“Yes, but this place really isn’t your responsibility anymore.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t help.” He pulled a plate from the dishwasher and started for the cabinet on the wall adjacent to the dishwasher.
“Well, thank you.”
The plate slipped from Chase’s hands and crashed onto the tile floor, shattering. “Fuck.”
He glanced around, his face pale beneath the overhanging light. He’d always had that reaction to doing something wrong. Mason blamed those bastard parents of his.
Chase got on his knees, frantically picking up the pieces, and Mason crouched beside him.
There were boundaries between them now—barriers, defenses, hard feelings. There were so many things that Mason should have respected in that moment, but he pushed aside everything, including his own pride, since none of it mattered when Chase was like that.
He wrapped an arm over Chase’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, my little Feisty. Don’t be like that. Don’t be sad.”
It was like something he would have done back in the day, something he knew he shouldn’t have been doing then, but he couldn’t stop himself.
And when Chase looked at him, his expression shifted from worried to appreciative as he took a breath and smiled.
But just as quickly as he’d smiled, his chin quivered and a tear entered his eye.
“Hey, no, no. None of that. It’s a stupid dish.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. You okay?”
Chase’s gaze followed Mason’s arm as he seemed to just realize that it was around him. “I’m better now.”
Mason smiled again, hoping to reassure Chase that everything was alright. He was stunned that, even after all the years, he was still so hard on himself. Though Mason couldn’t dismiss his anger toward Chase, in Chase’s moment of weakness, he was willing to let down his guard.
And all Mason wanted to do was to soothe him.
“Whaddaya say we finish up here and head over to the stables to play horseshoes?” Mason suggested.
Chase chuckled, and as he did, the tear in his eye released and slid down his cheek.
Mason instinctively reached his free hand out and wiped it away with his thumb. “See how easy that is? It’s like you weren’t even crying to begin with.”
Chase laughed. “Horseshoes would be nice.”
They picked up the broken plate and finished doing the rest of the dishes before heading out to the stables together. While Mason stomped his heel on the head of the stake to drive it into the earth, Chase said hey to his buddies, Mercy and Louise—the horses they’d grown up with. He beamed as he petted Mercy’s classic American Quarter chocolate-brown coat. Mason was pleased at how quickly he’d recovered from the incident in the kitchen. Seeing Chase like that pained him so fucking much.
“For a second, I wondered if you were too good for this,” Mason teased as he approached Chase, gripping on to the shoes in his hand.
“Too good for horseshoes? What would make you think that?”
Mason studied his fancy clothes.
“Oh, God. These are just what I own now. I have my old clothes, too. Like what I had on earlier. This is what everyone wears.”
“Not everyone.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “We don’t all look good in cowboy hats.” He smiled as he checked out Mason’s attire. “I’m not going to let you make a big deal out of something so stupid. I’m still just me.”
“You say it like you’re so unremarkable, but I know you better than that.”
It wasn’t meant as a compliment—more of a fact. But Mason could tell by the way Chase tensed his shoulders that he was back to being that kid who felt so uncomfortable being told how amazing he was. At the same time, he could tell that he enjoyed it, and seeing Chase feel at ease again made Mason feel at ease, too.
