Page 74 of Played
“No plane tonight, little guy,” Nathan says, taking a seat beside his wife. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
Luke doesn’t seem overly bothered by that and goes back to showing me his toy. He stays on my lap for the next thirty minutes, and his family declares it a feat for him to remain still for so long. I enjoy his chatter about planes and zoo animals, and when he stops to catch his breath, I tell him how much I like them too.
When he starts yawning, Nathan scoops him from my lap and declares he definitely needs to go back to bed.
“I’m tired too. I’m going to head to bed myself.” Mason runs a hand through his hair, and while he does look tired, that tic in his jaw tells me he’s pissed. I have no idea what’s going on with him. Did something happen?
I place my glass on the coffee table. “I’ll come with you.”
“No,” he says a little too quickly for my liking. “I’m worn out, so I’m gonna go straight to sleep. Stay with my family and have fun.”
They all wish him goodnight, and he walks out of the room. None of his brothers, their wives, or his father seem at all perturbed by his early departure. Elijah mentions how hard he’s been working, and they all make sympathetic noises, but nobody else saw what I did. Mason kept that trademark smile on his face when he spoke to them, but he was upset about something.
Fuck, I’m such an asshole. Of course he’s upset, seeing me sitting here with his family like I fit in. Having me back in this place—the same place where we used to make out on his bed while we listened to Green Day. The place where we first had sex. Where we secretly fell in love all those years ago. My memories of being in this house are all good because they all involve him. But I fucked up his memories of us when I broke his heart.
I shouldn’t have come here with him.
I down my Scotch, wish everyone goodnight, and leave.
Chapter
Thirty-Six
MASON
Ican’t get the sound of his laugh out of my head. The image of him sitting on the sofa next to Mel, bouncing Luke on his knee is burned into my mind. King was so at ease with my whole family. Like he belongs here with them. With me.
All of this should make me happy, so why doesn’t it? Why does anger burn in my veins like my blood is made of fire? It makes no sense at all.
I unclench my fists and stare at the crescent-shaped grooves my clipped nails have left in the soft flesh of my palms. It’s a pity I took down my old punching bag. I sure could use it. The urge to punch a hole through the goddamn wall is fierce.
There’s a knock on my door, and my body responds the way it always does when he’s near, sizzling with energy. But this time it’s drowned out by my rage. “Mase, can I come in?” he asks.
Can’t exactly say no. This is his room tonight too. I’ll tell him I’m tired again. We can get some sleep, and maybe I won’t feel like this in the morning. “Yeah,” I grunt.
A few seconds later, he’s standing in front of me. “Everything okay?” he asks.
I refuse to look up at him. “Yeah. I’m just tired.”
He steps between my spread thighs. “You sure? Did I do something wrong?”
I look up and find him staring at me with concern. “You tell me, King.”
“I would if I knew, but I have no idea. Seems you’re pissed at me about something, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby,” I snarl, and I’m shocked at the vicious edge to my tone.
“Then tell me what’s wrong.”
I jump up and push him out of the way. I can’t stand him looming over me. Having him so damn close is only fueling my anger. “I don’t fucking know.”
He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah you do.”
I run my hands through my hair and shake my head.
He takes a few steps closer, invading my space once more. “You do, but I think maybe you’re too scared to say it.”
I snort. Is he fucking kidding me? “Don’t fucking psychoanalyze me, King. I’m not a case you can solve.”
