Page 54 of Butterfly

“Call me Mace again,” I urged.

“Mace.”

“I was angry at you, butterfly. You’d made me want things I’d never wanted before, and it felt like those things were out of reach. I didn’t know who to blame, so I blamed you. It made it easier to keep you at a distance.”

She swallowed. “What changed?”

“It wasn’t easier when you left. It was worse. I swore to myself I’d never let you leave again. I mean that. You’re mine now. You’ve been mine since before I slid deep inside that perfect pussy and took your virginity. Before the first time I kissed you. Before that night in the pool. Before we even met for the first time. You’ve been mine since before you were born. You were made for me, and if you don’t see that now, you will. I promise.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, then finally: “How do you know?

This time, I was the one who had to swallow. My whole mouth felt like sawdust; I never talked about this out loud.

“You know my mom died, right?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Mason.” She squeezed my hand, and the unexpected gesture of support made that sawdust taste disappear.

“She had Marfan syndrome. It’s this rare degenerative disease, it affects your connective tissues so your body fails, and then your eyes.” I swallowed again, shutting my own eyes. “I had to sit there and watch as my mom lost mobility, then her eyesight, getting sicker and sicker and weaker and weaker, until her heart finally gave out.”

“Oh, Mason.” She squeezed my hand again, her eyes filling with tears. “That’s horrible, I’m sorry.”

“You know the worst thing? Besides losing the person who loved you most in the world. My dad kind of died, too. All I had left was hockey. It never let me down, it was always there for me, so I devoted myself to it and stayed cold to everything and everyone else. When your mom came around, I was so fucking pissed that anyone could replace her, but it wasn’t your mom’s fault. She makes my dad happy. That’s a good thing.” And she’d brought me Leslie, which was the best thing.

Leslie sighed, running her thumb in circles over my palm. “Feeling like you’ve been replacedsucks.”

I stilled, waiting for her to tell me about her own wounds.

“My dad…you know how soap operas always have these men who have a second family?” She bit her lip, and I silently urged her to continue, to trust me. “Well, my dad is one of those men, exceptwewere the second family. My mom was never married to him, but she didn’t realize that she was his side piece.”

“Oh, butterfly.”

She shrugged. “He was always out of town for work, never around. I thought he did somethingso important.I wasproudof him. Until we found out. And it wasn’t like he loved us more; when Mom confronted him, he went back to his wife and kids. And I’ve always wondered why we weren’t enough for him. Why we weren’t worthy of him.”

She shook her head, and anger at her pain filled me.

I spoke. “Two things. First: I hate that you’ve been hurt, but no one will ever hurt you again.” Except maybe me, but I’d make sure I’d only hurt her in ways now that set up her happiness later. “Second: I’ll kill him.”

She laughed. “Cute. I appreciate the?—”

“No, butterfly,” I interrupted. “I mean it. Anyone who hurts you doesn’t deserve to breathe.”

She stilled, her thumb pausing in its circles. “Mason, I don’t want that. I don’t like violence, and I don’t want you hurting anyone—not even for me.”

I knew she’d feel that way, but I didn’t give a fuck.

“It’s not up for discussion, Leslie.”

“Mason, I mean it.” She lifted her hand, placing it on my cheek. “I don’t know what this is between us, if it can be anything?—”

“It’s everything,” I interrupted her.

She gasped, her eyes going wide. “It can’t be.”

“I’m not arguing about this, butterfly. You’re mine.”

Her voice was quiet when she said, “If you hurt someone—even for me—then I’m gone.”

I digested this. I wouldn’t kill her father then, as much as it pained me. As for anyone else? Well, what Leslie didn’t know wouldn’t hurther.

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