I swallow, unable to break away from the choke hold of his gaze.
If there is one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s his eyes. The honey-brown irises are as rich as ever, the perfect mix of dark and light, vivid yet grave. A flawless illustration of his character.
Mason Johnson is as fierce as he is tender. He’s yinandyang.
And after nearly nine weeks of sudden silence, he’s standing before me with an expression that threatens to break me down right here, right now.
He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. The slight frown blanketing his features says enough—he’s worried, frustrated.
Angry.
It’s deeper than that, though. I can see it in his troubled gaze.
Did something happen? Did I do something wrong? Did you change your mind…
Those are just a few of the questions he’s asking without opening his mouth, none of which I want to answer right now. To be honest, I’m not so sure I could.
Did something change?I ask myself, swallowing the needles that seem to have appeared in my throat.
Still, angry or not, he’s as gentle as ever, shuffling closer, and I know before he so much as lifts his arms, he’s going to reach for Deaton.
I hesitate, if only for a split second, but it’s long enough for him to notice, and his lips press together more firmly than they already were. I look away as I pass him my little boy and all but run from the room. In the hall, I’m ready to go full sprint, but my feet don’t seem to get the message, instead lingering in the hall, out of sight but not earshot.
Mason’s voice reaches me instantly, and I know by the lulling in his tone, he’s swaying my son just as I was. “What’s wrong, little man, hmm?”
A sharp pain stings my chest, and I consider going in and taking him back, but not a second after he speaks, what I couldn’t seem to do is done—Deaton stops crying.
I drop my chin to my chest and speed-walk out of there, softly closing the back door behind me so no one in the frontof the house is alerted to my escape. It’s bad enough I’m clearly going out of my way to avoid everyone who has just arrived, but I can’t pause. Pausing will lead to too many thoughts, none of which I’m prepared for right now. At all. In any fashion.
I walk quickly down the deck, across the twenty feet of sand, and back up the deck of the house right next door. Yes, my older brother, Parker, owns the home right next door to his best friend. When Lolli told him she had purchased the home beside this one, it felt like a blessing I didn’t deserve. It’s how he was able to offer me my own room—and his nephew a nursery once he was born—after I ran away from our mother’s place.
It’s times like this, though, I wonder if I should have taken my dad’s offer to move in with him, as out-of-left-field and awkward as the conversation was, considering we hardly know each other these days. But even as I think it, I know I made the right choice when I gave him the swift and instant answer of a hard no way in hell. My refusal had nothing to do with him on a personal level, though I’m not sure he believed me when I told him so, considering I didn’t go into much more details outside of that. If he knew me better, he would have never asked. He would understand living with him would mean going back to Alrick, where my mother lives, where the family that shares my son’s last name lives. The last thing I want is my Deaton anywhere near those vile people. They hated their son as much as much as my mother hates me.
Leaving that place was both the best and worst decision I have ever made.
On one hand, my son will never be exposed to the toxicity that is Ava Baylor. On the other, it is the very reason his daddy died.
I am the reason he’s dead.
Swallowing, I swiftly lock my bedroom door, dropping my head against it. I no sooner close my eyes than hurried footstepssound on the hardwood floors in the hall. I hold my breath, the sound of his heavy exhales causing my hand to clench the knob I’ve yet to let go of.
I know who’s on the other side. Of course he followed.
“Where you are is where I want to be…”
I squeeze my lids closed tight.
There’s the smallest of raps, as if he lifted his knuckles to knock, to demand an answer or beg for a reason, but changed his mind at the last second. My eyes open, pointed at the floor where the shadow of his shoes sits just inches from my own, watching as it fades into nothing as he walks away a moment later.
I grit my teeth, jump into the shower, and get myself together as quickly as possible, which I’ve found is a lot faster than I ever would have thought now that every minute is one I can no longer waste.
Smoothing my hair back, I take the front pieces and twist them slightly to allow a small center part before tying it up into a high ponytail. I swiftly braid the thick, wet strands, the long blond length still reaching to midback. Using some wax, I smooth my baby hairs down to my skull, opting for a quick bronzer, blush, mascara, and, at the last minute, a touch of lip gloss.
Nearly nothing I own fits, not that my mother sent all my belongings, but the things she did box up are three sizes too small, even eight months after birth. When I was emancipated last year, I was able to drain my bank account before my mom got ahold of it, but she ignored the court’s order to allow me to take my things. In the end, I found material items didn’t mean enough anymore if it meant having to look her in the eye and ask for it. She wasn’t worth the fight, and that isallshe was after. A reaction. So I stopped giving her the chance to get one.
The money I had saved from winning pageants she forced me to enter and secret photography contests she knew nothingabout was enough to get the things I needed, but only because my brother refuses to accept a penny for rent. Because of that, it should hold me over for another six months or so, longer if Lolli and Parker keep going out of their way to buy things for Deaton and me before I get the chance to do it myself. Not that I want them to, but chances are they won’t.
My lack of clothing mixed with the added weight my body seems to want to keep means I’ve basically been living in stretchy bottoms, loner T-shirts, and lightweight hoodies for the better part of a year. Glancing at myself in the long mirror beside my closet, I sigh at my reflection.