His head kept turning my way. “You’re doing great. We’re almost there. Just hang on a few more minutes.”
Those were the longest few minutes of my entire life. My arm was on fire and tears were running down my face when we finally pulled up outside the emergency room. He jumped out and opened my door, putting his arm around me and helping me make my way to the door.
He sat me down in a chair in the waiting room, his touch light, his voice soft. “Wait here. I’ll get someone to come out.”
I was ready to curl up on the floor and start crying when he went up to the counter and left me by myself. My arm hurt, but I didn’t think it was anything serious. I was a mess because of what had happened with my mother, her actions unexpected and out of character. After a few seconds, the nurse he was talking to put the phone to her ear and spoke into it.
He sat down next to me and traced a finger up my cheek, wiping my tears. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’ll be fine. They’ll send someone out.”
Of course they would send someone, because nobody ever said no to Mason. If he couldn’t charm someone, he would intimidate them. In his world he always got what he wanted. And for once I was glad, because the thought of sitting in a waiting room was making me shake even more. I wanted to go home and forget this day ever happened.
A nurse approached a few minutes later and after taking one look at my arm, she waved me straight through.
I was allocated a bed, then given something for the pain. Mason helped me lie down, his voice still soft, his manner so different from his usual coldness. Once he rearranged my pillows and pulled a sheet over my legs, I was sure they gave me the good drugs and I was hallucinating. He seemed to care what happened to me. And that was impossible.
Even though I knew that this wasn’t real, and that he could go right back to hating me at any moment, I grabbed his hand and held on tight. He didn’t pull back, but instead sat down on the side of the bed. We stayed like that until the doctor showed up. He examined my arm and decided it only needed to be cleaned. A nurse put a dressing on and gave me instructions on how to care for the wound. I had to keep it dry until they changed the dressing in a week.
Once the doctor was satisfied I didn’t have any other injuries, I was released with a prescription for pain meds. I guess the injury looked worse than it actually was, the shock of my mother trying to get me to come back home enough to send me into a panic.
In no time, I found myself back in Mason’s passenger seat. We were parked in front of the pharmacy and he was looking at me. “I’ll run in and get your medication. Do you need anything else before we go back to my house?”
“I don’t think so.” I wasn’t sure what I needed. But meds sounded great right now. And did he say I was going back to his house with him?
I was too stunned to argue when he told me what would happen, wondering instead if I had a concussion.
When he came back, I was still stuck on the fact that I was on my way to his house. I automatically took the paper bag he handed me and sat it on my lap.
We drove through Humptulips, but he didn’t turn into any residential streets. I frowned when we left the town behind, wondering where we were going.
After a few minutes he turned onto a dirt road. A faded old wooden sign saidend farm,the rest of the letters too faint to read.
The road turned out to be a long driveway that led up to a beautiful old farmhouse. The paint was peeling and a few of the windows were dusted over, but it didn’t hide the amazing architecture. It was surrounded by big trees and a new barn sat off to the side. I hated where I grew up, but I always loved living on a farm.
I only realized how much since I’d moved out. My mother’s house, a palatial home that was designed to resemble a farmhouse, was twice as big as the one we were stopped in front of, but it always felt empty; after Gran and Pop passed away last year, there were a lot of empty bedrooms. And it was never a home, only a museum where I was never allowed to touch anything.
Mason’s house looked like a home, despite being a bachelor pad. Guess I underestimated Mason on all fronts.
He opened my car door and unbuckled my seat belt.
“I can get it myself,” I said, on edge and in pain.
He put his hands up and backed out of the car. “All right, princess, I’ll meet you inside.”
He walked toward the house and a giant black dog jumped down from the wraparound veranda to greet him, wagging his tail and licking his hands. “About time you showed up. I think I need to trade you in for a newer model. Some kind of guard dog you are, Loki.”
I could tell he genuinely liked his dog and continued to talk to him until they disappeared inside.
There wasn’t anything else to do but follow him into the house. I walked past a row of dead potted plants that were sitting on the steps, and hoped I wouldn’t join them in their fate. After all, we were out in the middle of nowhere, and nobody would come to my rescue if Mason decided I was too much trouble and went Norman Bates on me after he realized what a pain in the ass I could be.
The house was half renovated inside. The hallway was freshly painted, and the wooden floorboards looked like they had been polished recently. A room to my right was still in pieces, the chandelier sat on the old floorboards and the chimney was covered in ash and soot.
The next room didn’t look much better, and I kept walking past the staircase and to the back of the house. My breath stopped when I saw the view. There was a lake, surrounded by lavender fields. You couldn’t see them from the front of the house because it was on a hill, and the fields were on the downward slope.
Large french doors allowed for an uninterrupted view. I took in my surroundings and my steps faltered. I was standing in a huge living room that took up the whole back part of the house. To my left was a kitchen that looked brand new, and to my right was a living room with a couch and a TV and no other furniture. A granite island separated the kitchen from the living room.
“I bought it for the view, but the house has a lot of potential,” Mason said. He was filling two cups with boiling water from the kettle, his dog sitting at his feet. “I made you tea. Don’t get used to it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said and walked closer. “Your house is beautiful.”
