Page 181 of Breathe Like Hell

I was grateful to have such a large yard, and for my neighbor’s houses to be far enough away that I wasn’t worried about them watching us. There was also the added privacy from the pine trees lining the lot.

Mason tackled Dakota to the snow, a high-pitched squeal tearing out of her as he kissed along her jaw and down her neck, snow clinging to her braids. He rolled over so she was on top, straddling him and staring down with a smile on her face. She turned when she heard me coming, springing up to walk by my side while Mason brushed snow off his jeans that were probably already wet.

We trudged along to the back gate, then went through it behind my yard to where the ground sloped down towards a frozen creek. It sloped down, evened out, then sloped again, trees concealing most of the bank, but spread out enough on the hill and flat section for easy sledding.

As much as Dakota had tried to reject this birthday gift at first, she seemed to be having fun. I was happy to indulge her.

The afternoon slipped by in a blur of cold snow and heavy footsteps. The sled carved fresh paths through the hill until the snow was churned into uneven tracks, our footprints crisscrossing over one another, mud and grass visible everywhere. Dakota laughed every time one of us lost control, the sound carrying through the pines and twirling with the wind.

I laughed with her when I was supposed to. It wasn’t difficult to pretend for a few hours. The cold gave us something else to think about besides ourselves.

Every now and then, though, I’d catch Mason looking at me from across the yard. Never for long. Just enough to remind me that nothing between us had actually changed, even if Dakota wanted it to, even if she thought it was. She still didn’t know the whole truth. She barely knew the half.

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We stumbled inside the back door a few hours later, and I could tell Dakota was thoroughly worn out. She disappeared upstairs to change, leaving a trail of melting snow across the hardwood, Mason heading up behind her.

I lingered by the back door to pull off my boots, then set Dakota’s and Mason’s on the rubber mat next to mine.

Mason appeared downstairs first, going straight towards the kitchen without a word. I passed him silently, turning on the Christmas tree so it glowed quietly in the corner of the living room, the colored lights reflecting off the windows as the sky outside grew darker.

I went up to my bedroom, noting that my bathroom door was shut. Dakota must’ve been changing in there, or maybe just laying on the heated tiles. She did that sometimes. I returned to the living room in a fresh pair of sweats and a clean t-shirt.

Mason exited the kitchen with three mugs of hot chocolate balanced carefully in his hands. He handed one to me without meeting my eyes, then set the other one on the coffee table for Dakota before lowering himself onto the couch. I lit the fireplace, warmth and light spilling from the hearth, then sat in the leather armchair.

After a moment, Mason did look at me.

There was a tortured sort of anger in his brown eyes, the same emotion which I was sure reflected in my own irises. I didn’t know what to do with him. We’d been hooking up constantly and not exactly speaking outside of that. We both talked to Dakota, consequently conversing with each other sometimes when she was around, but never on our own unless we were fighting.

I didn’t know what to say to him.

I was terrified he’d want to talk about our past, terrified he would want to bring up things I’d rather stay buried forever, terrified he would know exactly how to push on my wounds, terrified he’d learn the one thing I really didn’t want him to know. But with the way things were going, it felt inevitable.

He had questions. I could feel them when we fucked. He’d stopped asking them for now, but he wouldn’t be satisfied like this forever.

What are we doing?

What’s going to happen to us in the end?

What do I even want to happen?

I don’t know.

There were so many conflicting thoughts in my brain about him, so many things I’d been trying to avoid looking in the eye. I was the one to leave him, and it wasn’t like I regretted it.

If I was put back in the past, I would do it again—even earlier this time. Before our last real night together.

If I could erase my own memories, that night would be the first thing gone.

Maybe without those memories staining the inside of my skull, without their pain smudged dark all over my brain, I’d be able to breathe normally again. Maybe I’d be capable of loving Dakota the way she was meant to be loved. Maybe I’d be able to accept the level of vulnerability that came with being known. Maybe I’d be able to fucking talk to the past love of my life, be honest with him.

But I could only remove memories from those without ichor in their veins.

Dakota wandered back downstairs a few minutes later in an oversized sweatshirt, her little shorts hidden fully beneath it, wrapping both hands around her mug of hot chocolate before settling onto the rug in front of the tree instead of beside either of us.

“Movie?” she asked.

“Yeah.” I picked up the remote, then turned on the TV. “What do you want?”