“I SHOULD BEAT YOUR FUCKIN’ ass for this,” Mason seethes, angrier than I’ve ever seen him, and I’ve seen Mason pissed plenty. He shoves back the blank piece of paper I handed off to him earlier and braces his palm against my chest. He says, “Thanks for that, asshole.”
“You were against reading a poem, remember?” I jab, slipping the paper into my pocket. “Figured if you didn’t have time to mull over what to say, you’d say it better than anyone else could.”
“Lucky for me, I knew not to trust you. I had some ideas but hadn’t written any of them down.”
Either way, the speech Mason gave had meant absolutely everything to Amelia. She won’t forget the wedding or the reception, and not because it was her special day, but because Averie and Mason made it special.
“You did good,” I tell him.
“Operation Lights Out?” he mentions, half-smiling. “Your idea?”
“Fuck no it wasn’t my idea,” I deny all claim.
“Pain in the ass?” he questions, to clarify who would think up such a plan.
“Of course.”
“Amelia can’t stop goin’ on about it.”
“She’s happy today. They all are,” I agree.
Furrowing his brow, Mason surveys my expression and asks, “You’re not happy. Why do you look like that?”
“Like what? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Like someone stole your puppy.”
Gazing out into the crowd, my eyes lock on Averie. She’s talking to a couple of Amelia’s friends. She’s smiling, but as I always know, the smile isn’t real.
She’s nuts. She’s rotten. She’s too much for any man to take. I’m not patient enough to handle her. I may never be.
“Stop thinkin’ and start doin’ somethin’ about it,” Mason clips, taking his eyes off Katherine, who’s talking to her ex-husband’s new wife.
At his harsh tone, I turn to find he’s serious. The man misses nothing.
“What am I thinking about?” I ask.
“You’re thinkin’ how much easier your life would be if she weren’t in it. Which, I’ll say, isn’t the truth and we both know it.”
“Excuse me?”
With a cocked brow, Mason’s deep voice reverberates, “You’re gonna say I’m wrong?”
Fuck. No, I’m not. But how did he know?
“I was a cop for over twenty years,” Mason reminds. “Remember?”
“Shit.”
“I know bullshit when I see it,” he adds. “But that’s not how I know.”
“How do you know what you think you know?”
“Fuck, but you’re an idiot,” he exasperates.
I don’t value his sarcasm. What I would appreciate is some advice, but apparently he’s not in the mood to share. Rather, he’s in the mood to name-call.
Kissing Katherine on the cheek, he nods to her ex-husband, Thomas, and leads us to the bar.
Mason points to the stool toward the end and raises his hand to get the bartender’s attention. He signals for two more beers then adjusts in his seat to look directly at me.
I’m about to be examined. Closely, judging by the significance behind his stare.
“When did you two start?” he asks first, his tone deliberate, demanding nothing but the truth.
If we’re doing this, we’re doing this. I won’t lie. I won’t lessen any of my memories of Averie and me to anyone. That’s pointless anyway, considering he’s already called me out.
“When did we start?” I repeat then ask, “Which time?”
“Fuck,” he utters, shaking his head.
Grabbing the cold bottle of beer, I look out to see if she’s still around. She’s gone.
With his brows furrowed and the line of his jaw tight, Mason worries, “Tell me you two never—”
“I didn’t touch her before she was of age.”
“Thank fuck,” he relieves. “So, then tell me. When did it start?”
“For me, when I came to visit and I met Jarrad.”
Mason’s brows furrow. He doesn’t remember.
Rather than relive that fucking mess, I tell him, “Averie was sixteen.”
He doesn’t puff his chest as I’d expected. Probably because, in a way, he was once where I am but with Katherine.
“When did it start for her?” he questions.
“Suppose it was the first time you and Katherine worried about Amelia being left alone with me, so you decided to sic Averie on my ass instead.”
Mason smiles. This, he obviously does remember.
“She’s a good girl,” he tells me. “Deep down.”
“Really fucking deep down,” I reply. “She’s also fucking nuts.”
“She is,” he agrees. “One of a kind.”
“You’re not surprised about this,” I note aloud. “Or pissed.”
“Nope,” he tells me. “What I am surprised about is that we’re sittin’ at a bar, inside a resort in the Smokey Mountains, and you’re talkin’ with me and not with her.”
“Did you miss how happy she was to dance with me?” I question with sarcasm. He couldn’t have missed us, no one could’ve.
“I didn’t miss anything,” he tells me. “I also didn’t miss how painful it seemed for her to walk away from you.”
“She’s been doing the same for years.”
“You know about me and Katie,” he confirms. “You also know how fuckin’ long it took for me to have her. If Averie makes you happy, don’t let her get away again.”
I’m not exactly sure ‘happy’ would be the best way to describe our relationship. Tumultuous is one. Exhausting is another. However, I don’t tell him that.
“She’s not talking to me.”
“Of course she isn’t. But that isn’t really the problem.”
“It’s not?”
Shaking his head, he turns in his chair until his elbows brace against the bar, and he’s looking into the mirror over the bottles of liquor.
“The problem is you still haven’t decided what you’re gonna do. And until that decision’s made, you’ll sit here and sulk.”
“I’m not sulking.”
Smiling, he keeps focus to the mirror.
“She’s a runner,” I tell him.
He doesn’t know Averie like I do. The girl he knows trusts him, appreciates his position in her life. I’m not there with her. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.
Mason shrugs. “If you’re not in this the way you should be, then this point has changed. You don’t deserve her.”
Ouch.
Continuing on as if he didn’t insult, he adds, “If you’re still contemplating this, after all the time you two have spent together, then a thousand times over, you don’t fuckin’ deserve her.”
Jesus Christ.
“What the fuck?”
“Jaxson, you’re driven, you wanna make somethin’ of yourself. You probably wanna prove you didn’t come from where you did. I can appreciate that…for someone else’s kid. But if you’re not willing to put up with all the shit Averie’s gonna shovel, then walk away.”
Goddamn but the mad man loves that little lunatic. He’s so far survived her. I will too, right?
“I appreciate the talk,” I tell him, grabbing a few bills from my wallet and dropping them on the bar. “But there’s nothing more to discuss.”
“You’re gonna fuck this up, aren’t you?”
Nodding, I turn to leave, answering his question to myself, “Probably.”
“Need me to find you a poem to read to her?” Mason asks.
Flipping him off as I turn, I leave Mason alone, thinking there’s not one thing I could say to Averie to make her understand more about me than she already does. Because Averie knows me better than anyone.