She takes a piece of my heart with her as she walks down the drive, her life packed up into one bag.
I’m frozen in the hallway, as if I’ve been blasted with a fire hose.
Through the window, I catch a glimpse of her car rolling off the drive, snow swirling around the taillights until they fade into white.
Mason’s pacing by the hall, shoulders tight, breathing hard.
“Can we talk about this?” I say, my voice ragged like broken glass.
“How long?” His eyes narrow to thin slits.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “As long as it takes to sort this out.”
“I meant, how long have you been hooking up with my ex-girlfriend?”
“Since the fire.” I rub my temple, trying to think exactly how many days ago that was. “About ten days.”
“What fire?” Mason furrows his brow.
“Her nan’s bungalow burned down.” I walk by Mason into the kitchen, needing a coffee, or a Xanax, or something.
Mason follows me and drops his bag onto the floor. “Shit. Was she in it?”
My shoulders relax a little, knowing he’s willing to stay and talk this through. “No. Thank God. But she needed somewhere to stay.”
“How convenient that you had a spare room.” He rolls his eyes.
“Look. You told me you didn’t want to get back with her. Made a big song and dance about it at Thanksgiving. I asked you repeatedly, and you said you didn’t like her in that way. Son, I haven’t done this to hurt you. I fell in love with her.”
“Dad, she’s eighteen.”
“She’s almost nineteen,” I deadpan.
“And you’re what? Forty-two?”
I close my eyes, knowing he’s right. I’m a fool. Twisted. Deluded.
“Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me? You ruined my life, Dad.”
I grit my teeth before I say something I regret and run a hand down my face. “Mason, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about how this would affect you.”
“You never do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I’ve never been your number one priority. You always chose work over us. Why’d you think Mom left?”
“I’ve tried my best to be there for you, Mason. I’m so tired of you throwing that back in my face at every damn opportunity. You never had any problem spending the money I earned. And, funnily enough, neither did your mother.”
The front door clicks. My heart lunges in my chest thinking Sera’s back.
Ember stands in the doorway, snow melting in her hair, eyes darting between me and Mason, a baking tin in her hands. “Why does it look like you two are about to murder Santa or each other?”
“Ask him.” Mason waves a hand in my direction.
Ember’s eyes flick between us. “What the hell happened?”
“He’s screwing Sera.”
