Page 32 of What are the Chances

“Mason, my lad. Stop.”

I turn to look up at Bern standing beside me. He has Charlotte’s wallet in his hand. I’m confused when he was able to grab it, but I don’t think on it too long when Bern lifts me up by my arm.

“Go home, lad.” Picking up my coat from the back of my barstool, he shoves it and Charlotte’s wallet against my chest. “Go home to her, Mason.”

My breathing is erratic and heavy, I can barely think, and that cloud of dust is returning to fog up my mind. The man I just beat is now bent over, blood pouring from his mouth, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He hasn’t said a single word. I haven’t knocked him out, and I’m thankful for Bern stopping me before I took it too far. The old men I saw when I had walked in are now standing around the man, holding him back.

“Mason?” I break my eyes away from the man and face Bern. He starts pushing me toward the door. “Go home. Now,” he repeats.

Nodding, I don’t argue. I push open the large wooden door and run back to my car, my bloody hand clutching Charlotte’s hot pink wallet. When I make it back to my father’s car, I don’t hurry home, taking the opportunity to slow my breathing and gain my bearings.

What the fuck just happened?

I’m beginning to wonder why my life seems to be a constant string of ridiculous coincidences. How was it possible for the same man who stole Charlotte’s wallet to stumble into the bar at the exact time I was there?

I’m thinking of all the possibilities when I finally pull into my parents’ driveway. It’s now dark, nearing ten o’clock. I shut off the car and make my way up the pathway leading to the front door. As I near the front door, every light inside the house is off except for the one at the very top, coming from mine and Charlotte’s room.

My heart beat picks back up. The anticipation of seeing Charlotte pierces itself into every part of me. I can’t help the way she makes me feel, but along with the excitement of seeing her since our kiss, I’m also terrified. I don’t want her to see my bloody hand and have to explain what caused it. I’m hoping she’s asleep and simply left the light on for my benefit, so I didn’t come home to complete darkness.

I’m in no such luck as I step through the small door leading to our room and find Charlotte sitting on the edge of the bed. She’s wearing the same outfit she wore the first night she stayed here—her small tank top and shorts.

She has one leg resting over the other as she squeezes a small mound of lotion into her palm, then smooths it across her thigh. She looks up the second I cross the threshold. She must know something is awry because she immediately stands up and meets me halfway.

“Mason? What happened?” Her hands wrap around my face, her palms pressing into my cheeks. I hadn’t noticed it until now, but I’m soaked. It must have been raining when I ran back to the car from the pub. The last hour has been a complete blur.

Her eyes frantically search my face, then my body before they finally settle on my right hand. The one holding her wallet. She brings one hand to her chest, her breath suddenly escaping her, her eyes darting back up to mine.

“Where did you get that?” she whispers.

A tear slides down her cheek. I lift my hand and swipe the stray tear with my finger. The warm liquid seeps into my thumb as I slide my fingertips across her skin, tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. My eyes dance across her face to her pale pink lips, my thoughts of her consuming me.

I’ve kissed those same lips.

“A stroke of luck,” I whisper back, finally able to answer her question.

She looks back down at her wallet, but concern spreads across her face when she wraps both of her hands around mine, holding it between us. Red splotches and a few small scrapes cover my knuckles.

“You fool,” she gasps, taking her wallet and placing it on top of the dresser. “What did you do?”

“I’m sorry for what I said at the Cliffs. I was an arse,” I whisper, looking down at my abused hand, praying she’ll forgive me.

She looks up and gives me the smallest of smiles.

“Let’s get this cleaned, you eegit.”

I smile at her attempt to sound like a local, but when she tries to step away, I don’t move. She searches my face, tears still lining her eyes as she slowly and gently runs her finger across the backside of my hand.

“Do you still love him?”

She snaps her head back up, looking into my eyes.

“What?”

The last person I want to be talking about at this moment is Kyle, but I can’t stop thinking about kissing Charlotte. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I stepped into this room and saw her sitting there in that fucking outfit. I need to know whether she still loves him. If she does, I have to let her go. I can’t do this with her even if Kyle’s the biggest douchebag to ever grace this earth. The only feelings that matter are hers.

“Do you still love Kyle?” I ask again. She breaks her gaze away from me, turning her attention back to my hand. “I’m only asking because I don’t think I can do this anymore. I can’t stop thinking about kissing you, Char. I want to touch you. I want to touch you so bad and more than just place my lips on yours. I want to feel all of you, in every way possible. But I can’t do that without knowing whether you still love him, and I can’t do that knowing you’re still with him.”

She looks back up to me as her mouth spreads into a small smile.

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