Avery
Somehow, I made it out of the house before anyone saw me this morning. And somehow—somehow!—I got Max to cooperate. He didn’t like the change in routine. And he dug his heels in hard with me this morning. But a few extra candies, along with the promise of more time with the planet books tonight, and I managed to stave off any meltdowns.
Once I sent that email to Mason, I didn’t sleep much. I even got up to Google how to retrieve it a few times, but all of the answers seemed fairly technical, so I gave up. I wanted to send it to him. I’m just afraid it will come back to bite me. Being nice to Mason Street always does.
For some reason, though, Max seems to be taken with him. Max doesn’t really notice new people. Besides Dad, Claire, his few therapists, and me, everyone else is just a cameo player in the play of Max’s life. He remembers names, though. He always remembers names. But people who haven’t worked with him, who haven’t earned that spot in his circle, are just associated with the job they do. Cole is the guy who brings Max his chocolate milk at the bar. And Bill, the older man who checks out our groceries, is the guy who sells Max his apples. I’ve tried to explain to Max that those people have full lives too—bigger than just that one thing they do for Max. But he doesn’t really listen or care to know them more than he has to.
That’s not the case with Mason, though. This morning, on our way to his one-on-one kindergarten session, Max asked me about Mason’s guitar. He asked me what kind it was, and how hard it was to learn how to play. I didn’t know the answers, so I told him he should ask Mason, and he said he would. Our entire exchange was surreal—no bribes exchanged, no rewards needed to be dangled to get Max to want to talk to Mason. He has a question, and Mason has the answer—and Max made the connection on his own.
Maybe that’s why my heart sank a little when I pulled into Dusty’s and saw Barb’s car parked out front. I knew she’d be back—she always comes back. But I know as soon as she realizes Mason is staying with us, she’ll insist that he stays with her, now that she’s back in her apartment on her own.
I scan the lot for Mason’s Dodge Challenger, but it isn’t here. I’m instantly relieved. I know I’m going to have to be a big girl and face him sometime, but the longer I can put that off, the better.
I hurry inside with Max so I can get to my locker and change before anyone comes in. Cole gets Max set up with his chocolate milk in the corner booth, and I take a few minutes to jot down a short reminder list for the homework I need to get done this weekend. Saturdays are hard, only because we’ve been building in so many therapy sessions with Max, so I’ve been pushing all of my homework to Sundays. A lot of people burn the candle from both ends, but sometimes I feel like I just threw my candle in a skillet to melt the entire damn thing at once.
“So, you hear Barb’s back?” Claire asks from behind me.
“Yeah, I figured. Saw her car in the lot,” I say before putting my books away and flipping the clip on my locker to shut it tightly.
“She’s a hoot! That woman gets more action than I do, and she’s almost fifty!” Claire says, pulling her Dusty’s shirt from over her head, and swapping it out for a blue tank top from her locker. “She’s going to be on with you all night. It’ll be nice to have the help. There’s gonna be a bit of a crowd.”
There’s always a crowd on Saturdays, but nothing I can’t usually handle, so I wonder what Claire means. Someone big must have been added last minute. When I finally turn to square up with her, she’s sitting sideways on the small bench next to me, smirking. And I know that smirk—she’s up to something.
“What is that face for?” I ask, pursing my lips and not sure I’m ready for her answer.
“Mason’s coming in,” she says.
“Yeah, I figured. He’s been helping Dad out, because he’s staying with us,” I say, hoping she just nods and tells me I’m right, and that it turns out it’s really no big deal at all.
“No, I don’t think you’re following me. Mason’s coming in…to play!” my friend instantly squeals and grips my forearm like a love-struck teenager.
Mason is playing. Live. Tonight. After I gave him that recording. After I told him I believed in him. After I bared a little of my past to him. And there is nowhere for me to hide; I’m going to be here, and I’m going to have to hear it. My heart is beating a million times per minute, and I have to wipe my palms on the sides of my shorts because they’re sweating so much.
“If it’s okay with you, I thought maybe Max and I could stick around, just for the early part?” Claire asks, snapping me from my trance.
“Huh? Oh, yeah…I guess that’s fine. As long as Max is okay with it. He’s had a long day, but he has a lot of his things with him, and I brought my iPad,” I notice mid-sentence that the smirk is still full-force on Claire’s face. She’s got more—I don’t know if I can handle more. “Okay…what else has you all gushy?”
“Oh, nothing. Just…” she’s torturing me with this, and the feeling in my stomach gives me the sense that I’m going to want to bury my head in the ground after tonight is done. “I might have had a little conversation with Mr. Street today.”
“What kind of conversation?” I ask, my tone clipped. I’m getting really nervous now. And frankly, I’m starting to get a little pissed off at my friend.
“Oh, the kind where he talks a little bit about how he doesn’t know why you hate him so much and then your friend maybe tells him he was a douchebag in high school. That kind of conversation,” she says, her lips now in a tight, proud smile to match her folded I-told-you-so arms.
Shit! I know Claire meant well, but I also know she doesn’t really get how much the way Mason used to treat me around his friends bothers me. “Claire?” I sigh.
“Relax. I didn’t go into too many details. I just reminded him about Nikki Thomas’ party…” she starts.
Fuck!
“And I told him how you hated it when he called you Birdie. Oh, girl…you should have seen his face when I told him how the first time he did it, it made you cry,” she’s still going, and my heart has officially run out of rhythm now. I’m no longer dying, because I’ve just ceased to breathe. Claire has officially embarrassed me to death.
“Oh, and…well…this part you’re going to be a little mad about…” she’s biting her lip. This part—whatever she’s about to tell me—is what has her thinking I’m going to be a little mad?
“Oh god, Claire…what did you do?” I ask, letting my face fall forward into my hands. I can actually feel the heat radiating off of my cheeks.
“I sort of told him that you used to be in love with him,” Claire says, standing up immediately and backing away. Smart, because she knows I want to smack her. She raises her hands up quickly, signaling there’s more. “But, before you get all angry, I only told him because I think he’s got a little thing for you.”
I let my face fall right back into my hands. There’s no way Mason has a thing for me, not even the tiniest of little things. And after the stuff I said to him last night, and the secrets my best friend just unlocked for him today, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m some crazy, obsessed girl from his past.
“Claire?” I say, shaking my head at her.
“Avery, don’t overreact. I promise I didn’t give him anything that would embarrass you. I swear!” she’s waving her hands emphatically, like she’s tossing magic in the air that will somehow make me okay with all of this.
“I want to go home and throw up, Claire! But I can’t, because I need Saturday night tips. And now I have to walk the floor, while Mason is perched up on that stage listening to half-dressed bimbos scream at him, getting in line just to see if he’d be willing to use them for the night. And he’ll have this perfect goddamn view of me—the stupid girl from high school, who’s in love with him!”
“I told you, I told him you used to be in love with him!” Claire tries to correct.
“Used to be…still am—it’s all the same to him, Claire! He’s not going to believe I’m over him? Especially after…gah! Whatever. He’s just going to taunt me with it—make it all into some game until he has someone else to amuse him. Hell, I hope he moves back in with his mom now,” I turn to lean back on the bench, and let my head fall flat against the wall so I can stare at the ceiling. One day. One day! That’s all it took for my friend to rip open every wound from my adolescence and give all my secrets to my enemy.
“He’s not going to do that, Ave. Listen to me—that guy…he felt bad. I mean, horrible! He even asked me if I ever thought you’d forgive him,” she’s sitting next to me now, shaking my arm and trying to get me to give in. I think she’s probably sugarcoating it all now for my benefit. But maybe, just maybe, somewhere in Mason’s selfish-ass brain, there’s a little hint of guilt. I stand up and let out a big sigh before plastering a pretend smile on my face.
“Okay, Claire. If you say so. But you’re definitely staying tonight. For as long as Max will let you,” I drop my smile when I look at her, making sure she understands my tone while I tie my apron around my waist, and flip my head over to toss my hair up in a bun. I’m not messing around tonight, and I’m not going to do anything that will make Mason think I’m concerned in the least about what he thinks about me.
I open the swinging door and walk through, promising myself that I won’t look up at the stage once tonight. And I had every intention of keeping that promise—right up until my eyes landed on Max…sitting next to Mason…and talking, while playing a game on the iPad. Max is talking. And Mason is listening. And I’m frozen at the door, just watching my son have a semi-normal interaction with a man he just met.
Not wanting to interrupt, I slip through the door quickly and walk over to where Cole is lining up the glasses for the night.
“Hey, how long’s that been going on?” I ask, motioning to the corner.
“A good ten minutes, I guess. He seems to really like Mason. Kid’s said maybe a dozen words to me ever, and two of those are chocolate and milk,” Cole laughs.
I lean forward, keeping my head low so Mason doesn’t notice I’m watching. Max is pointing to things on the iPad, and Mason is just watching and nodding. Max is talking. He’s talking a lot. He never makes eye contact. There’s still a barrier. But he’s engaging Mason—without a single reward waiting for him in the wings, other than the pleasure of talking to someone else.
Unable to take it any longer, I pick up a stack of menus and walk to the corner booth, pretending that I need to bus and prep a nearby table. I catch Mason’s eyes on me for a brief second as I approach, but he quickly looks back at the iPad. I can tell he’s uncomfortable that I’m getting closer though; I see him noticeably shift in his seat. His eyes dart to me again, and on instinct, I flash a friendly smile, just like I would any other patron in the bar. Mason’s eyes widen a little at my reaction, and I can see the start of a smile curl at his lips, but he quickly brings a hand up to his chin, propping his weight on the table while he settles his concentration back to Max.
“This is how you add the instruments,” Max says, his voice very serious while he slides his fingers rapidly around the iPad screen. “You have to know the numbers. The instrument numbers need to match the ones on your lines.”
I have no idea what Max is showing Mason, but he’s rapt with it. Once I set the table, I move closer to the booth, stopping right next to the edge where Mason’s knee is sticking out. I see him physically tighten up to get smaller when I’m there, pulling his leg in and tucking it under his seat. He actually seems nervous, his leg bouncing up and down under the tabletop while his hands fidget in front of him.
“So, what’s so exciting over here?” I ask. Mason’s leg bumps hard into the underside of the table when I speak, and the saltshaker tips on its side, spilling granules in front of both of them. I hold my breath at first, knowing how little Max likes messes. My son moves the iPad from his view, but only for a moment before moving it back and continuing with his lesson on whatever app he’s showing Mason. I slowly reach forward with a napkin to wipe the mess onto my tray, amazed.
“It’s called Garage Band,” Max says, always only giving me just enough to satisfy the question.
“Are you teaching Mason how to use it?” I ask, leaning a little closer so I can see the screen. Mason leans forward as I do, like he’s trying to maintain some force field between us. He’s so uncomfortable, and I could kill Claire for this bucket of awkward she threw in both our laps.
“I am. He is a fast learner,” Max’s choice of words makes me giggle. He’s heard us say the same words to him during his therapy sessions. Funny that he’s paying a twenty-five-year-old the same compliment.
“Good. Well, it’s nice of you to teach him,” I say, then force myself to leave. As much as I want to stay and watch, I also want to pretend that it’s normal that Max is showing something to Mason—and I don’t want to do anything to screw it up.
I head back through the kitchen, to the locker area, just to catch my breath. Saturdays usually fly by because this place gets so busy, but I have a feeling that tonight is going to seem a lot like forever. I have been dreading seeing Mason again after sending him that recording, but I didn’t think I would feel so lost for words around him. To say I’m uncomfortable in his presence would be an understatement, and I’d like to blame Claire for it all, but honestly, I think the anxiety I’m feeling around him is just as much my fault as it is hers.
It was so easy when he was this memory from my past—a story I pulled out of the air when I was out with the girls, reminiscing about the douchebags from our past. He’s always been part of my pity party—the girl who was rejected publicly by her high school crush, and then knocked up and abandoned by her husband. My sad story always won the bet, especially when I got into the details. Imagine how sad it would be if I let myself fall for Mason again.
Funny how I can’t stop imagining.
I shut my eyes and lie back on the bench for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to ease the anxiety I can feel gripping at my lungs. Once my head feels clear, I sit up and adjust the knot of hair atop my head. I can’t hide in here all night, and at least I’ve broken the seal of silence between Mason and me—and I feel like I won the first round. He’s weak. And I’m stronger.
Yes. I’m stronger.
Mason
I hear words. That’s all I hear—words, words, words. My mother has been talking for a good fifteen minutes, but I haven’t heard a single thing she’s said other than, “…how could my own son come home, and not even call to let me know!”
She caught me by surprise. I was all mixed up, sitting next to Max, having him want to talk to me—like I was his friend. And then Avery came over, and for some reason my throat closed up, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her. Hell, I couldn’t even look at her! And she seemed perfectly content with me not looking her direction.
And the second Avery left, my mother was standing in the spot she’d just abandoned. Max didn’t even flinch when my mother started berating me with a string of choice words. In fact, Max just kept right on teaching—sliding his fingers around and building a song on the digital timeline. I envy that kid and his ability to focus—or maybe it’s his ability to tune out.
That’s exactly what I’m doing to my mom right now, only instead of an iPad, I’m obsessed with figuring out Avery. She didn’t seem angry when she saw me tonight, and she even left me alone with Max—something that two days ago she would have died before she let happen.
Talking to Claire earlier dug up a lot of old memories, and a lot of shit that I’m not proud of. Looking back, yeah…I knew Avery liked me. I never thought it was anything serious, but that’s only because it wasn’t serious to me. It was this funny joke that I had, and I’d roll my eyes to my friends about how I liked going over to Ray’s, but that his daughter always followed me around like a puppy. I didn’t think I was ever mean about it. Honestly, I was always actually kind of jealous how easy school and shit was for her. But I also never wanted anyone to get the wrong idea about the amount of time I spent at Ray’s house, never wanted anyone thinking Avery was my girlfriend.
Then one day, out of nowhere, she stopped hanging around, and I always wondered what I did wrong. It didn’t keep me up at night or anything like that, but sometimes, when I’d see her with her friends at school, I’d think about it—she’d always look away, completely uninterested in me. Guess that great mystery is solved now.
“Honey, are you listening to me?” my mom’s teary words snap me back to the present. She’s crying, but it’s that fake cry she does when she wants to get attention. I hate it. It used to work on me when I was a kid, but by the time I was in junior high, I could see right through it.
“Yeah, ma. I’m listening,” I say, leaning forward and rubbing my face. “Look, I didn’t know how long I would be here. It happened suddenly, and you were talking about letting go of the lease, remember? I didn’t want it to be a big deal.”
“But you’re my baby, Mason. You’re always a big deal.” If I had a dime for every time my mom said that to me. I know she loves me, and I know that if I really needed something from her, she’d do her damnedest to come through. But I also know she’s not the first, or even the second, person I’d turn to.
“I know, Ma. I know. And I love you. But I just wanted to figure things out. Besides, it’s a music business thing, and you know I’ve always gone to Ray for help with that,” I say, hoping that’ll be enough to let my mom off the hook.
“He’s so good to you. I owe that man, Mason. I know I do,” she’s switching to guilt mode, and I’ve got to steer her back before she starts with the tears again.
“No, you don’t, Mom. He’s a family friend. He’s my friend. That’s why I came to him, and that’s all,” I say, and she seems to be willing to let this one go…for now.
“Okay, but I’ll get the sofa bed ready for you—you can come stay with me when you’re done with Ray,” she’s insistent on this, and I let it be, just standing and giving her a hug, like a good son.
I’m not leaving Ray’s. I’m not leaving Ray’s because staying with my mother would only make me resent her, this town, and my failure even more. Barb Street is lonely—she’s always lonely when she leaves a relationship. But she’ll find a new one; she always does. I’ll visit and call now that she knows I’m in town. But I’m not moving my crap into her apartment and sleeping on the sofa bed. And I’m not leaving Ray’s house.
And damn. I’m thinking about Avery again.
I’m actually nervous. I haven’t been nervous since the first time Ray threw me up on his stage. But I’m nervous now. I keep telling myself it’s because I’m doing something different, going up on that stage without a band—just my guitar. And I’m playing some cool covers—the kind of shit I always wanted to try. I’m just nervous because I haven’t practiced them much, because I’m going in a little cold.
The place is packed. Word got out fast. I know Claire’s responsible for about half of the people in here. She overheard me talking to Ray about performing. I didn’t know she was such a fan of my music—shocked the hell out of me, actually, considering just a few hours earlier she was busy trying to suffocate me with guilt. Her mood toward me turned around really fast when she found out I was playing tonight.
“You ready, kid?” Ray says, patting my back once and squeezing my shoulder. I let out a big breath and smile. “All right then, I’ll go let everybody know.”
Nothing was ever very formal at Dusty’s. That’s what people loved about it. Even the stage was nothing to look at—a two-foot platform with a black curtain behind it. Once, a while back, Ray talked about fancying it up, but all of the bands begged him not to—it wouldn’t be the same. Playing at Dusty’s was like playing in your best friend’s garage. It’s where you try things out and see how they sit—without all the pressure. Tampering with the environment would just ruin it all.
“Hey there everyone. I’m sure you all heard, but our boy’s in town. He’s trying out some new stuff, and of course, he came home to do it,” Ray says, and I thank him internally for finding a way to spin everything for me. I make a mental note to tell him later. “I’m not gonna make y’all wait for him. I told him he could play as long as he wants tonight, so let’s make him feel real welcomed, all right? Mason…come on up.”
The whistles still get to me, and I can’t help the embarrassed smile on my face. I climb up and take the stool at the front of the stage while tonight’s crowd screams for me. It’s just the stool and a mic—that’s how I wanted it tonight. And even though it’s a crowd for Dusty’s—probably 150 people—it’s small compared to some of the places I’ve been playing.
“Hey there,” I say, my voice echoing a little, and more whistles coming back up in response. I laugh lightly, my cheeks hurting from the embarrassed smile filling my face. The people here have always been so good to me. It used to be the adoration that got me off—the girls thought I was sexy, the guys thought I was man enough to not want to kick my ass in the parking lot after the show. But coming back—playing here tonight—has my eyes wide open. These people don’t love me because I’m some hotshot musician. They don’t care that I have some stupid ounce of talent that sets me apart from them. They love me because I’m theirs—because this is home, and I’m family. The feeling that sinks into my chest is strange, but it’s good.
“First off. Thanks, Ray, for letting me hang out up here tonight,” I say, nodding my head to the edge of the stage where Ray’s still standing. Once Ray gets a few whistles, though, he stands up and heads back behind the bar where he feels more at home.
“So, I’ve got a few favorites I’d like to play for you guys tonight. Nothing new, just some songs that have always been kind of a big deal to me, if that’s okay?” I ask, hearing a few more squeals from some of the girls in the audience.
Normally, I’d scan the crowd, zeroing in on exactly where those screams are coming from to decide which girl—or two—I’d be talking into coming back to the hotel room with me. But my gaze doesn’t stray an inch tonight. I saw Avery the second I took the stage, and I can’t seem to look away. She’s floating from table to table, her hair piled on top of her head with a few lone strands kissing her neck. She’s keeping her back to me. And something tells me it’s on purpose. I was planning on starting out simple, to get my chops warm. But I’m man enough to admit that Avery’s part of the reason I’m doing this in the first place, and if she’s not willing to look at me, I’m willing to work for it.
“This first one is a song I never thought I got quite right. But a good friend…well…she told me otherwise. She’s pretty stubborn,” I laugh lightly as I set the song up, my insides just begging Avery to turn around. I can see her back at the bar, and she’s alone. I know she’s just listening, waiting to see if I’m going to do what she thinks I’m going to do. “This one’s ‘Wild Horses’.”
When her tray falls, my heart speeds up. I know I’m in trouble. But I’ve been in trouble before. I love trouble. So I start to play, and when I sing, I keep my eyes on her the entire time, just waiting for the moment she turns around. She never does. But she doesn’t move from her spot, either, and I think maybe she’s in trouble, too.
Avery
I don’t know what I was expecting. I’m not surprised Mason is playing this song. I practically challenged him. But I didn’t think it would make my entire body feel numb hearing it. I haven’t looked at him all night, not since I saw him talking to Max. I didn’t see his face when he took the stage, and I can’t say for sure that he was looking at me when he introduced his first song. But he was definitely talking to me. I can feel it deep down, and it hurts a little.
Mason Street is going to crush me—he’s going to rip open my heart…again. He’s going to completely destroy me, unless I can stand here and convince myself that my heart isn’t pounding out of my goddamned chest just listening to his perfect voice.
Every flick of his fingers on that stupid guitar sends a new wave down my body. Every crack in his voice—his voice that is suddenly so much older, so much…sexier—gives me shivers. I’m so thankful that no one has come near me, because if they did they’d see the flipping goosebumps all over my arms. But no one has ventured anywhere near my spot at the bar. They haven’t moved because they’re frozen stiff. Mason has everyone captivated; he’s just that amazingly good.
I wonder if he’s looking at me. I want to turn around to check so badly, but I’m terrified I’ll meet his eyes. That would be it—I don’t have many cards left to play, and my defense is weakening. If I look at Mason now, I’ll be lost. And I don’t have time to be lost—I have too many things on the other side of this fantasy that depend on me.
When the crowd stands and starts to whistle and yell at the end, I take my opportunity and race to the kitchen, heading right for the safety of my locker. By the time I get there, I have my shirt untucked, and I’m pulling it in and out from my body just to get the air flowing around me. I’m so hot I think I might pass out, and I lay back on the bench with my knees pulled in.
“So, that was kind of intense,” I hear Claire say over me. I could lie, tell her I’m not feeling well, but Claire’s always seen though my bullshit. I can’t pull any punches with her. Besides—who else would I talk to?
“Yeah…that was,” I say, flopping my head to the side and meeting her eyes. She’s already smirking, and I just keep my stare on her, hoping she gets that I’m not ready to be teased. I’m overwhelmed right now.
“I’m not going to brag that I was right…but I was right, huh?” she starts.
“Right about what? That Mason Street is hotter than ever? Uh…yeah, check. That he’s gotten sexier? Uh, yes…he has. That my stupid girl-crush is going to come raging back like a case of the shingles?” I fold my arms over my head while my ears pick up hints of Mason’s next song. He’s singing “In Your Eyes” now—fucking Peter Gabriel!
“Well, yes. I was right about all of that,” Claire says, lifting my feet and putting them on her lap so she can sit down. “But that’s not what I meant.”
I squint at her, and my chest feels heavy; I’m having a hard time filling my lungs with air.
“I meant about him having a little thing for you,” she says, and I roll my eyes immediately in response, and cover my face again.
“Claire, Mason does not have a thing for me. He likes to get to me, he likes the attention—that’s it!” I say, swallowing hard, probably with a bit of disappointment.
“Right. So that’s why his eyes were glued to you the entire time he sang that song, huh?” she says, and I sit up quickly in response to this. “Yeah, I thought that might get you to see my side. Aves, he stared at the back of your head, and the only time he wasn’t looking at you was when his eyes were closed, probably imagining your face. Dude is a little smitten, that’s all I’m saying.”
My mouth betrays me, and slides into a fragile smile. Claire notices—I can tell because her eyes light up a little. But she doesn’t call me out on it, probably because she knows how quickly I’ll retreat back into hiding.
“Maybe…and just hear me out, okay,” she starts, swinging my legs to the floor to force me to sit up. “Maybe you can just go out there, do your job, and…I don’t know…stop when you have a minute, and just think about it. Just see if you get any vibes.”
I can’t help but snort-laugh at her suggestion. I’m pretty sure the only vibes I’m going to get are the ones that travel all the way down my spine. But I guess it can’t hurt anything to indulge a little—I’ve always loved to listen to that man sing. And pretending he’s singing to me isn’t anything new to me either.
“I can do that…but I’m not doing any vibe testing,” I say, tucking my shirt back in, and pulling my hair from its tie so I can rebuild the bun on top of my head.
“And Aves? How about you leave it down?” Claire says, reaching her hands around mine and urging me to let go of the small band holding my hair up. “It won’t look like flirting—I know that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just a hair tie.”
I hold her gaze for a few seconds. I’m not sure I want to do anything different. It feels like giving in. But, it is just a hair tie—something I take out and put in every day at work. No big deal. I finally nod okay, and shove it back in my pocket before straightening out my work clothes and marching back to the kitchen door. I turn to Claire one last time for reassurance.
“Max is happy, so we can stay as long as you want,” she says, knowing what I need to hear. I smile softly, and take in a deep breath before I head back out to the crowded bar, hoping I blend in with the sea of prettier girls out there and fly under the radar. Or maybe I hope I don’t. Maybe I hope I stand out, and that I’m all Mason can look at. My heart is sputtering at the thought—it’s fear. I fear the pending disappointment, and I know it’s inevitable.
He’s finishing up “In Your Eyes” when I get up the courage to walk to the tall tabletops that line the back. They’re right in view of the stage, and if there was ever a time to sneak a look at Mason, this was it. I load my tray with empties, sliding my hair behind my ear so I can see better, and that’s when I take my moment.
Max is always telling me about gravity, and how it pulls two masses together. Gravity. That’s what I’m feeling right now. I’m sure I’m flushed, and despite Dusty’s being filled beyond fire code, I can’t hear the crowd. I’m completely locked to Mason, his eyes squared to mine, and he’s the only thing I see. The background…gone. It’s just Mason.
Sitting on that stool with a small spotlight on him, he’s wearing a worn-out pair of jeans and a tight black T-shirt that hugs his biceps; the tattoo on his right arm finally showing enough to let me know it’s a tiger. Dusty’s is never formal. It’s not a place where performers dress up—but tonight Mason is making that look so unbelievably sexy. His hair is twisted in all different directions, and he keeps brushing away the long strands that fall in his eyes.
He licks his lips and bites his tongue before letting a smile slide up into his cheeks. I actually have to catch myself on one of the chairs when he does. A few faint whistles from the women in the crowd break through my tunnel.
“I’ve got a few more, if you guys don’t mind,” he says, toying with the audience. They eat him up—they always did. “Good, good,” he chuckles.
Adjusting the mic a little, he props one knee up on the top ledge of the stool, letting his guitar slide to the side and fall on the strap. The whistles start again—I get it, he’s downright dreamy right now. But I still roll my eyes. It’s annoying when Mason gets this kind of attention, and I’ll admit that I’m probably a little jealous.
“I bet you’re all wondering what I’m doing back in town,” Mason says, his eyes leaving mine for just a moment before coming back to find me. I give in and set my tray down, sitting in one of the seats to fully take him in. “I blew it.”
The crowd laughs, but I know Mason’s not really joking. He’s dead serious, and when the audience realizes this, too, they start to get quiet.
“No, it’s okay. Y’all can laugh. But it’s the truth. I tried doing this all on my own, but I wasn’t ready. I’m sure some of you have read about our failed concerts, fights in clubs, shit like that. Sorry, Ray…I know you don’t like it when I swear on stage.”
My dad just waves a bar towel at him and goes back to his business.
“You see, I was ready to leave this town when I was sixteen. And I don’t think my head ever matured beyond that, even though I was twenty when I finally left to tour. In my head…I was still sixteen. Sixteen and stupid,” Mason laughs at himself now, and the crowd starts to relax and join in. He has them—he has us all. He could tell us to vote for him for president right now, and we’d all mail in our ballots.
“Anyways. This isn’t about me messing up my tour. I wanted to get up here tonight to see if I could remember why I ever made this my dream in the fist place. I was so focused on success, I forgot about the ride. And I missed some pretty great things along the way.”
My breath held, I fight against my instinct to run—just to hear Mason out, to see what he says next. I’m terrified, because my heart is begging him to make this about me. But I know that, if anything, it’s about how badly he feels. It’s pity—for making me cry years ago, and for every other painful bit of my past that Claire gave away. My legs are aching to retreat, and I’m pushing my weight to the balls of my feet, readying myself to get back to work, when Mason absolutely floors me.
“If I could do it again…” he pauses, his eyes unmistakably on me now. “I would definitely kiss the girl in the closet.”
Oh. My. God.