Page 55 of Mason
He slides his hands up the sides of my thighs, dragging the fabric of my dress out of the way. His hands on my bare skin makes me tremble. His voice is husky when he asks, “But what, Kintsukuroi?”
That brings my gaze flying back to him. I squint. “I’m going to look that up because I know you won’t tell me.”Kint-soo-ko-roy. Who the hell knows how it’s spelled, though.
He smirks. “You’d be right. Now, what were you saying?”
I drag in a ragged breath. “I used to look at all the university students who came in and think,That’s what I’m killing myself for.To be able to go to school and then eventually be able to support myself—be able to hang out on a Friday night and have burgers and fries with my friends instead of being the one doing the serving. It’s something I wasn’t sure I’d ever earn enough to swing.” She heaves out a sigh. “I guess it was for nothing, with Tristan putting me through school, no matter how dickish he is about it.”
“No. I highly doubt you learned nothing from that experience. We always learn from the shit we go through. How long did you work there?”
He catches me by surprise with that little wisdom bomb. And he’s right. I learned plenty, I suppose, about people. About how the world works. “From when I was fifteen to the day before Tristan brought me here and told me I was done at the diner.”
“I have my own thoughts about Tristan telling you that you can’t work, but I don’t want to get off track.” He gestures to the headstone I had been napping next to. “So, how do you know Juliette?”
Eyes widening, I shift, glancing back over my shoulder. “I, um—” I inhale sharply. “She didn’t want anyone to know, but I guess that hasn’t mattered in a very long time. Her dad is a dick. Very controlling. I worked with her there while she was trying to save up. We were in similar situations, just at complete opposite ends of the social spectrum.”
“So, tell me—if Duke’s girlfriend also worked at Stella’s, why would he turn that into something of a dig when it comes to you?”
I frown, looking into his deep, dark eyes. “What are you getting at?”
“It’s something to think about, that’s all. Maybe something you might eventually want to ask him.” His lips twist. “I don’t think he means what you think he does, and that’s all I’m fucking saying about it.” He lets out a long sigh, eyeing me warily. “Your turn.”
I exhale hard, frowning. I don’t know what Mason is getting at, but I’m too focused on what I want to ask him to put any more thought into it at the moment. My heart pounds hard, and I toy with the material of his shirt, twisting it with my fingers. “Remember what you promised?”
His fingers dig into my hips like he’s trying to hold onto his sanity by holding onto me. I have to assume he knows what I’m going to ask, but you never know.Is he nervous?
He clears his throat roughly. “Yeah. Go ahead. I promise not to flip the fuck out. Can’t guarantee much more than that, though.”
I catch the corner of my lip between my teeth and chew on it, trying to figure out the best way to ask. In the end, there’s just no easier way to do it except to forge straight forward. “The woman in the images, the one you— Well, I assume you mistook me for her out on the balcony. Who is she?”
He drags in an unsteady breath, his eyes darting to mine for a split second before his head drops. “Why do you want to know?”
“Mason.” I duck my head a bit trying to get him to meet my gaze, but it doesn’t do much good. This guy is shutting down faster than Blockbuster. “I think at this point I kinda deserve some answers, don’t you?”
“Fair enough.” His hands grasp my waist, and, to my surprise, he lifts me from his lap. He sets me on my feet at his side. He stands, then stoops to grab his things, slipping the sketchbook and pencil I’d seen him with earlier into the bag, then takes off toward the path that winds through the graveyard.
Perplexed, I have no choice but to follow his quick strides that are eating up the ground at an astounding rate. I finally catch him a few moments later and walk at his side for a little bit, occasionally sneaking peeks over at him. The smooth cut of his jaw is rigid, but a slight twitch of the muscle at the back betrays his upset at the question I asked. I have no idea of what else he could have possibly thought I’d ask him, but here we are. After a short walk, we reach another pretty spot in the cemetery. “She’s there.” He points at a headstone.
Lily Mikaelson. I knew. But I wasn’t ready for the punch in the gut when I verify by the date of her birth that this is likely Mason’s mother or the absolute anguish when I read that the date of death was thirteen years ago. Mason would have been around eight years old. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew the person visiting him in his dreams and in all his waking nightmares—the person who torments him so—I knew it was his mother.
He gets my attention, pointing at the headstone. “You’ve seen. Now can we get the fuck outta here?”
I have to give him credit where it’s due. He hasn’t flown into a mad frenzy. He’s almost eerily calm. In a way, it’s worse because I don’t know what is ticking around in that dark heart of his.
“Yes. I just needed to know.” I reach out to touch his arm, but he pulls it away.
Mason tilts his head to the side, staring coldly at me. “Did you, though?” He turns on his heel and begins to walk away, stalking through the cemetery, back the way we came.
Everything in me wants to soothe his pain. I hurry to catch up and grab his bicep with both hands, pulling hard on it. He stops, pivoting, his jaw clenching hard. “What, Lennon? You saw her. You got your fucking answer.” The lost look on his face spears me right in the heart.
“Don’t do this. I thought—” My eyes crash shut.I thought we understood each other.
“You thought wrong,” he grinds out, looking away.
I don’t accept what he’s saying. I know he knew what I was about to say about us. “Whatever. Next time keep the poetic reflection-in-the-broken-mirror bullshit to yourself if you don’t really mean it, asshole.”
He draws in a steady inhale through his nostrils. Like I’m testing his patience or something. “Let’s just fucking go,” he grits out. “I’m sure Duke is chomping at the bit to get at you after you took off like you did.”
Holy shit, the entire locked-bathroom-door horror comes rushing back to me. “Maybe if he’d quit saying dickish things, I wouldn’t feel the need to be alone to collect my thoughts. He was being perfectly nice. He helped me, was totally there for me when I freaked out, and then—”
