Avery
Everyone is looking at me like they all know. The girl in front of me in class kept turning around and smiling. I think she sensed my mood—I feel ridiculous that I thought last night was anything more than it was.
Before I woke up this morning, alone in Mason’s bed, I was dreaming. My subconscious actually went to the place where Mason and I are some happy couple, moving into our first house together, picking up Max from school together, going to the grocery store together. Then I woke up—alone. He didn’t even leave a note.
I thought about calling him. I programmed his number from my dad’s phone when I left this morning to take Max to school. I thought about calling him all the way to my class. Then I thought about calling him during my drive back to Max’s school. I’m still fuming, and the closer we get to Dusty’s, the more I want to take one of those golf clubs to his headlights—and then his head.
“Is Mason going to be at Grandpa’s?” Max asks from the backseat. His question has me so baffled—I almost drive off the road. Max doesn’t look forward to people. He looks forward to earning things, like game time or his next chocolate milk. He’s never once asked about seeing his grandpa or Claire. Why Mason? And of all days to ask, I swear he’s intuitive.
“I don’t know, Max. I think he has rehearsal with his band,” I say, secretly hoping Mason’s car is in the lot when we pull in—for Max’s sake, of course.
Max doesn’t respond, but instead, continues to move his finger around the iPad in the backseat. I’ve gotten used to the one-sided conversations with Max—once he gets the information he’s looking for, he’s done. It’s something we’re working on, closing out conversations and taking an interest in what other people have to say. I tell myself that’s why I’m about to ask him the question I’m about to ask.
“Why do you want to see Mason?” I ask, my eyes darting around the parking lot as we pull in. His car isn’t here. Damn.
Max doesn’t answer, which isn’t anything unusual, except usually he’s not answering my question about how he enjoyed class, or therapy, or a visit with one of his doctors. And I should care about those answers more than I do this one—but I don’t.
When I park, I take off my seatbelt and turn completely around in my seat so I can face Max. “Did you hear me, Max?” I ask, his eyes moving rapidly around the surface of the iPad, his body language completely tuning me out.
I put my hand on the screen to distract him, and he jerks it away, continuing to play whatever game he’s working on. I am walking a fine line right now, and I know I could have kicking and screaming in seconds if I’m not careful; I reach again for the iPad. I don’t block it, but I put a small amount of pressure on it with my finger, tilting it just enough to distract Max, and I ask him again.
“Max, you can keep playing this as soon as you answer my question. Why do you want to see Mason?” I ask, my breath held, and my inner voice praying he just answers. I can see his breathing picking up, and I can tell he’s frustrated. His finger keeps moving around the iPad, but I know he’s having a difficult time seeing the screen at the angle I have it. His frustration is building, and I’m about to give in…
“I need him to teach me something,” he says, and I let go of the iPad, and he continues on with his game.
“Okay, well I’m sure he will be around later,” I say, getting my things and stepping out of the car. I wait outside his door, not opening it, for a few seconds, just looking at him through the window—watching him live in his own little world. I know he didn’t say he wanted to hang out with Mason. Mason has something he wants, and that’s what Max is focusing on.
But what he said still scratches at me. Max has never asked to learn something from someone. He’s resourceful—he answers most of his own questions with the help of YouTube. But he used the word need just now. He said he needed Mason. I keep playing it over and over in my head, and it both thrills me and terrifies me at the same time.
I don’t have a poker face. It’s a skill I always wished I possessed, especially with Claire. She doesn’t have much of a filter. So basically, I’m an open book for her to analyze without punishment. She’s on to me the second I walk in, and I know I only have a few minutes before she’s at the lockers with me, swapping shifts.
“What happened? Adam wants you back, doesn’t he?” she asks. It’s funny how far from the center of my anxiety she is. Under any other circumstances, my dinner with Adam last night would have been enough to wreck me for days. But then I kissed Mason. And slept in his arms. And he left without saying a word this morning. And somehow that’s the part I don’t want to talk about. So I go with her lead. Yeah, let’s be angry with Adam for a while.
“He’s getting married,” I say, knowing that will be enough to set Claire off. I’m right, and she spends the next ten minutes swearing and questioning, getting bits of answers from me at a time until she has the entire story. I let my friend be angry, and I love her for it. I listen to her say all of the things that went through my head—and the entire time, I think about Mason.
“What are you going to do?” she says, and her question jolts me back. I haven’t really thought about it, not that there’s much to do, so I just shrug.
“I have to think about things,” I say, turning to walk back into the bar. Claire follows, and I can hear her muttering behind me. My dad is at the bar, so I head his way to help him dry glasses and get ready for the night crowd. I give Claire a knowing glance, and thankfully she picks up on it. I’m not ready to have the Adam conversation with my dad yet, so she quickly changes subjects.
“So, when’s Mason coming in,” she asks, and for some reason my heart skips, like she hit an open nerve. I stare at the glass in my hands—shining and drying, and hoping like hell my friend doesn’t start exploring this topic instead.
“He’s rehearsing with the guys. Probably won’t see him tonight,” my dad says, kind of gruffly. He grabs an empty bin, leaving me there to finish the rest of the glasses alone.
“Uh oh, looks like Mason pissed your pop off,” Claire teases. I keep my stare on my work and raise my brow a little with a shrug. It’s not the best acting, but please let it be enough.
Claire heads to the corner to talk with Max, getting him ready to take home. I finally breathe now that her spotlight is gone. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m letting Mason consume me, and all the while, I have this unbelievably enormous other worry that I should be tending to. Adam is getting married, and he basically wants to disown Max.
Max never asks about his dad. He doesn’t remember him, and I don’t bring him up. It’s probably not the best parenting. But, I have thought this through a thousand times. Max’s therapists don’t really see the value in me having a conversation with Max about Adam, and over the years, the topic has just faded into nothingness. I had a worry in the back of my mind that one day Adam would just reappear and want to be a part of Max’s life. But now…
“I’m pretty sure that one’s dry now,” I hear Cole’s voice over my shoulder.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, lost in my thoughts there,” I smile, and move on to the next line of glasses.
“So, your dad’s pretty much been in a shit mood all morning. Adam bring that on?” Cole asks, tentatively. He’s never been very nosey. In fact, it took him months to ask about Max’s autism.
“Probably. Dad is possibly the only person who hates Adam more than I do,” I laugh. It’s true, though; I’m honestly surprised my father didn’t sock Adam in the jaw yesterday.
Cole nods at my answer and lifts the last bin of glasses up on his shoulder to carry to the back. “Well, maybe we can make Mason deal with him tonight then,” he says. I freeze, unable to follow the line of his sight to the front door where I know Mason has just entered.
I’m hyperventilating. I can feel my ears filling up—the few sounds in the bar muffled by the oncoming panic attack. I’m going to pass out if I don’t do something, so I crouch down behind the bar and sit with my knees pulled up by my chin, forcing myself to take in deep breaths. I can’t believe this is happening—I’ve survived so many more stressful situations, and this one…this one...is the one that’s going to take me off my feet? I can hear Ben’s laugh—his cackle—and it makes my entire body wash over with a wave of nausea.
I lie down completely now on the slip pad on the floor, my knees bent, and my forearms draped over my head. This is not happening! I can barely hear their voices, but I know the entire band is here. I bet they spent the afternoon listening to Mason talk about me, and how easy I am.
“Avery? What the hell, you’re on the floor!” Claire says, a little louder than I would have liked.
“Shhhhh, just shhhhh!” I say, waving my arm over my head. “I’m fine. Got dizzy. Please, don’t draw attention to me.”
She comes over to sit next to me on the floor, and puts a towel filled with ice on my head and neck. The coldness shocks me a little, but I’m suddenly hearing again and the room is no longer closing in on me.
“Thanks,” I say, wincing at her.
“You should go home. And you shouldn’t drive. I can get Max, let me go get him from Mason,” she says, and I react by grabbing her arm—my fatal error. Claire’s eyes narrow on my grip, and I can see her piece everything together in seconds, and all I have left is my ability to beg.
“Oh. My. God!” she says, again, louder than I’d wish. “You…and Mason!”
“Claire, I’m begging you. Pleeeeeeease!” I whisper roughly, pouring on my best pleading look—hoping she has some line drawn somewhere in her mind that sets off when she’s making her best friend uncomfortable.
“I just need the bare minimum,” she asks, smirk on her face. She’s bribing me—only this time, instead of dirt on someone else or some cute new guy at the bar, she’s strong-arming me for embarrassing details about myself.
“We…kissed,” I say, keeping it very vague. When her face lights up, I know I’ve given her enough. But I also know I’ll be spilling everything soon.
Claire stands back up and continues to act naturally at the bar, looking down at me every few seconds while I work to sit up and get to my feet.
“Where is he?” I ask, now sitting with my legs crossed and my eyes right at Claire’s knees.
“He’s still over in the corner, with Max,” she says. I take a giant big-girl breath and smooth out the loose strand in my hair. I was banking on the few extra minutes alone to really get my legs back, and to figure out whether or not I want to be angry or coy, but he’s already spotted me and is headed my direction.
“You’re here,” he smiles, like nothing’s wrong. Of course I’m here; I’m always here. Jackass.
“Yep,” is all I say. All that time stewing, all of those pretend conversations, giving him a piece of my mind, and that’s the best I can do. Yep. At least I was short, and I can tell he knows I’m pissed.
“Come with me,” he says, grabbing my hand faster than I can pull it away, and walking me around to the front of the bar. I’m expecting him to walk me outside so we can talk about what a mistake last night was privately, but instead, he stops in the middle of the restaurant, pulls out a chair, and proceeds to climb on top of it, reluctantly letting go of my fingers. My brain is telling me now would be a good time to run, but my heart is literally drumming in my throat, and dizziness is threatening again.
“Excuse me, everyone! Guys? Hey, can I have everyone’s attention?” he’s yelling, waving a hand over his head. The bar isn’t Friday-night kind of crowded, but there’s a good amount of people here—at least thirty or forty—and they’re all looking at the unshaven man with the mortified girl standing below him. Just to be sure everyone is watching, Ben stands on a table at the other end of the room and whistles with his fingers.
“I got your back, buddy,” Ben winks and holds up a bottle of beer.
“Thanks, man!” Mason says, his smile huge. He’s loving this—whatever this is. “You all know Avery here, right?”
A couple of whistles have my face absolutely burning with embarrassment, and I cover my face with my hand, staring at my feet.
“She’s cute when she’s shy, isn’t she?” he says, and somehow I know I am now even redder. Oh my god, what is he doing?
“Well, I appreciate y’all indulging me here, but I just wanted to let you know that I like her. I like her…a lot! And we haven’t really talked this out yet—” he says, then leans down to whisper to me, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there this morning. I had something important.”
He stands back up to continue, but keeps his eyes on mine, holding our gaze with a serious look before letting his dimples slide in place again. My heart has literally stopped. My eyes are wide, and the words Mason is saying have me wanting desperately to smile—but shock has taken over everything.
“Anyhow, I just wanted to make sure my intentions were clear. I’ve got some work to do with this one, so I wanted to make sure the story was straight from the get go. I like Avery Abbot, and I’m going to work my ass off to make her like me back. So no hitting on her and messing up my thing, got it?”
He points right at his band mates sitting in the corner. They all raise their beers, jokingly crossing their hearts. By the looks on their faces, I can tell what Mason did surprised them, and something deep inside me is waiting for them to start laughing, for the joke to end—the punch line. But it never comes.
Mason jumps down from the chair, his black work boots making a heavy thud on the floor. I manage to find Claire’s face in the background over his shoulder. I think she may be cheering, but everything is happening in a blurry slow motion, so I can’t really tell. Mason isn’t moving away, but instead, he’s reaching for my hand, pulling me closer to the tight gray fabric of his T-shirt that is hugging his arms and chest.
In seconds, his hands are cradling both sides of my face, his fingertips pushing into my hairline, and then his lips are on me hard. He’s kissing me so wildly, he’s moving me backward until he reaches behind my lower back, pulling me close, leaning me with his force. I give in instantly, my body betraying my mind’s warning signs, and I grip at his back, holding fists full of his T-shirt in my hands.
His lips are everything they were last night, everything they were in my dream. His kiss is firm, commanding—he is definitely in charge, and I’m following, willingly. He smells of the most unbelievable spices, and with each inhale I’m kissing him harder, suddenly drunk on his scent.
He sucks in my top lip, holding it hostage in his mouth for a few long seconds, his hands holding me close to him, almost like he’s afraid something will take me away if he lets go. When he finally releases his hold on my mouth, we’re both breathless, our foreheads pressed together while we cling to one another. I’m lost in this moment, content to just stand here, when another whistle forces my eyes open, this one from Claire.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there this morning,” he whispers, still holding me close. “I wanted to be, but there was something…something very important…that I had to do. I can’t tell you, but I’m asking you to believe me…to trust me. I know I’ve got to earn everything with you. And I will, Avery. I will. I meant every word of that. I like you…I more than like you. So maybe we can start with that?”
My tongue is numb, and my face is still tingling from his touch. I can feel the moisture forming in the corners of my eyes, and I desperately don’t want to cry, but I know I’m going to tear up any second now. I just nod yes to him, because I like him too. I more than like him. But I’m also not ready for him to hear any of that yet. That’s…going to take time.