Charlie has always been the honest man out of us all. I suppose it comes with the job in some ways, but over the past four years he has become hell-bent with the need to make every situation untainted.
It’s what keeps me up at night, the thought of what I’ve done to the man who would never contemplate something so fucked.
“Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
His brows furrow, clearly not expecting me to agree. “Right, I’m out. I won’t see you before so enjoy Paris, man.” He cuffs me on the back and smiles.
I nod my head, pleased that he’s turned towards the door and can’t see my grimace.
Once he leaves, my eyes lift to Lance.
“Get out your head, Lowell. He’d never live with himself if you told him.”
“I know.”
“You did the right thing. It’s buried; move on.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, thinking back to that night and what a fuckup it was.
“Has Cara been in touch?” he asks.
“No. She wouldn’t fucking dare.”
He nods his head. “I know you like this chick, but be fucking careful, you don’t need another Cara. That’s already cost you enough.”
“Nina is nothing like Cara.”
“Maybe. But do you really know her yet? Would she stay if she knew?” he spits.
I frown as his question settles in me.
Would she?
“I’ve got your back always, Mase. Just be smart.”
Nina
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, angry that I carry so much of her in my features. The irony that the one person I want to forget is forever embedded in my DNA. They say family runs deeper than blood, and that’s true. But that doesn’t mean you can forget the genetics that makes you who you are.
My chest heaves as sweat runs down the dip in my back. I lower my chin, trying to get my breathing under control. My mother has consumed my thoughts all morning. Normally I can immerse myself in my dancing, allowing it to take me someplace else for a while. But today isn’t one of those days.
I don’t know if it’s everything with Mason’s dad or the fact that I just know I need to speak with her about the money she receives from the man that may or may not be my dad, but nothing I do seems to ease the need to answer the phone.
I can hear it ringing in my bag right now, and it enrages me.
Why?
Why does she do this?
My body screams at me to stop, the pain rippling throughout my muscles too much to ignore. I’ve been at the studio for hours, leaving my phone to ring out every time, not nearly ready to chance looking in case it’s her.
I pull myself up on the piano—my safe spot to sit and reflect. Flipping over my phone I see I have six missed calls, all from Mase. Is it wrong that I considered it might not be my mum calling? That maybe I just needed a minute to find myself.
It’s just gone five so he’s probably already on his way to me.
I call him.
“Angel.”
