How many times did Mason and I walk this very track, hand in hand, talking about anything and everything? Hours upon hours of conversation. Considering how much time we spent together, I would have thought we’d eventually run out of things to say, but we never did. If anything, we always seemed bursting with things to tell each other. Even the most simple, mundane details from our day. We just liked hearing each other talk, watching each other smile and laugh, and just beingtogether.
Pulling up his number like I have so many times, I tap my finger on his name and listen to the phone go immediately to voicemail.
‘Hello, the person you are calling is unavailable.’
How the hell could he do something like this to me? Did he care for me at all, or was he working some elaborate plan to get his way into my pants? It seems unlikely. How could everything shared between us be fake? I don’t truly believe it was an act, but it’s hard not to let those dark, insecure thoughts swirl inside my brain. It’s been weeks since he left. Well, months, technically. I thought ... hoped ... the pain would have lessened by this point, but in the past few days, everything has seemed impossibly worse.
Turning, I walk towards the ocean. The cool sting of the water is calming as it washes over my ankles. The sun is slowly sinking into the horizon. I look to my hand, which is pressed softly against my stomach. The tears fall down my cheeks as I stare at it, my mind flashing back to the horrible night where everything fell apart.
‘Where are you, Mase?’ I whisper miserably, squeezing my eyes closed. ‘I need you.’
37
MASON
WE STAYED ANOTHER NIGHT.It was a blur of inhaling the same breath, her lips on mine, our bodies entwined. In the bed, on the floor, in the shower. Over and over, every fantasy we’d dreamed about doing with each other, we did.
We stopped every now and then to refuel with food and water, managing to break out of our lust-filled haze to go for a walk downtown and get coffee, but we’d end up back in bed within the hour. When our limbs are tangled together, our bodies closer than I thought physically possible, everything else is background noise. Life, and all its problems, doesn’t exist.
But now we’re back, and the reality of everything that happened slaps us in the face with brutal force. The house feels cold and empty when we walk inside, and the guilt I’ve been avoiding plagues me with a sickening pressure.
‘He’s not here, is he?’ she asks quietly.
‘I very much doubt it.’
Pulling her to me, I wrap my arms around her and kiss the top of her head. She slides her arms around my waist, and we stay like that for a few moments.
‘Maybe you should call him,’ she suggests. ‘Since he is speaking to you.’
Nodding, I withdraw my phone from my pocket and dial my best friend’s number. When it connects, I immediately tap the speaker and hold the phone between us, so Anya can hear as well.
‘Yo,’ Zayden answers. There is significant background noise, which makes it hard to hear him. But from that one word alone, I can tell he isn’t sober. He’s either at a party or some sort of event.
‘Zayden,’ I say. ‘We just got home. Where are you?’
‘The carnival. You should come.’
We exchange glances. ‘Who are you with?’
‘The team.’
‘I’m worried about you, man.’
‘I’m fine,’ he deadpans.
‘Yeah. You sound like it,’ I say, and notice Anya growing more concerned by the moment as her brows knit together and her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
‘Well, I’m at the carnival. I’ll see you, or I won’t.’ With that, he hangs up, and Anya and I wordlessly stare at the phone.
‘What do you think?’ she asks.
‘Looks like we’re going to the carnival.’
It’s dark by the time we get there, and the car park is packed. Cars are circling the perimeter, trying to find last-minute spots, and we manage to find one after two laps. Since most people are already inside, the line isn’t too long, and within a few minutes, we are walking down the aisles of the carnival. It’s a complete sensory overload here. People are laughing, talking, and bright lights are flashing before our eyes. I want nothing more than to capture Anya’s hand in mine and keep her close, but I need to find Zayden. We need to talk, despite the bad timing. The night air is brisk, nipping at my exposed skin. People bump into me left and right, and I mutter under my breath, growing frustrated.
Anya is furiously picking at her nails, and I rest a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes dart to mine, and I lean forward, kissing her temple.
‘It’s okay. We’ll find him.’
