I glance at Mason through the noise and warmth, and something in my chest tugs. He’s smiling, sure. Laughing even. But not really. It’s thin, forced. My hand slides to his shoulder.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?” He turns, eyes duller than they should be.
“You okay?”
“Tired.” He rubs his face and tips his head back against the couch.
I study him a second longer, but the chaos of Duck, Duck, Goose pulls my attention away when Addison chants for Emma to chase her. Poor Emma just stands frozen, finger tucked in her lip, little fist clutched in the hem of her dress, wide eyes fixed on Addison.
Emma looks over at Karissa and Cody instead. The second Cody encourages her, she bursts into tears and bolts straight to him. The room lets out a mix of laughter and softawws as she throws herself into his arms, clinging to his neck like she’s been traumatized by the game. Cody bites back a grin as he stands with her.
“It’s just a game, Em, it’s okay,” he says soothingly, carrying her out of the room while she buries her face against him. My heart swells at the sight, though I can’t shake the weight still pressing from Mason’s silence beside me.
We don’t stay much longer. Mason’s dragging, more than just tired. He worked nearly all night after being called in for something he hasn’t talked about yet. He doesn’t go in again until tomorrow’s day shift, but tonight he needs real rest.
By the time we pull into his driveway, I still feel it, theoff-ness, the heaviness. He lets me through the door first, flipping on the kitchen and living room lights before toeing off his boots.
“I’m gonna change,” he mutters.
“Okay.”
I wait in the kitchen. It’s tidy, only a couple dishes in the sink, a pan drying on the counter. Normal. But he comes back out of the hallway like he’s carrying something heavier than exhaustion.
“You staying or going?” he asks, his tone flat.Tooflat.
I stare at him. The way he asked…it’s cold. Not like him.
“You can lay on the couch with me,” he adds. “Or if you’re leaving, I’ll just go to bed.”
“Mase, what’s wrong?”
“Nothin’s wrong. I’m just tired. I didn’t plan on working last night. I’m—”
“I know that.” I step closer, my voice gentle but firm. “But you’re more than tired. I’ve seen you tired, Mason. You’re not like this with me.”
His eyes fall, shoulders sagging, hands braced on his hips. He exhales slowly, like he’s debating whether to let the words out.
“Did I do something?” I ask softly.
“No.” He shakes his head quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not you, Meg. Promise.”
He steps toward me, like he can end it there with a kiss and the brush of his hand at my waist, but I press my palm flat to his chest, stopping him.
“Mason.” My voice lowers, my teacher tone slipping out—steady but kind.
He almost smiles at it, but the weariness wins.
“Please?” I ask, my eyes searching his.
He circles the kitchen island, dragging both hands over his face. His shoulders rise and fall.
Finally, he exhales. “Last night was just…a lot. That’s all.”
My chest tightens. His jaw clenches, eyes fixed on the counter like if he looks at me he might break.
“Something serious?” I press softly.
