Page 63 of Most Valuable Player
The warmth stirring between us flickers out, like the flame in his eyes. Mason’s gaze fogs over and his shortened breaths lengthen as if he’s passing out.
Immediately, I draw back, pulling my hands away.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice light and weightless. “I should get back to work.”
He scoops the aquamarine necklace off the counter and puts it on.
“Mason…” I clear my throat as he hops down and collects a feather duster from the shelf. “That man from earlier…is he—”
“Your transcript looks good,” Mason interrupts. “You’ll probably be able to get back on the field this week. So keep up with studying, even when I’m not with you.”
…Okay.
I recognize that present-but-not stare. I used to see it in a mirror every morning during middle school. Mom would have to physically pull me out of bed, and on certain days when she didn’t have the patience, she’d leave me there. This was a point of tension with Dad, who’d wake to find messages from the school and his son still lying in bed, flat-faced.
I’ve never shaken the remembrance of that feeling. That all-consumingnothingness. What pulled me out of it? Those dayslong funks I would sink into, aware but not comprehending a thing, feeling separate from my body and pulled onward by life…
Faintly, I remember the sound of my bed creaking. Mom curling up next to me, her fingers kneading through my hair. “Cammy,” she would whisper. “I know it’s hard to live right now, baby. I’m here for you. Dad and I will work something out.”
It didn’t absolve me of that aching barrenness, but her presence got me through things. Is that what Mason needs? My reassurances aren’t enough, so is this the missing puzzle piece?
I know deep in my soul that putting this much care into Mason’s situation is going to fully shatter the image of who Cam Morelli is supposed to be.
But I don’t care.
I really, really don’t fucking care anymore.
“Can you leave that spot?” Mason doesn’t look at me as he haphazardly wipes the back of an easel. “If an artist comes in and sees a stranger behind the counter—”
His voice is swallowed by my jacket as I lunge forward and swathe him in a hug, arms folding him back against me. Mason’s body stiffens yet again. I realize it’s not cool to take someone by surprise, so I hurl backward just as quickly.
“Sorry,” I stammer. “It just seems like you could use…I don’t know. Sorry. If you need anything, text me. Or call me. I’ll be there.”
I leave before I can determine whether his reaction is negative or positive.
Journal #8—April 19
It’s not a big deal. I’m not sure why I’m writing about it. My gut says I should anyway?
The other day I was mad. He drove drunk to my house. I tried telling him how upset that made me, butI should’ve let him sober up, because he was just trying to kiss me, saying he couldn’t help it because he missed me. I got angrier, and I tried to shove him away. But my hand hit his jaw and snapped his head back. Should’ve been more careful.
This man is STRONG. Seriously. I’m glad I’ll be well protected when we’re married. He knocked me flat on my ass with one hit, ha ha. It was embarrassing. But I get it. I hurt him first and he was drunk. Thankfully it happened on Friday so my face has time to heal before school.
He’s stayed all weekend to hold the ice packs. He keeps crying like he did something wrong. It was just self-defense though. He’s in the kitchen making grilled cheese. Even after what I did, he’s being nice enough to keep me company and make me lunch? I’m surprised he didn’t break our engagement.
Things are good! We want an October wedding.
He knows I love autumn.
Chapter Nineteen
Mason
A banquet, huh. To celebrate his graduation. His promotion. His official entrance into the world of adulthood.
The words have been circulating in my head, a looming threat. I don’t want to go. Obviously. It doesn’t matter, because Mom wants me to, and Dad wants to keep her pleasant, which means she’ll probably kick me out if I decline to attend. And he’ll let her, or she’ll become a greater nightmare than I could ever be.
I wish I could stay with someone else. But there’s a reason I have no friends, and I don’t want to burden anyone with my full-time presence.
