I close my eyes and focus on the images he’s drawing. A tiny heart on my nose. What feels like a flower with looping circles for petals on my cheek. His finger slowly glides down to my mouth, and my lips part as he languidly outlines their shape. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me as it follows the pattern his finger makes. I open my eyes when the kiss I want more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life never comes.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask him after long seconds pass.
Even though he’s gazing down at me, his eyes are unfocused and far away.
“Did I ever tell you about my mother? My biological one?”
A half dozen different emotions scurry through me including disbelief and hope.
Mason didn’t talk much about his time in foster care. If I ever asked a direct question, he would shut the conversation down completely—so him opening up to me now is huge. All I can think is,finally. He’sfinallyletting me in.
I shake my head no.
“I found her.”
Mason carefully rolls over to lie on his back, then pulls me to his side until I’m half lying on top of him. I pillow my head on his chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“I had so many questions. So many things I wanted to ask. What was so wrong with me that she decided being my mom wasn’t worth it? Who my father was and what happened to him. Did she ever love me? Was I a mistake? I needed to move forward, let the past and my anger go so I could be the man you deserved. To do that, I needed closure. Right after we came back from our trip to the Outer Banks, I started looking.” He chuckles but it sounds off.
I lift my head and rest my chin on his chest. “You did?”
He never said anything to me about it.
He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Yeah.”
I’m afraid to ask but do anyway. “What happened? Did you get to meet her?”
“No, baby, I didn’t. She passed away sixteen years ago.”
My lungs refuse to expand, his words splitting my heart in two and bleeding it dry. I cradle his face between my hands as I cry tears that I have no way of stopping.
“Mason, I amsosorry.”
It’s the only thing I can think to say. Because, honestly, what can you say to that?
He dries my wet cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.
“Finding out screwed me up mentally, and I went into a very dark place. I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I couldn’t let that darkness touch you.”
“When did you find out?”
His eyes fix on mine. “The day before New Year’s Eve.”
And there it is. The answer to the question that has haunted me for the past year and a half: why he walked away and broke up with me.
My heart aches for this man. He’s had to live through so much heartbreak, pain, and disappointment.
“Thank you for telling me.”
His strong hands grip under my shoulders and slide me up his torso until I’m fully lying on top of him, our bodies aligned from head to toe, our mouths scant inches apart.
“I should have told you sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry for so many things. But most of all, I’m sorry it took me so long to find my way back to you.”
Find my way back to you. I absolutely melt into a puddle of emotional goo.
Trying to lighten things up, I reply, “Tampa isn’t that far away.”
“Tampa and therapy,” he amends, but he’s smiling when he says it.
