I snort a laugh and can’t help but smirk. “Yeah, probably. She died when we were teens. She’d smoked a pack a day since she was young, and it caught up to her. After that, we really did raise each other. We ended up in separate foster homes, then found our way to a group home. When we turned eighteen, we gained access to the little bit of money from her life insurance and made our way to college.”
“It sucked, but I’m glad I was older when our parents died. But taking care of a teen Reid was not easy.” Masonlaughs sarcastically, then eyes me out of the corner of his eye. “He was and always will be a little shit.”
“I believe that,” I say truthfully. “Is the scar from your cancer treatments?”
Mason glances down to look at the scar on his bicep with furrowed brows. “Yeah. I had to have a port for a little while. I didn’t have good veins, so it was a whole thing. I forget about it sometimes.”
“Ah.”
“You noticed it though,” Mason points out with an air of surprise.
I swallow hard. “It’s my job to notice the little things.”
Mason just hums and leans back in the seat, sighing in relief when we pull up in front of his house. The drive is short, but it’s cold out, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable if I didn’t have easy access to the car. Mason presses a few buttons on his phone and the small garage in the basement opens up, and he points in that direction for me to pull in.
“You guys don’t have a car?”
Mason shrugs in denial. “Neither of us like to drive.”
“Fair.”
Mason hops out when the garage door is firmly closed and makes his way inside. After grabbing all my stuff, I follow him, relaxing a little bit at the familiar homey feeling of the house. It smells clean like usual, with a hint of lemons.
“I’ll show you to the guest room,” Mason declares, looking oddly nervous.
“Is it close to your room?” I ask, voice huskier than I intended.
Mason looks up at me through his auburn eyelashes, that glorious flush working its way across his cheeks. “Across the hallway.”
I grunt in acceptance. “Okay. You can’t be on the first floor without me though.”
“But this is my house and I feel perfectly safe here. Also, you have the extra security and?—”
“Hey.”
Mason’s eyes go wide as he stares at me in question.
“You’ll stay on the same floor as me always, got it?” I order, leaving no room for arguments.
His shoulders drop from around his ears as he nods in acceptance of my order. He’s so different from Reid personality-wise, but I think there’s still that spark of fight in him. Mason just doesn’t like to push it, which works for me. I want to protect him and keep him safe without him questioning my every damn move.
I follow closely behind Mason as we climb the stairs. The door to his room is closed, but he opens the door across from it and steps inside. I take in the dark blue walls, dark wood bed frame, and muted light-yellow comforter, and something inside me gentles at the sight. Mason is so soft behind his walls. No wonder I have such an urge to protect him, when he deserves protecting the most.
“The bathroom is through that door,” Mason says quietly while pointing at the other side of the room. “If you need anything, let me know and I’ll order it from the delivery service I use.”
“I packed anything I could need.”
Mason smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Even so, I kind of owe you for this, so if you need anything, it’s on me.”
What’s he talking about? Owing me? We’re practically family now… and I’m only doing what I’d do for anyone else. I’d protect anyone like this if it was needed. I think. I’m mostly sure, at least.
“Mace, you don’t owe me anything,” I say to reassure him.
Mason’s breath catches for a moment before he glances away from me to stare at the bed hard, like it’s personally offended him. “Okay. Well, just, whatever. If you need something, tell me. I’m going to go shower again and put some of my own clothes on now. I’ll see you… in a bit.”
I almost tell him not to because I want him to stay in my clothes, I want him to smell like me, but he’s gone before I can utter a single word. What the fuck is going on with me? I distract myself from thoughts of Mason, the sounds of his shower running, by unpacking all of my belongings into the dresser and hanging my mission-ready clothes into the closet. I keep my rifle in its case and stow it under the bed for easy access, at least until I need it next.
Since my door is open, the sound of Mason’s door reopening echoes through my own room. I lean back on my heels to see him standing in his doorway, hair delightfully wet, making it look more bloodred than auburn. He’s wearing these tight exercise pants and a baggy T-shirt that has a logo on it that I don’t recognize.
