Page 12 of Mason Wilder
Mason ran his fingers through his short hair and blew out a breath. “Christ.” He neversuspected that Tessa was in love with him. He never saw any signs and was still shocked by her admission. It left him dazed and second guessing every interaction between them. He tried to recall conversations that they’d had in the past, searching for innuendo or comments he’d missed. Yeah, she’d been a flirtatious little girl, enamored by her big brother and his best friend. She would be riveted as he and Lucas played music together, often happy to simply sit and watch them or dance around the room instead of playing with her toys. She had idolized them both, but he thought it was normal, and she outgrew it.
Maybe he never read into her dazzling smile and wide-eyed gazes because she was significantly younger than him. Seven years wasn’t a big deal right now, but it had been when she was three and he was 10. And when she was 10 and he was 17. He had always viewed her as a little girl with a personality twice her size. His lips raised at the corners as he remembered the vivacious and boisterous attitude that had been prevalent since the day she was born. One thing about Tessa, she took charge of every situation and demanded attention. She was strong-willed and hard-headed. She knew what she wanted and went after it. She ran the band with an iron-clad fist, never accepting anything less than 100% from each of them, and even more from herself.
He had a decade of experience in the music industry over Tessa and Lucas. He’d toured the world with internationally acclaimed bands, but she ran Prodigy. She ran the show, and heaven forbid something or someone got in its path. She had a keen business sense and was as sharp as a whip. Nothing got past her.
He crossed the length of his apartment and stepped onto the balcony. The rich scent of carbon monoxide rose from the bustling New York City streets below filled with trucks, taxi cabs and traffic. He took a deep breath and smiled. It smelled like home. Central Park, with its lush greenery, served as a soft backdrop to the harsh concrete that surrounded it. Staring off into the distance, forgetting about the noise and activity below, he dazed out as his mind once again reverted to Tessa. He took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. “Tessa, you just blew my fucking mind.” His phone rang and he jumped, sure it was Tessa who always had some kind of weird mental telepathy, but it was his dad.
“Welcome home, Mase!”
“Hey, Pop. How’d you know I was back already?”
“Do you think a Wilder is gonna slip into this city unrecognized?”
It was common knowledge that he and his parents were residents of the Upper West Side, but his dad was the one who caused a near riot and couldn’t step out of the house without a group of bodyguards. Although a star in his own right, Mason’s fandom didn’t encompass one-tenth of the magnitude his father commanded. Plus, he was more mellow, and the fans treated him as such. “I guess a 50-foot tour bus with Prodigy’s logo plastered across the side traveling down Fifth Avenue was a dead giveaway,” he said, smiling at the knowledge that his dad was only a few blocks away.
“It’s already all over social media. Drop by after you get settled. I miss ya, Mase.”
“Miss you, too, Dad. Tell Mom and Aunt Mary I’ll be there in a bit. I just want to grab a shower. And tell Michael I’m bringing a special treat.”
Mason took his Lambo rather than walking, which would have been quicker than mid-day traffic, but he missed driving the vehicle. Lamborghini was sort of a signature brand for his family. His parents had gone through an array of color changes over the years and recently settled on twin black-on-black models. Mason’s was a deep charcoal with tan interior. When he was a kid, his dad had owned a bright red Lambo and had bought his mom a bright yellow one as a surprise. At the time, he thought it was the best present in the world and couldn’t imagine anyone getting such an extravagant gift. By the time he was 10 he realized that dropping two hundred grand on a gift for no special reason was commonplace in this family.
The familiar white and blue peaks of his favorite fast food joint made him swoop across two lanes of traffic and into the rare available parking space on Sixth Avenue. He ran inside, causing a small uproar as fans recognized him but staff came to his aid right away, and he was back in his car with two boxes filled with sliders in a New York minute. He stuffed two in his mouth before he pulled back into traffic, groaning with pleasure. There had been franchises in some of the cities he’d visited over the last few months, but no one did food like New York. And no one made a hamburger like White Castle.
By the time he took the private elevator up to his parents’ penthouse, one of the boxes was a half dozen shy. The doors opened directly into the apartment, and his little brother flew into his arms like Spiderman. He lifted the 10-year-old with one arm and gave him a hug, while trying not to drop the two boxes of White Castle. “I missed ya, Michael. Did you invent the next viral video game while I was gone?”
“I’m still working on it. Give me a few more weeks.”
The kid was a genius. A whiz at technology. Uninterested in music like Mason and their dad, or running Falcon Records like their mom, the kid was all about designing and creating video games.
“Mase!” His dad’s voice echoed in the open floor plan as he approached wearing the signature Wilder smile.
Mason found himself trapped in a big bear hug, which he heartily returned.
“How does it feel to be home?” his dad asked.
“Great. Sorry, you weren’t my first stop.” He grinned and motioned to Michael, who sat on the floor with an open box of White Castle in his lap, happily chewing with a smile of satisfaction.
His dad laughed. “I can’t believe you taught your brother to eat those things.”
“Mom! Mase is home!” Michael yelled with his face turned up toward the ceiling.
She came in from the other room wearing a tailored business suit complete with leather embellishments, obviously one of Jessi Blade’s designs. Her blond hair was still shoulder length, and she looked like she hadn’t aged a day in twenty years. She kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy you’re home. I miss you so much when you’re on the road. At least this time you were with people I actually trust.” She waggled her finger at him. “You forget that I know exactly what happens on a tour bus.”
“White Castle?” Michael held up the rectangular box, offering one to his mother.
Her jaw fell open, and she playfully shook her head at Mason. “I can’t believe you brought fast food. We have a kitchen filled with gourmet meals and snacks. Are you hungry?”
She still had a personal chef who cooked every day, but Mason loved nothing more than White Castle. He plucked another burger from the box and stuffed it into his mouth. “I’m good.”
“Is that my Mason?” Aunt Mary’s sweet high-pitched voice carried through the room over the hum of her electric wheelchair as it glided toward him over the Brazilian Cherrywood. “Mason! I’m so happy you’re home!”
“Aunt Mary!”
Her hair was stark white now, without a hint of its original color which, only a few months ago, had clung to a few stubborn strands which refused to give in to the aging process. There were more wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, but she still beamed at him from behind her silver-rimmed glasses. He glanced down at the pink Burberry blanket that covered her knees. It didn’t matter if it was 90 degrees outside, she still had to have a blanket over her legs, and this pink plaid one, a gift he had given her on Mother’s Day, was her favorite.
He eradicated the distance between them in a few quick strides, happy to see her most of all. She gripped the arms of her chair tightly and started to rise, her body shaking from the simple effort.
“Aunt Mary, sit.” He touched her soft shoulder, concerned about her attempt to leave her wheelchair.
