Page 88 of His to Teach
I mull that over for a long moment. Could he have a point here? Am I giving outside influences too much sway over my life? He’s definitely right in pointing out that this kind of thinking isn’t like me. Ever since I left my parents’ home for school, I’ve been the kind of man who figures out a solution to his problems. When have I ever just rolled over to give someone else control? When have I ever wallowed like this, acting like a helpless child?
Even when Renee left I didn’t respond this way. I faced that heartbreak decisively, developing a system of control and firm relationship lines to keep myself from getting hurt again.
And maybe that thinking hadn’t really been that good for me long term—maybe it’s impossible to keep relationships so tightly controlled. Maybe relationships aren’t meant to be kept lockedup in tidy little boxes. But at least I had made those decisions directly, on my own terms.
And I’d done this exact same thing when I decided to let Harper crash all those walls down with her shy little smile and her giant fucking spirit.
“You can fix this,” Philip says softly, his words piercing through the tumult in my confused, overworked brain. “You just have to want it bad enough.”
He leaves me alone shortly after that, seeming to sense that I need to sort this all out in my own head now. Before he goes he offers one more piece of advice. “Get a cleaning person in here immediately,” he calls from the doorway. “You’re starting to smell, my friend.”
I chuckle a little bit as I go to shut the door behind him, surprised that I’m able to feel anything like levity right now.
The levity doesn’t last long. Because marching up my front walk is Mason Cain.
Philip pauses at the bottom of the steps, shooting me a questioning look, as if confirming I’ll be okay if he leaves me alone with Mason. I nod at him and open the door wider, a silent invitation to follow me inside.
Mason freezes in the entryway. “Did a meth head start squatting in your house?” he asks.
“It’s not that bad,” I mutter, trying to ignore the stack of empty carryout boxes on the coffee table—and the empty beer bottles that have overflowed onto the rug. Philip was definitely right about calling my cleaning lady.
“You want a drink?” I ask, even though I know I’ve had more than enough for the night. If I’m going to figure out how to fix this mess, I’ll need to stop hiding in a whiskey bottle.
“Sure,” Mason says, voice tight, and he follows me into the kitchen.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “What happened in here?”
“I’ve been having a rough week,” I snap. He’s a half step behind me and I can see him freeze out of the corner of my eye. I pour him three fingers of Glenfiddich, adding a single ice cube, knowing his drink preferences without having to ask. More than fifteen years of friendship will do that to a person.
He takes the glass when I hand it to him, but doesn’t speak. He still seems to be preoccupied with the mess, his eyes darting around the kitchen, a bewildered expression on his familiar face. It’s strange to see—Mason is generally one of the most confident, decisive people I know. It’s why we always got along so well.
But right now, he looks like the rug has just been pulled out from under him.
“Why did you come?” I ask. If he’s looking for an apology, he’s not going to get it. Maybe a week ago, I would have offered him one. But tonight, after everything that happened, I’m not feeling at all inclined to apologize for loving his sister.
He finally turns to face me, the first time I’ve really looked at him, and my breath catches a little. He looks like shit. His eyes are red, jaw and cheeks darkened with a five o’clock shadow that I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him before. Mason is the kind of guy who always shaves again before evening plans. He’s dressed differently, too, wearing jeans and an old track team sweatshirt.
When was the last time I saw him in anything but a suit?
“I came to kick your ass,” he says flatly. “But now…” he shakes his head, running a free hand through his already disheveled hair. “Now I don’t fucking know what I think.” He glances around again. “You’re really upset, aren’t you?”
I kind of want to laugh. “Yeah, Mason. I’m fucking upset.”
The bewildered expression remains. “It wasn’t just sex for you?”
A wave of anger hits me and I have to clench my fists to keep them at my side. “Of course it wasn’t just sex. You think I would do something so risky for sex? You know me better than that.”
His eyes flare. “I thought I did,” he snaps. “But I also never would have thought you’d be the kind of guy to take advantage of a student. A damn kid.”
I raise a hand to silence him, anger zipping around inside of me. “First of all, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t take advantage of her, not at all. But more importantly? She’s not a kid, Mason. She hasn’t been for a long time. And maybe if you spent ten minutes trying to get to know her, you would see that.”
For a second, I think he’s going to deck me. But then all the fight seems to go out of him and he slumps against the counter. “She said something to me today,” he mutters, then swallows hard. “Something about how it would have been nice if I’d wanted her around all these years.”
I suck in a sharp breath, knowing exactly how difficult it would have been for her to have that conversation with her brother.
My brave, strong girl.
Mason looks absolutely wrecked as he stands in my disaster of a kitchen. “She asked me why I didn’t send her away after Mom and Dad died.”
