Focus is already hard enough without Mason’s stupidly sexy body looming in my peripheral vision. He’s working with one of his coworkers today—Richard, I think, or maybe his name is Ryan.
Mason stands in the lifeguard tower with his hands on his waist, eyes scanning across the crowded lake. His skin-tight tank top shows off his broad shoulders, his honey brown curls tucked into a messy bun. His chiseled arms are glistening with a mixture of sweat and oily sunscreen.
I force myself to look away.
Thirty minutes in, my lower back is screaming at me, my joints are stiff, and I’m sweating in places I didn’t even know could produce sweat. The lake breeze teases me with the promise of relief, but it’s faint—just enough to waft the hair off my forehead before disappearing again.
By the time Mason’s lunch break rolls around, my hand is cramping from tally marks and my patience is hanging by a thread. He meets me at our usual spot—the park maintenance shed—but the second he walks in, I know something’s wrong.
He kisses me, but it’s short and stiff. When we sit down to eat, he doesn’t really look at me. He just stares at the floor while he eats his turkey sandwich. When he chews, his molars grind together, and his shoulders are tense like he’s holding in a breath.
A knot of anxiety twists in my chest. My brain immediately leaps to worst-case scenarios. Is this it? Is this when he finally realizes I’m not good enough for him? Was I reallythatbad at sexting last night?
I inhale a shaky breath. “Mason? Are you… okay?”
He hesitates, then sets his sandwich down like it suddenly weighs too much. “I hate Father’s Day.”
Oh. The thought never even crossed my mind, and guilt punches me in the ribs. I don’t know much about his dad. He never volunteers information, and I’ve never pushed. All I know is that he’s not around anymore.
I scoot closer to Mason until our knees knock together. Thankfully, he doesn’t lean away from me.
“I’m sorry, Mase.”
He shrugs, eyes fixed on his lap. “Every year, when this day rolls around, I’m reminded that my dad didn’t want me. He left when I was eight, just a few months after my diagnosis. He told my mom it was too much for him to handle—having a new baby and a sick kid at the same time.”
My chest aches so sharply I swear I can feel the edges of it splinter. I rest my hand on his knee, squeezing gently.
“He’s reached out a few times since,” Mason says, voice low. “Trying to make things right. But… I don’t really want anything to do with him. And I definitely don’t want him anywhere near Maddie.”
“I wouldn’t either, if I were you.”
His eyes finally lift, vulnerable and shy. I don’t try to fix it or tell him it’ll all be okay. I just lean in until our foreheads touch, cupping his cheek. His eyes flutter shut, and I feel the tension loosen from his shoulders. I kiss him softly, and his lips slide against mine, warm and tender.
When the kiss breaks, I keep my hands anchored to his shoulders and stare into his earthy hazel eyes.
“Your dad missed out by not having you in his life,” I tell him. “I know you don’t let people in easily. But the people you care about? They’re lucky.I’mlucky.”
He gives me a warm smile. “Thanks, babyface.”
And just like that, my heart pulls in two directions at once—toward the warmth of him here and now, and toward the knowledge that when September comes, he’ll be gone.
The thought stings, but I know even one summer with Mason Burke will be worth the pain that follows.
Chapter Twenty-One
The sun is relentless today—sharp, white light bouncing off the sand, making my eyes squint behind my glasses. I’m kneeling beside a patch of Pitcher’s Thistle, trying to capture a clear photo of a bumblebee before it flies away. My research notebook lies open beside me, pages flapping in the breeze, tally marks smudged with sunscreen from my fingers.
Out of habit, my gaze drifts toward the lifeguard tower. Mason’s there, arms crossed over his chest, scanning the water. His curls are tucked beneath a baseball cap today, the bill shielding his eyes from the sun.
I glance away before I can get caught staring. Again.
A shadow moves in the corner of my vision, and I look back just in time to see Mason pull out his phone and step down from the tower, leaving it occupied by his coworker.
As he answers the call, his expression becomes tense. He walks a few yards down the beach, phone pressed to his ear, pacing frantically.
My stomach drops. Whatever he’s talking about on the phone, it doesn’t seem to be good news.
I try to return to my data collection, but I’m distracted by the quick, clipped way he’s talking. He anxiously runs a hand through his hair, looking out to the lake with his teeth gnawing his bottom lip.
