Lucy dropsme home just after six, and I trudge up my steps feeling exhausted from the lack of sleep last night. I need sleep, and more importantly, to refocus myself on the week ahead. The showcase is coming up, and I intend to smash it with my girls.
Inside my apartment, I strip down and shower, then pull on the comfiest clothes I can find. I’m sitting on my sofa no more than twenty minutes later, eating a bowl of Coco Popswhen my phone rings. My mother’s name has my spoon falling into the chocolatey milk.
Why is she calling so soon? It’s been what—a week?
Every emotion I’ve been suppressing all day seems to come bubbling to the surface, and Mason’s interrogation as to why I pay my mum is at the forefront.
I have no answer as to why and as my phone continues to vibrate across my coffee table, I rage at myself, at my inability to let her go and not let anyone else in. Lucy is right, I could never hack no strings attached sex, and it’s all my mother’s fault.
I launch my phone at the wall watching it flash once more before the screen dies.
* * *
Mase
Selfish,that’s what I am. She doesn’t want to see me, but I need to see her.
I shouldn’t have left Scarlet alone on Friday night, and maybe my father wouldn’t have gotten so poorly if I’d stayed, but Lowerwick brings back too many bad memories for me. Every time I walk through the door, I think of my mother. Her open arms as I’d run for her, the smell of cookies baking in the oven, and the music she would play us.
Four years. It’s all I had, yet the memories are vivid, every single one right up to the day she died.
How Scarlet continues to stay there baffles me. As I said, I’m selfish.
I park the Bentley at the curb and make my way to Nina’s building, taking her steps two at a time, not bothering to think past the need to see her, to hold her.
She pulls open the door, her eyes red and blotchy.Shit. Was that because of me?Her shoulders drop when she sees it’s me, and I worry she will push me away.
She steps into me, her arms wrapping around my waist as her head nestles into my chest. Her body visibly relaxes, growing heavier in my arms. The weight of the world settling between us.
I drop my nose to her hair, breathing her in.
Unexplainable calmness. It seeps into me, a deep sense of belonging only she seems to bring. She pulls me into her apartment, bypassing the tiny living space and walking me through to a small double bedroom. She climbs on the bed, pulling me with her, her head dipping under my arm when I lift it so she can lay herself across my chest. And just like that, with not a single word spoken we take from each other, healing the parts we aren’t ready to bare.
12
Nina
This ishow every Monday morning should start—cocooned in the strong arms of Mason Lowell. I smile into his chest, thankful he turned up last night, right when I needed him.
Sleep came fast and hard, the sexcapades of the weekend catching up with us both. He held me all night, and the thought of moving right now seems insane, but I made a promise to myself last night, and it starts with him.
Lucy was right. I’ve known Mason a week, and if I’m honest, I’m in deeper than I should be. I should be able to walk away. Our time together so far has been chaos—toxic even.
It’s time I moved forward. I won’t let my mother’s story control my own. It may be where mine began, but it won’t be how mine ends.
Strong arms squeeze me tight, making me feel safe. I smile wide as I try to move closer.
“What are you smiling at? You know what it gets you,” he says, his voice deep and rough from sleep.
“What does it get me, Mase?” I hum.
He lifts my chin, planting a soft kiss on my lips. “It gets you fucked, angel,” he says, moving to kiss my neck, then dipping lower, sucking down my throat until his mouth wraps around my puckered nipple through the thin cotton fabric. My back bows off the bed, demanding more, craving more.
“Mase?” I purr.
His head lifts from my chest in answer, the light streaming in through the window illuminating his face. My heart physically aches. He is so beautiful, his dark hair a tousled mess, his jaw sporting a light coating of stubble. I trace his crooked nose with my index finger, trying my best to memorise every inch of him and this tender moment between us—both sated from sleep and lost in nothing but each other.
My finger moves to the seam of his full lips, gently tracing along the dark edges.
