Chapter 34

Nicole

The Spanish-style building beckoned me with its peaceful exterior, as did the lush green plants grouped along the curved stone pathway. The rehab center didn’t resemble the sterile institution I had originally expected. It looked more like a fancy spa. Although from what I’d read about the place, it did offer treatments similar to those found in a spa.

I caught sight of a stray butterfly flitting about the purple flowers on the leafy vines tangled around the tall metal fence between stone columns. The butterfly seemed happy to be here. I only hoped Mason would be that happy when he saw me.

I’d done as Callie had suggested, waiting two weeks before visiting, but as I walked to the front entrance, palms sweaty, I wondered if my being here was a big mistake. Maybe it was too soon to visit him. Maybe I shouldn’t have come at all, so he could move on with his life.

I stood in front of the entrance, deliberating whether I should turn around or go in. Mason had no idea I was coming, so it wasn’t like he would think I’d abandoned him yet again if I didn’t show up. But I also knew that was what a coward would do, and when it came to Mason, I wasn’t a coward. He needed to know that I hadn’t turned my back on him like his family had. I had done what was best for both of us. Or so I kept telling myself.

I removed my phone from my purse and, with a long sigh, called the one person whose voice I really needed to hear right now. The one person who didn’t know about my feelings for Mason.

Zack answered after a few rings. “Hey, sis. How’s everything going?”

“Great.” Or not. “I’m about to visit Mason in rehab.” I attempted to sound casual about it, like I would if announcing I was at the grocery store to buy bananas.

Zack didn’t say anything at first, and for a second I thought we might have been disconnected. “Is there something I don’t know that maybe I should?” he eventually asked. “Or rather something that I’ve suspected but figured I had to be wrong about, because Mason isn’t your type?”

“If you mean do I have feelings for him, strong feelings”—now was probably not the time to tell him that I was in love with Mason—“then the answer is yes. He’s my friend and I want to make sure he’s doing okay.”

“Nicole, this is me you’re talking to. You’ve never been good at lying to me.”

True. But usually he had to see me to know I was lying. “So we can save time here,” I said, “what answer are you really looking for?”

“Are you in love with Mason?” He didn’t sound at all surprised—or too upset.

“Yes. I am.”

“Even now that you know about his past?” I had already filled Zack in on what I’d found out about his involvement when Mason had attempted suicide all those years ago. And he knew that Mason had recently relapsed.

“Yes, even though I know about his past.”

“And nothing I can say will change that?”

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “Nothing.”

He let out a long breath. “Well, good luck. Just know that I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

We said our goodbyes, with him hinting heavily that I should tell Mason that Zack would come after him if he hurt me. I just rolled my eyes and ended the call.

I opened the front door and stepped into the lobby, which instantly made me think of a high-end hotel. The Spanish-style architecture continued in here too, but the area had also been decorated for Christmas, with a huge fake pine tree covered in white lights standing proud in the corner.

Rich wooden support beams ran across the ceiling, further adding warmth to the place, as did the patterned tapestries covering the white walls and the sconces on either side of the artwork. Classical Christmas music played in the background.

I walked to the reception desk, my heels clicking against the wooden floor. The woman behind the desk looked up from her computer and smiled as I approached.

“Good afternoon. How can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m Nicole McCormick. I was told it would be okay to visit Mason Dell?” I hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question.

“Is he expecting you?”

I shook my head. “No.” The word came out as a squeak, and I coughed to make it sound like I had to clear my throat.

She tapped on her keyboard and studied the screen. “He’s in a counseling session right now, but as soon as he’s out, I’ll have someone tell him you’re here.”

“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.”

“I know,” I said softly. “It was an accident.” I wrapped my arms around myself.

Mason turned his head toward the mountains, the tension in his muscles even tighter now. He stayed like this for several seconds before releasing a heavy breath, as though the weight of the world was sitting square on his shoulders and he had no idea what to do with it.

Suddenly he turned back to me and closed the distance between us. Before I could react, his arms encircled me. At first his hold on me was loose, his arms slightly stiff, as if he was afraid to touch me, but then he pulled me against his body and relaxed into me.

He kissed my temple. “I still love you, Nicole.” His voice was gruff with emotion, yet his words felt like a soft caress. “But we always knew this would never work between us.”

My heart ached at his words, but he was right. Our lives were moving in different directions. Once he was released, he’d be back to touring, possibly putting himself at risk again. There would be no place in his life for me.

I hugged him back, head on his chest, tears leaking onto his T-shirt. “I love you too,” I managed to say past the lump in my throat. Sucking in a sharp breath that bordered on a sob, I pulled away. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I smiled, the expression genuine although a little shaky, my body already regretting the loss of him against me. “By the way, congratulations on becoming a headlining band. The band deserves it. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” he said, his tone once again free of emotion. I couldn’t tell if he was excited or not. But in the grand scheme of things, I supposed, it didn’t really matter. He was alive to witness his success—that was more important.

We talked for a little longer after that, avoiding discussing the band and what had happened on the night he’d OD’d. He told me about his time in rehab, how he was actually enjoying yoga (I had to laugh at that), and how he got to play the piano in the rec room. His face lit up when he shared that, and a warm feeling snuggled up inside me. I told him about the upcoming reopening and how Bernie missed him, but there was no escaping how much I missed him too, even though I didn’t say the words. I also told him that Zack said hi, but kept what else he had said on the phone to myself.

Eventually I knew I couldn’t stay any longer. I needed to walk away, and I needed to do it now, before it was too late.

As much as I craved the feeling of his lips on mine once more, we didn’t kiss. We hugged like friends who were saying their final goodbyes. Somehow I kept from crying, though barely. That was a small miracle in itself.

We didn’t say “I love you” either. It had already been said, and that was enough.

Walking away was the hardest thing I had ever done. My body and my heart begged me to turn around and stay with him. Even my brain was having a hard time knowing what was the right thing to do.

I returned to my car and climbed in. But instead of starting the engine, I let my grief consume me—and cried enough tears to turn the desert into an ocean before I finally drove away.