Page 92 of I Need You Tonight
“Thanks.” Clutching Mason’s Christmas present in my hand, I walked over to an empty armchair and sat down.
A variety of magazines lay scattered on the coffee table. I picked up a home decorating one and leafed through it, pretending to be fascinated with the pictures. Pretending not to be thinking about how much I missed the guys in the band, how much I missed touring with them and my old job, and how much I missed Mason.
One page caught my attention. The article contained a picture of dishes with floral and butterfly designs painted on them. Each design was simple yet beautifully elegant.
“Nicole McCormick?” a female voice said as an idea for my glass etchings took shape.
My head jerked up. “Yes?”
“Hello. I’m Suzanne Prescott,” said a woman in her forties wearing a long-sleeved knit dress and heels. “I understand you’ve come to visit Mason?”
Fear reached inside me and silenced my tongue. Fear that Mason had refused to see me. Fear that he was saving the rejection to throw in my face. Not that I didn’t deserve it.
When I didn’t answer, she said, “He’s in the garden. Let me take you to him.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“Yes.” I longed to ask what Mason’s reaction had been when he found out I was here, but I had a feeling not knowing was a better idea. I was nervous enough as it was. So I got up and followed her down a hallway and out an exit at the back of the building.
The first thing I saw out there was a patio with a large built-in hot tub. Small groupings of wicker chairs surrounded the area. Beyond that, palm trees stood tall against the blue sky.
“As you can see,” Suzanne said, her tone easy, as if we were doing nothing more than chatting about the weather, “our goal is to help our clients relax and to find other ways to fill the perceived void the lack of drugs, alcohol, or gambling leaves behind. Depending on the weather, we conduct our early morning yoga sessions out here too.”
I scanned the area, feeling as though as an army of moths were slapping their wings against my stomach in an attempt to flee. And that’s when I saw him.
The moths grew suddenly still, their frantic movements replaced by the desperate beating of my heart. He hadn’t noticed me yet. He was standing at the far edge of the patio, gazing off at the mountains in the distance, his back to me. Even from where I was standing, I could make out the muscles under his T-shirt, each one strained with tension. Not at all what you would expect to find in such a relaxing environment. Which meant it had nothing to do with him being here and everything to do with me.
As if sensing me watching him, he turned toward me. An assortment of emotions washed across his face. Happiness at seeing me wasn’t one of them.
My heart sagged in my chest, the sadness too much for it. Even after my mother had died, it hadn’t felt like this.I shouldn’t have come.
Suzanne gently nudged my arm, encouraging me forward. Easy for her. Mason was just a client to her. He was the man I loved, the man I had turned my back on when things got tough and I couldn’t cope.
I still couldn’t cope.
Mason continued to remain rigid. I gave him a tentative smile, searching for a sign that he understood why I’d had to walk away from him in Atlantic City…and why I would have to walk away again.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Suzanne said. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.”
Mason and I nodded. I waited for her to be out of hearing range before saying, “So…how’s it going?” I smoothed a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Good. You?”
“Great. Blooming Love is almost ready to open. The contractors did a great job with the renovation. The store looks even better than before.” I was babbling, but I couldn’t help it. It was that or fling myself into Mason’s arms, and from the cautiousness in his tone, I didn’t think he would appreciate me doing that.
I shifted on my feet, the Christmas present suddenly heavy in my hand. I held it out to him. “It’s a few days early, but…merry Christmas.”
Mason didn’t move for a second, then took the small box and freed it from the wrapping. He opened the lid and removed a man’s bracelet, which consisted of a string of small purple amethyst and black onyx beads. A tiny silver butterfly charm dangled from it.
“It’s a healing bracelet,” I said, immediately feeling stupid for giving it to him. According to the website I had ordered it from, the gemstones were supposed to support recovery from addictions. I had no idea if it was true or not…just as I had no idea whether Mason would throw the bracelet in the trash once I left.
“Thank you.” His voice was low, without a hint of emotion. To me it felt like a blunt knife thrust into my gut. I reeled back a half step.
He slipped the bracelet on. “I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t get you anything,” he said, still studying at it.
“You don’t have to give me anything. You being alive is enough of a gift.” My voice cracked on the word “alive,” and I blinked away the tears threatening to reveal how much his reaction hurt.
His head snapped up, eyes narrowed to slits. “I didn’t mean to overdose. I wasn’t trying to commit suicide.”
