Page 71 of Mason

Mason

The sunrise cuts over the horizon as I walk out of the hospital’s front doors. Leaving is against medical advice and will cost a small fortune, but there’s no point spending any more time in its walls. I’m patched up with a dozen stitches in my face, a few dozen more in my shoulder, and a splinted arm that’s now throbbing since the pain meds are wearing off.

I have shit to do. Calls to make. Jobs to run.

Not to mention, I have a hell of a mess to clean up at the cabin.

And then there are my parents. Fuck.

Dad might shoot me dead on the spot, but Mom needs to hear the truth from me. I need to own what I did. If Dad taught me anything, it’s taking control, even if he’s long given the reins over to whiskey. At least if he kills me, I won’t have to pay the medical bills for Grady’s fire powered kiss to my shoulder and face.

A whistle catches my attention.

It’s Dixon leaning against his truck, double-parked in an employee of the month parking slip. He’s looking between me and the looming structure where doctors sewed me back together all night like Humpty Dumpty. “Aw, you’re going to be like Tony Montana with that scar,” he cracks, gesturing to his cheek. “Wrong side, but we’ll pretend.”

I ignore him, heading to the passenger side to climb in. He’s lucky I need him to get back to my vehicle, otherwise I’d tell him and his jokes to go fuck themselves.

“Don’t be a piss ass,” he grumbles, sliding behind the wheel.

I open the door and cock my head at the pristine seats. Blood coated nearly every surface when we rolled in last night. “How did you…?”

He rolls his eyes, starting the truck. He bumps up the heat to accommodate my current lack of clothes, the t-shirt and jeans he gave me hardly suitable for a chilly November morning. “Don’t ask questions.” Almost to put an exclamation point behind that statement, he reaches under the seat and plucks out a zippered sweatshirt and tosses it over. “Stick one arm in and drape it over the other.”

I slide a reluctant arm into the cotton jacket, gritting my teeth as I drape the opposite side over my injured shoulder. This injury is going to be a bitch while it heals. “What are you, a fucking magician?”

He backs out of the slip. “I’m prepared for anything. You should be, too.”

“Sorry, the whole brother-trying-to-kill-me-slash-make-me-out-to-be-a-murderer thing threw me for a fucking loop, Dix.” It still has me reeling sitting here in the relative calm of his truck, struggling to take it all in. The sheer amount of loss in such a short time overloading every system. Spencer. Grady. Emily.

I lean into the seat, tilting my head toward the ceiling. Fuck.

We drive along in silence, Dixon cutting through the quiet suburban streets to the highway while I piece together what I have left to go home to. Mom. My apartment. A handful of our men who might still talk to me after shooting my brother through the heart. Not exactly a lot to work with.

The nearest hospital to the cabin sits by the shore, the area desolate, It’s a long drive back to the cabin, one that skims the shoreline and eventually dips into the forest again. Perfect for nodding off. But I can’t sleep. Not like this.

Dixon knows it, too, eyeing me after a good ten minutes of coasting down the highway. “So you’re sweet on the Giambelli girl?”

Maybe I should’ve faked a nap. “I’m not sweet on anyone.”

He grins. “If you looked at me like you look at her, I’d pop you in the fucking mouth and take out a restraining order.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I got pregnant just watching you.”

“I’ll take you to the clinic,” I deadpan, and he throws his head back with a laugh.

“You must have a magic cock. That girl has stars in her eyes for you, too.”

No fucking shit. That’s exactly why I want her to hate me. I’m everything she doesn’t need. She’s confused and scared, and hopefully she’ll realize it sooner rather than later.

“You’re talking nonsense,” I mutter, wishing I had a sleeping pill. At least it’d earn me some quiet time, a break from him and the thoughts whirling in my head.

“Hey, it’s not the craziest shit I’ve seen,” he says with a shrug. “Mom would like her. She’s got balls of steel.”

“Would you drop it?” He’s bringing on a headache I didn’t have before.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised you went there.” He cuts into the right line, illegally passing a minivan moving at the speed of shit. “Mr. Maintain Control let his dick slip and fall into a hot piece of ass.”

Hearing him talk about Emily like a fuck toy makes my blood boil. She isn’t a piece of ass. “I didn’t stick my dick in her.” I would’ve, though. I would’ve fucked her and regretted it like she would once she came down from the loneliness of the cabin. I won’t be a mistake she regrets. I won’t let her be a regret of mine, either.

“You want to.”

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