt like she was looking through me, searching for something behind me even.

She still said nothing.

I ground my teeth together. I deserved a response. “Mom!”

Her eyes welled up and she gasped. “Samantha.” Her hand covered her mouth. The tears rolled down. “I…” She reached out, but I backed away. “I, I’m sorry. I never thought I’d hear you say that again.”

What? Mom?

Emotions swirled through me, but one thing stood out: the fact that I was feeling them. I wasn’t numbing myself. I wasn’t turning on the robot-Sam. I wasn’t even feeling the itch to run. This was…new.

I didn’t like it.

I put the coffee back on the shelf. I didn’t know what to say.

Apparently, she didn’t either because she just watched me back away, one step at a time. It was so fucking surreal, this moment. We’d barely spoken, but I felt like I’d just run another gauntlet.

I was exhausted. Feeling my own eyes tearing up, I turned and left.





It wasn’t dark, but it was close to dusk when a pair of headlights pulled into the park area where I was resting. I knew it was Mason. I didn’t move from the picnic table where I sat. I just looked up as he turned off the Escalade and came over. God, even now, my mouth watered for him.

He was dressed in dark grey pants, the kind he wore after a workout. They were lightweight and soft to the touch. He’d pulled on a Cain University T-shirt, and as the wind swept over us, it pressed the shirt against his chest. I could see every ridge, dip, and valley in those stomach muscles, and I was already yearning for the next time he’d be holding me.

That feeling was never going away

Mason was it for me. He was the real deal, and I wasn’t going to find anyone else like him again. But marriage—even the idea of it sent chills through my blood.

He didn’t say anything. He only sat next to me at the picnic table, his knee lightly pressed into mine. That was his greeting. It was small, but intimate.

I sighed softly, hanging my head.

His hand rested on my back, and he began rubbing circles.

“You okay?”

That was all he asked. No demands about where I’d gone or why I went. No lectures about how he’d worried about me.

Even more shame bloomed in me, but I nodded. “I think so.”

He continued to rub my back, up and down now.

“I saw my mom again.”

“Where?”

“Grocery store.” I lifted my head, turning to look at him. “I went in to grab some energy gel so I’d have enough strength to make it back home, and there she was.” I snorted. “Buying coffee. I don’t remember her drinking coffee before. It was tea—or wine.”

Mason smiled lightly. “I thought she liked bourbon.”

“I think she did.” I shook my head, exhaustion, shame, and sadness washing over me. Also gratefulness. I reached for Mason’s hand, and our fingers laced together. “Thank you.”

He squeezed my hand. “For what?”

“For coming to get me. I don’t think I had enough in me to get home to you.”

“Well.” His top lip curved up. “You forgot the gel packets.” He leaned forward, lightly nipping my shoulder. “Makes sense.”

I laughed, some of my sadness fading, but not all of it. I was suddenly even more exhausted than before. “You know what I mean.”

He lifted his head and brushed my hair back from my face. He cupped my cheek and turned my face so I was looking right at him.

“I’ll always come for you,” he said softly. “You never have to thank me for that.”