Page 32 of Mason Wilder
A basketball bounced across the rooftop deck, courtesy of a six-foot punk rocker with a giant blue Mohawk. Damien palmed the ball. “Set it up right there,” he told Tommy, pointing to a spot on the deck.
“Papi, are you gonna join us for a game of B Ball?” Lucas asked Angel, who was the last to enter the rooftop.
“God, no,” Angel replied. “I packed a lunch.”
Mason laughed. “Cool. I’m hungry.” He went to his dad and they exchanged a hug. “So how should we do this?” Mason asked. “Young guns against the old dudes? Or the Wilders against the Blades and we flip a coin for Damien?”
Damien held the basketball on his hip, then chucked it at Mason. Hard. “Who you calling old dudes?”
Mason caught the ball with a grunt. Clearly, not Damien. “Just my pops and Tommy,” he replied with a lopsided smile.
“Tell ya what.” A sinister grin spread across Damien’s face. “I’ll play with the old dudes. They need all the help they can get.”
This side of the rooftop was void of furniture, with ample room to run and dribble, which was a good thing because they needed every inch of it. Mason’s dad, Tommy and Damien ran and jumped like athletes. It wasn’t that surprising considering they’ve been performing a highly-active punk rock show for decades. The shows today were as active as they’d been when Mason was a kid. “You sure you guys don’t need a nap?” Mason asked with a laugh. His dad, Tommy and Damien were running circles around him and Lucas.
“I can go all night long,” Tommy boasted. “I’m used to it. I got a husband and a wife to keep up with.”
“I can vouch for that!” Angel called from the chaise lounge where he sat sipping a cocktail from a salt-rimmed glass. “Tommy has the stamina of an 18-year old!”
“They ain’t kidding,” Mason’s dad added. “I still share a tour bus with them.”
Damien, the tallest and leanest of them all, slam dunked another basket. “You kiddos better get ready to serve us old dudes our lunch, cuz we’re about to whip your butts.”
Mason took control of the ball, bounced it around his dad and took the shot. “Score!” He gloated with a hearty laugh directed at Damien, which earned him a menacing scowl.
Damien stole the ball, dribbled it across the rooftop and tried to pass it to Tommy, but Mason, blocked it and stole the ball back.
“Over here!” Lucas called running toward the basket. Mason threw the ball to Lucas, who caught it and slammed it into the basket, winning the game.
“Yes!” Mason shouted. He raised a fist toward the sky and chest bumped Lucas in victory.
“What the fuck, Jimmy?” Tommy approached Mason’s dad, arms spread wide. “You were supposed to cover Lucas. He was wide open. We could’ve fucking won.”
“I was covering him.” Mason’s dad replied. “He shot out of reach in a flash. That’s one quick cat.”
“Pay attention next time.” Tommy picked up the basketball and threw it at Mason’s dad, hitting him square in the chest, much harder than expected. Tommy’s mouth fell open, and he let out a small laugh. “Sorry, Jimbo.”
Mason’s dad put his hand to his wounded chest. “You’re a dead man, Blade!” He chased Tommy around the rooftop and the two ended up grappling like teenagers.
Damien grunted a laugh and corralled Mason and Lucas under his long arms and led them to the patio table. “And you guys are supposed to be the kids in this scenario. Let’s see what Angel brought for lunch.”
Angel stood as they approached and fanned his hand in front of the spread on the table. “We have sweet rolls, corn salsa with mint and lime, fresh plantain chips, boniato con mojo, which are sweet potatoes, roasted Brussels sprouts with braised pork belly, and grilled pork tenderloin, with mojo, of course.”
“It looks great, Papi,” Lucas said. “I’m starved.”
Mason watched his dad and Tommy walk toward the table, an arm slung over the other’s shoulder which portrayed decades of friendship. Tommy still had his trademark long blond hair and Mason’s dad never got rid of the sideburns that reached his chin, and his pompadour remained gelled in place, even after the hectic basketball game.
“Where’s the steaks?” his dad asked, looking down at the table.
“On the grill. They’ll be done in two more minutes. I know how you Wilders love your beef.” Angel went to the barbecue to brush the steaks with another coating of his special glaze, and a heavenly aroma blew across the rooftop.
“What about you, Damien?” Mason asked, noting that Damien was already filling his plate with a large amount of the tenderloin. “Don’t you want steak?”
Damien shrugged. “I ate most of my meals at Angel’s house when I was young. Before I met my girl. So I always go for the pork.” He grabbed a roll and slapped Angel on the back. “Save me a piece of that steak, though.” Then he strolled over to the side of the building to face the water.
Mason’s dad and Lucas headed over to the grill, plates in hand waiting for the steaks, butTommy grabbed a beer from the cooler and sat across the table facing Mason.
Tommy flipped the cap between his fingers, staring straight at Mason. “So. You and my daughter.”
Mason’s jaw fell open and the corners of his mouth curled upward. It was like déjà vu. Not only did Tommy ask the same question, but he played with his beer cap just as Lucas had. These two were as alike as father and son could be, and not just in the physical resemblance either. Mason gave Tommy one of his contagious smiles. “Don’t sweat it, man. Lucas already read me my rights. Hurt my sister and I’ll kick your ass,” he paraphrased, which summed it up nicely.
“That’s my boy,” Tommy said with pride. “Seriously, Mase. I couldn’t pick a better guy for her. I don’t know why it took so long, though. You two should have been together years ago.”
“Thanks, man.” Mason was humbled. Both Tommy and Lucas were overly protective of Tessa, and their approval meant a lot to him. “You’re right. We should have been together years ago.”
Angel set the steaks down on the table, then placed his hand on Mason’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “We’re just happy you two finally figured it out. You have no idea how it was killing me not to say anything to Tessa. There were so many times when we were cooking together that she would relay a story of something amazing you did in the studio or on stage, and I could see the love she had for you as clear as day. Her eyes would sparkle and her entire face would light up.” Angel sighed. “It was very romantic.”
Mason had seen that look in her eyes, as well, but he thought it was the music that had Tessa so enamored. Now, he realized it was him.
