Page 84 of Butterfly

I raised an eyebrow, but Leslie shook her head at me, eyes wide.

Whatever. Not my fucking problem. Everything in my life was going according to plan.

Except for one fucking loose end.

33

LESLIE

It was game night.

To be more specific, it was the first hockey game of the season, and I was freaking the hell out. Not because I was worried about how Mason was going to play—even though he was second string, he’d impressed his coach so much over the past couple of weeks. He certainly wouldn’t be riding the bench this game.

I sat in the stands, playing with the engagement ring on my finger. It was big but not too big, a cushion cut fire diamond, surrounded by smaller white diamonds. I loved the ring. It was perfect. So I wasn’t worried about that, either.

No, the reason why I was worried were the two people walking up the stairs toward me—Mason’s father and my mother.

They were here to see Mason play…and, although they didn’t know it, for us to tell them we were together.

“Leslie, honey, it’s so sweet to see you in your stepbrother’s jersey!” my mom said when they reached me. I stood and accepted her hug, trying not to flinch from her words.

Paul caught my eyes over her shoulder. He didn’t look like he thought it was sweet. His face was grim.

They sat down next to me, my mother happily chatting away as we watched the players warm up. My eyes tracked Mason as he glided around the rink, stretching his back. As if he could feel me looking, he glanced up into the stands, and grinned.

Hi, butterfly, he mouthed—before he noticed our parents.

He nodded at his father. Once.

His father nodded back. Once.

I resisted hiding my burning face in my hands.

Mason smirked as he went to sit on the bench for the first period. He wasn’t starting—yet. But I was so proud of him, and knew it wouldn’t be long before he moved up to first string. Before he was leading his team.

“So, Leslie, you two seem to be getting along,” Paul remarked.

In the past, I would have hunched, prevaricated, flat out lied. But I’d promised Mason even though we’d tell them together, I wouldn’t be ashamed of us. And I wasn’t anymore. How could I be, when he loved me so completely, so obsessively, so possessively? And I loved him that way right back?

“We are,” I said.

The horn blew, and the game started. I zoned out, barely noticing the team was up by three points, my eyes on Mason’s back the entire time.

Until the second period. Tabb was up by six, and Mason rose to his feet, jumping over the board and skating out onto the rink. Suddenly, my eyes were glued to him, to the game. Things moved fast; Mason had the puck, and while I didn’t know enough about the game to describe what he was doing, it was likehe, his stick, and the puck were one, powerful being. He moved so fast, it was like he was flying.

And then the puck was flying to—right into the net past the opposing team’s goalie.

The horn sounded again, and the new score flashed on the scoreboard: 12 Tabb, 3 Cornell.

I jumped to my feet, cheering for Mason.

“Yeah, baby!” I yelled, temporarily forgetting who was with me.

“Baby?” Paul asked.

“Honey, what’s that on your hand?” my mom asked, staring in shock at my engagement ring.

Oh, shit.

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