Page 128 of Sapphire Spring

Tony gripped Mason by the shoulders, waiting for him tocatch his breath.

“Okay,” the man finally whispered. “I’ll see what I can do.Stay here. And put some food in you.”

Mason nodded and sank into Tony’s desk chair.

He lost track of time until heheard thesounds ofcar doors closing, conversations between residents and theirloved ones that sounded easier and more cheerful than the ones with whichthey’d greeted each other days before. Headlights poppedon,engines revved. Family Week was ending.

And then, silence, and somewhere out there in the night onthis dark mountain, his father was wounded and exposed and drinking, fighting alonely battle with the ghost of his abuser.

Even though it had long gone cold, he was finishing up hisdinner when a set of headlights sliced the now empty parking lot.

The driver’s side door of a familiar pickup popped open.Tony jumped from the driver’s seat and went to open the passenger door. Hisfather dropped to the dirt as if his bones were heavier than when he’d left.

Mason walked toward them through the dark. He’d resolved todo what he planned to do next the second Tony had left in search of his dad.The results could be disastrous, but he didn’t care. He had to do something,try something, and it had to be different from everything he’d done before.

When therewasbarely a few feet ofdistance between them, when his father finally lifted his head and gave him ahangdog expression visible in the truck’s headlights in the instant before theysnapped off, Mason threw his arms around him and held on. Held on even as he feltthe brittle resistance of old wounds fill his father’s muscles. He held on tohis father because it had never occurred to him that the old man was the oneout of the two of them who needed to be told he wasn’t broken, wasn’t tainted.And after a while, it became clear his father wasn’t going to fight him off.Some of the resistance began to leave his body. Then they were two men holdingeach other up in the pine-fragrant dark because it seemed like the only wayMason could tell his father that if he put down his anger, Mason wouldn’t beafraid to love him.

33

If it had been a normal year—a yearin which his life hadn’t been turned upside down by a man who’d made his heartand body sing in unison—Naser’s only thoughts a week before Nowruzwouldhave been of preparations for the holiday.

The spring cleaning required to get his mother’s home in shapefor their family gathering on the night of the spring equinox. The search for abrand-new outfit that would hang, unworn and untouched, in his closet until thefamily gathered. His frenzied and often ill-advised attempts to broker a peacebetween his mother and sister around whatever fresh sources of tension mightthreaten to flare up during the various celebrations and visits.

But his year hadn’t been normal for weeks, and if Naser’sday count was correct, Mason was due to be released from rehab two days beforethe spring equinox. This coincidence only drove home the absurdity of a secretfantasy he’d been nursing ever since they’d spoken of the holiday during theirhillside picnic lunch.

No way, on any planet, under any sun, could Mason be hisdate for the first night of Nowruz. Now that he’d discovered how close hismother had come to threatening the man’s life when they were in high school, itwas even further out of the question. The fantasy wasn’t simply absurd—it wouldbe dangerous for everyone within a fifty-foot radius should it ever becomereality.

And so, a more powerful fantasy—and a far darker one—hadtaken hold of his thoughts.

They were done.

Naser had been replaced by some fitter, richer hottie whohad the added advantage of sharing in Mason’s experience of addiction andrecovery. Better to let Mason go now, meaning he should stop driving past hishouse every few nights and then speeding off before Mason’s helpfulTesla-driving neighbor could spot him.

He kept reminding himself that he wasn’t being ignored, wasn’tbeing shut out. In fact, Mason had made a beeline for the hotel on the day ofhis departure to warn him explicitly that radio silence was about to descendand Naser shouldn’t take it personally.

And yet, here he was, day in and day out, taking it personally.

Because imagining he’d already been rejected was easier thanfacing the unknown.

Who would Mason be after a month of being removed from hisregular life, from Naser? The question seemed overwhelming, and sometimes thedecisive nature of a worst-case scenario was easier to accept than a foggy anduncertain future.

Andsohe worked and he planned forthe holiday and he dodged his mother’s increasingly invasive questions aboutthe man who’d stolen his heart and run off up a mountain with it.

Then, one morning, a week before Mason was due to bereleased, Naser froze in the middle of Sapphire Cove’s lobby at the sight of aman who looked like an older version of Mason returned from the future, andsuddenly it felt like his feet weren’tmaking contact withthe floor.

The man standing by himself in the center of the lobby, eyeshidden behind aviator sunglasses, slowly surveying his surroundings with atense set to his stubbly, square jaw, was the same man Naser had seen on thewebsite forWortherProperties the night he’d swipedMason’s cell phone.

“You Naser?”

“Mr.Worther, I’m at work rightnow. If you want to have a conversation about your son, we can schedule a timeto talk. On the phone. When I’m not busy.”

The man’s eyes, as deep blue as his son’s, widened. Hisnostrils flared. For a second, Naser thought the guy might clock him rightthere. But if he did so, he risked releasing the spiral Mead notebook he’dclamped in one armpit. The notebook seemed alittle raggedand youthful given the rest of his appearance. PeteWortherlooked so groomed and put together Naser wondered if the guy ironed his briefs.

Pete cleared his throat. “My reputation precedes me, Iguess.”

“It does.”

Pete studied him, nodding. “All right, well, guess I betterget right to it then. I saw Mason.”

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