Chapter Five

He grinned the entire time he rode in the backseat of the car Victor had hired to take him to and from all of his appointments from now on. A car and his own driver, Mason chuckled to himself. It almost made him feel like a celebrity except for the busted up leg he could barely move around on and the endless number of medically related appointments he had scheduled each week.

Mason assumed this was Victor’s way of trying to make things easier for him. After all, this injury was something that had happened on a job—a job he was doing under Victor’s employment. Maybe that was more the reason Victor was helping him out to the extent he was? Nonetheless, he was more than happy it was offered. Taking a taxi everywhere he went was getting expensive, and it would probably be a while before the doctor cleared him to drive a car.

If he were being completely honest, the smile on Mason’s face had little to do with being chauffeured around in a vehicle nicer than any he’d ever owned. He could blame this unfamiliar feeling running through his system like a new drug solely on Tessler.

Tessler.

He tried the name out on his tongue several times like an empty-headed teenager experiencing his first crush. What was next, writing their names together on the front of his English notebook with a big fucking heart around them? Jesus, he needed help with this, but he wasn’t sure he could properly articulate this to anyone, including his therapist. Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted help with something that made him feel this alive. That’s what this was: a brand new surge of life he hadn’t felt in far too long, even before the fire had knocked him on his ass.

Mason was still grinning when he limped into the therapist’s office the next day. His therapist, Stacy Cutler, was an older woman, probably close to sixty, with a long list of letters that followed her name, which told Mason she was highly educated and knew what she was doing. That’s what Mason had hoped when he met with her that first time, and he’d been happy with her ever since. Her head was covered in thick curls, and wire-framed glasses complimented her compassionate eyes. She watched him closely as he approached the couch before she leaned back in her leather chair to begin their session. “You look different,” she offered. “Is the physical therapy going well?”

Mason sat heavily onto the couch adjacent to the therapist and set his cane beside the arm of it. He cleared his throat, then ran his hands down his thighs before he spoke. “I’m definitely seeing improvements with my leg since I started working with BB,” he said.

“Does the look on your face have anything to do with BB?” she asked. The sound of her tapping pen on her notepad sounded like a dripping faucet in Mason’s head. Drip … drip … drip. Like it was some sort of torture to get him to pour his soul out all over the floor.

“I’m still not a huge fan of BB as a person,” Mason said. “But professionally, his tactics to get me strong again are working, and I can respect him for that.”

“Any more panic attacks or nightmares?” Stacy questioned.

“No more attacks since the one with BB,” Mason admitted, “and just two bad dreams this week. I’ve been doing the breathing you showed me, and I’ve been able to calm myself enough to fall back to sleep both times.”

“That’s very good, Mason. I’m glad to see the breathing techniques we’ve been practicing are working. I guess that explains why you seem to be more … rested.”

Mason slid a little lower on the couch and looked at the ceiling. “I met someone,” he said softly, and after what felt like a ten minute pause, he added, “It’s not much at this point, but I find him really interesting.”

“Is this something you think you’d like to pursue on a romantic level, or is this more of a new friendship?” she asked.

Mason met her steady gaze and blinked several times. “That’s your first question after I just admitted I was interested in a man?”

Stacy smiled her typical knowing smile. “Mason, I work with people who identify as all types of sexualities,” she explained. “I’m not especially concerned with who you’re expressing an interest in, but more the fact you have an interest in anyone at all. That shows growth to me since we first started meeting. However, your own response to your statement tells me you’re not as comfortable with the ‘who’ as I am, so why don’t we start with that? Have you had relationships with men before, or is this something new?”

Mason shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “I’ve hooked-up with a few guys but haven’t had a relationship with any of them, and I’m not implying that’s something I’m considering even now.”

“What about women?” Stacy asked. “Have you been in a long-term relationship with a woman?”

“Twice.”

“Then, you identify as bisexual?” she asked.

Mason nodded. “I guess so.” He exhaled loudly in frustration. “Labeling myself isn’t something I’ve ever given any thought to, and I haven’t been with a man in a long time. Actually, I haven’t been with anyone in a quite a while.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I’ve either been busy working or deployed in the Middle East, and for the last several months, I’ve been recovering from this leg injury,” he said and shrugged.

“Is it possible you’ve been avoiding relationships or intimacy in general?” Stacy questioned.

Mason opened up his mouth to answer and then changed his mind. He thought about Stacy’s last question and wondered how much truth was hidden behind her words. Had he really been avoiding relationships? Was work just another excuse for him to shut everyone out? He really had been too busy, hadn’t he?

“What about your family, Mason? Do they know you’re bisexual?”

“No,” he answered simply. “I moved out at eighteen, and it was after that when I … hooked-up with a guy for the first time.”

“Do you think they’d approve?”

“Not sure,” he said. “I’d like to think they wouldn’t care all that much about who I was with. I know they have a few friends with kids who are gay, so … I don’t know. I haven’t really given it a lot of thought. Maybe that’s because I haven’t met anyone yet—guy or girl, who mattered enough to care what my family might think of them or the fact I’m with them.”

“Do you think this new man would be open to a relationship?”

Mason chuckled low and deep in his throat. “We barely know each other,” he said. “It’s ridiculously premature to even consider this turning into anything at all—even a friendship. It took three weeks before he’d even talk to me or tell me his name.”

Stacy smiled at him. “And yet you’re still interested, which tells me you’re feeling something,” she said and pinned him with her clear, blue eyes. “Why don’t you tell me about him.”

Mason took a long moment to collect his thoughts, then finally he leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. “He’s so … different. Young. Jesus, he seems so damn young,” Mason scoffed at his last word and rolled his eyes.

“You’re not that old yourself, Mason,” Stacy countered. “You’re thirty-three, correct?”

“Thirty-four, which is almost halfway to forty,” Mason elaborated, “and he’s … well, he seems to be in his early twenties, but there is something about him that tells me he’s what you’d call an old soul.”

Stacy smiled and asked, “What’s his name?”

“Tessler—just Tessler. Apparently, he doesn’t use a last name,” Mason mumbled. “He’s an author.”

“I’m familiar with him,” Stacy said.

“You are?”

“My husband reads a lot of science fiction, and there are several of Tessler’s books on our shelves at home,” Stacy added. “I’ve been told Tessler has an enormous following similar to that of the Star Wars fan base, so your new friend has managed to accomplish quite a bit in a relatively short amount of time.”

“I don’t typically have a lot of time to read, but I guess I’ll have to start,” Mason said.

“I believe he has a couple of popular, long-running series,” Stacy offered. “One series is called The Bronson Experiments, and the other series has the word chronicles, or maybe it’s odyssey, in it somewhere. I forget. The last Tessler book my husband read was titled “Back From Hell,” and I believe it’s from The Bronson Experiments series, but I’m not sure where it falls in the book order. You could Google him and find out easy enough.”

“The books I’ve read all seem to fall into the true crime genre or military stuff,” Mason said.

“That’s understandable considering your background,” Stacy replied.

Mason nodded and considered her statements. “Maybe when I get home I’ll look him up on Amazon and order one of his books.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

Mason felt a like a weight was lifted from his chest, and he could breathe freely again for the first time in weeks. For the next thirty minutes, he continued to tell Stacy everything he knew about Tessler and the brief conversations they’d shared. Before he knew it, Stacy announced their time was up and that she’d see him again in a week.

Mason was so deep in thought, he barely registered the fact that he was back in the hired car and on his way home from his therapist’s office. Had his session really been consumed with talking about Tessler? Did that mean his interest in this man had slipped headfirst into obsession? Was this even healthy? As intriguing as he found Tessler to be, the man was more closed off than anyone else Mason had ever met. When it came right down to it, he knew very little about the man and to be attracted to someone strictly because they were mysterious was just plain crazy.

Mason thanked his driver as he exited the backseat of the sleek SUV by the curb in front of his apartment complex. Once inside, he changed into his workout gear and went into his den. He faced all his equipment and decided to give the treadmill another go. None of his other attempts on this machine had been successful, but that was before BB had started working with him. He was hoping things might feel different now.

He stepped up onto the belt and set the machine at a very low speed and started to walk. Agonizing pain shot through his leg as he kept at the snail’s pace he’d set. Mason wanted so badly to give up and drop himself onto the couch in defeat, but he didn’t. Not this time. He simply tightened his grip on the handrails and breathed as best as he could through the pain. One step after the other, and with tears burning his eyes, he pushed himself to keep walking until the nerve endings in his leg finally started to calm down.

Halle-fucking-lujah. There is a god.

Mason managed one, slow mile before exhaustion made him stop. He reached for his cane draped over the back of a weight machine and hit the bathroom in the hall to shower. His body might have been second guessing his decision to use that treadmill, but Mason ignored it, and instead, celebrated this for the victory it was. Best of all, he found himself excited to tell BB about this accomplishment at their next therapy session.

Since when did he ever get excited for another session of physical therapy?

Mason laughed at himself, and it felt so good to be doing that. He finished his shower and dried off while leaning against the wall, then wrestled to pull on a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was incredible to feel the fatigue of a workout, muscles warm from exertion, and his heart still slowing down. Things were definitely looking up for him; Mason could feel it in his bones. His confidence was coming back, too, and who knew where that would lead?

Perhaps a dinner date—in bed—with Tessler.

Now he was being ridiculous, but even that felt like a major shift from the kind of crazy he was feeling before he’d met BB … and Tessler. The fucking author was in nearly every one of his thoughts, and that was something Mason was nervous about. It probably wasn’t healthy for him to be paying this much attention to a man like Tessler, who showed basically no interest in Mason whatsoever. It put a lot of stress on what might never be more than a casual or temporary friendship.

That was okay, wasn’t it? One could always use more friends—especially if it was him.