When that song comes to an end, Mason introduces himself, thanking everyone for coming out tonight to have a good time with him. Then, he launches into a cover song of “Starting Over” by Chris Stapleton. As he sings about taking chances and hardroads, I wonder if he ever thinks of me the way I ruminate over him each and every day. Does he remember the words he said to me? Does he remember kissing me? Does guilt chew him up alive when he thinks about that night?
Or am I a stain on his past? A blot in need of removal? Was writing that apology song his way of clearing his own conscience while not having to confront me? Was it his way of taking a Tide To-Go pen to our ruined history?
That thought sends my stomach into knots of uneasiness and fury, and before I know it, the very song occupying my thoughts begins to play through speakers. As Mason strums the chords, he steps up to the mic and says, “Midnights are the hardest. It’s when my darkest demons come to haunt and play, reminding me of countless mistakes I’ve made in my life. You’ve all related to this new song, and I’m excited to play it for the first time ever for y’all tonight.”
Then he launches into “Midnight Mistakes” and I finally realize exactly what I’m doing at this concert: hoping and praying he will see me, stop the show, part the crowd to run to me, drop to his knees, beg for forgiveness, cry tears of sorrow, then sweep me up into a kiss that I know should have been our first one.
But Mason Kane can’t see me.
He has no idea I’m here.
And I’m only stabbing myself over and over with a thousand needles with every breath I take inside this hellish coliseum.
Forcing myself to stand, I push through the crowd on shaky, wobbly knees and fight to constrain the burning tears of disgust at my pathetic, deprecating, self-sabotaging actions I took by coming here this evening. Once I reach my car, turn on the AC, slide in, and slam the door shut, the deluge pours from my eyes.
I hate myself.
How did I get here? Driving six hours to put myself through utter misery for the sake of feeling something again?
What kind of pathetic shell of a woman have I become?
Why do I allow him to have this control over me?
When will Ijust. let. go…?
Chapter Eighteen
Mason - Present
“Have I told youhow stunning you look tonight?” I whisper in Karoline’s ear as the ads play on the big screen. No one else is in the theater, as I booked the entire room out for just the two of us. I didn’t tell Karoline that, and she hasn’t inquired about us being the only two in here tonight.
Karoline rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the pink flush in her cheeks. “Only a million times. You can stop feeding my ego now.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,Little Ma’am.I’ll feed your ego as long as you’ll let me. My compliments are like a faucet that’s stuck on… I’ll continue to pour them out until you’re overflowing with confidence.”
She laughs, and it’s a sound I never want to be separated from again. “That was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Peppermint. For the love of all things good and holy, donotsay something like that again.”
With a snicker, I settle back into the reclining chair. I, for one, am glad theaters have been remodeled to hold these comfy chairs. Those fold-down ones that squeaked with every weight shift were anxiety-inducing. Though, these bulkier ones make it more difficult to scoot close to your date and snuggle up.
Karoline would say this isn’t a date, but I know better.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s fiddling with her fingers on her lap and biting the bottom of her red lips. Signature nervous energycourtesy of Karoline.
This is a date.
My first one with Karoline Wright.
And, God-willing, my last first date ever.
She turns her head in my direction, and I don’t bother to look away. Yeah, she caught me staring, and with the lights dimming around us, she’s about to catch me leaning in…
“N-no,” Karoline stammers at the last minute, turning her head so that my lips crash against her cheek. “Uh…”
I ease out of her space. “Well, this is awkward.”
While I let out a long breath, she pats her cheek with the back of her hand.
We both sit facing forward, the awkwardness of the situation rolling over us in waves. At least, I think she feels it by the way she won’t look at me.
