Page 86 of Most Valuable Player
He merely gestures at me to follow him to the front door. Sighing, I do, the obedient lapdog that I am. I fumble for my keys and jam them in the lock, then push through into the ranch house and flick the lights on. I’m not expecting anything to be out of the ordinary.
Except it is.
There are a ton of paint supplies organized atop a white sheet on the kitchen table. On the floor of the living room are an assortment of board games, all meticulously prepared so no setup is required. I blink, trying to process what I’m seeing.
Mason unzips his backpack and heads to the table of paint supplies, then begins to pull out rocks of varying sizes, placing them on the table. “I texted your dad earlier, asking if he would be able to help before he went to work,” he says softly, not looking back at me. “I didn’t think he’d go to this extent—I was hoping he could just get the supplies and games out. But he went a step further. So. Yeah. Surprise?”
I can’t find the words to respond. All I can do is stare at Mason uselessly.
“I just thought it might be fun to…you know.” He throws me a hesitant peek over his shoulder, before quickly breaking our gazes. “Also, here. Take these.” He steps toward me and nestles the bouquet of flowers into my arms. “Give them to your mom, okay? It’s been a while since you brought home flowers for her, right?”
He waits for my response, twisting his fingers near his navel. I can’t even think straight. It seems like such a simple thing, so why am I so baffled?
“Sorry,” Mason says, and that’s what wakes me from my stupor. There’s a trace of panic in his face and his shoulders are stiff with tension. “I should’ve asked first. Maybe this was a bad idea. Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
I sweep Mason into a giant hug, wrenching him off his feet into the air, holding him flat to me. My eyes are warm and stinging with tears, which melt into the fabric of his peacoat. “This is the best surprise I’ve ever gotten,” I whisper, holding him aloft easily despite how rigid his limbs are. “Thanks, water boy. This means…everything.”
Finally, he moves, wrapping his arms and legs around me when he realizes I have no intention of putting him down. “I just wanted you to know that I think you’re lovely,” he says into my shoulder. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. Okay?”
I snuggled my face deep into the crook of his neck, smiling. “Okay.”
So we paint some rocks. We play some board games. I give those flowers to my mom.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m breathing for the first time in years.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mason
Remember, things are always better more often than they’re worse.
It’s the only line in my journal I remember writing. And it was true. For every time he struck me, there were ten instances of him driving home from college to pick me up from my parents’ house, a box of chocolates in hand. For every time he seethed at me, there were ten instances of him carrying me to bed when I fell asleep on the couch or washing my hair gently in the shower. For every time he was jealous when I interacted with others, there were ten instances of him taking me on dates he knew I’d love, holding my hand while I rambled about my interests.
Yet eventually, maybe even before the ring was on my finger, these pleasant moments were overshadowed by the fear that at any second, a soft and loving moment might disintegrate into hostility. And so, even when things were “better,” there was always an overarching concern that they could become “worse.”
And if they did, it was my fault.
I don’t feel that way with Cameron. When things are good, they’re allowed to be good. I don’t feel the fog of apprehension hanging over my head, or a nagging voice warning me to watch my words. Even when he rolls his eyes at my snark, I know he’s never upset. In fact, it’s a poorly concealed secret that he likes it, even if he claims otherwise.
We’ve been dating for a few weeks, and he’s never been upset with me for feeling a certain way around him. Since I blocked Liam’s number (or since Cameron blocked it for me), my anxiety has been worse, and it shows. When I’m with Cameron, making a futile attempt to work out, I know he won’t lash out. But the thought still lingers, unnerving me. He won’t, but hecould. He won’t, but if hedid, there’s nothing I could do. He won’t, but…
What if he does?
I hate it. I feel safer around Cameron than anyone else, but he’s the one person who could hurt me beyond repair. I’ve shed my layers, exposed my secrets, pains, and fears. He holds my heart in his hand, and with a bit of pressure, he could crush this barely functional, healing organ. He won’t.
But he could.
Maybe one day I’ll relax fully around the person I like. I’m starting to realize how messed up I am. Even in the months without Liam, I was blissfully unaware of how deeply his nails clawed into my soul.
I want to be authentic around my partner. And my current one—who will hopefully be my future one, and maybe my forever one—is helping mold the path. If a teasing insult hits the wrong way, he doesn’t sulk and make me guess why I’ve earned his annoyance. He doesn’t withhold his love until I give him a blanket apology. He just…tells me.
I’m becoming more comfortable expressing when I’m upset, too. With Liam, I kept my frustrations bottled because I never knew when one might irritate him. There are moments, particularly when Cameron is around a lot of people, where he transforms into that arrogant person I rejected. He convinced himself this is who he needs to be to prevent his past from catching up to him. But I’m not hesitant to tell him when he’s being a dick and needs to tone it down, because he’s proven he can take it without lashing out.
Cameron watches the gallery with me, during which he helps me tidy up around the place. On particularly slow mornings when it’s empty and we don’t have much to do, we maybe…um. Misbehave. The issue is that he’s handsome, and his lips are soft and taste like flavored ChapStick. Which makes it difficult for me to care about anything other than assailing them.
He’s good at it. Kissing. He’s conscientious about how he’s moving and where his hands are. Sometimes he’ll massage my ear until I’m nearly sweating and have to shove him back so I don’t do something I’ll regret. His favorite place to stick his hands is where I’m the most sensitive—my waist, just beneath the edges of my shirt. He rarely initiates a higher intensity level, preferring slow kisses to torment me until I whine about it.
We’ve gone on dates, too, involving movies or trying local restaurants. Dad seems intrigued by Cameron and sometimes even sneaks me money to go out, which is nice. I haven’t admitted that we’re dating, because they’re probably still hoping I’ll reconcile with Liam, but…I don’t know. I think Dad has some idea about us.
