Seeing this big, bearded man spout shit about Christmas joy is surreal, but it’s so the Mason I know.
“I spent my last two Christmases alone.”
His gaze flicks to mine, and his eyes soften, but then, as if catching himself caring, he shakes it off. “What about your entourage? I’m assuming you have one now.”
“I have people. But not …” No one like you used to be.
“Not what?”
“You remember what it’s like. Constantly surrounded by people without actually knowing if they’re there for you or for the fame they can get by being seen with you.”
“I remember it all too well.” Mason takes another sip. “There were only a handful of people I knew who weren’t like that, and it was because we were all in the same spot. I never had to question the loyalty when it came to you guys in Eleven. Well, not until the end there when you all fucked off.”
My chest aches. For him. For me. For us. “I … I was embarrassed, okay? I practically threw myself at you. I couldn’t face you or what was going on with me back then.”
His deep brown eyes meet mine. “What was going on with you?”
My heart stops dead. I’ve been avoiding it for so long. And now too much time has passed between us, too much to forgive and forget that he doesn’t give me enough time to answer him. It’s not a simple answer.
“Got it, you don’t want to get into it. Look, I want us to be friends again if it’s possible. It’s hard for me to be here, and I can’t do it if you don’t explain to me what made you ghost me. I can’t fix whatever problems we have if I don’t know what they are.”
Tell him.
No, I can’t.
Do it.
I take a deep breath. “It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment mistake.”
“What?”
“The kiss. I had super-confusing feelings for you back then, so it wasn’t just embarrassment, even though that’s what I tell myself to feel less guilty. It was rejection, hurt, but most of all, I couldn’t understand why I wanted to kiss my best friend or why it shattered my heart when you pushed me off you and said you could never see me that way.”
Mason’s stoic face doesn’t change. I think he’s frozen.
I tell myself I’ve said enough, but my mouth keeps going. “I’ve avoided seeing you so I could avoid feeling any of that again.”
He blinks at me.
Yep. Mason’s been staying with me for less than a week, and I’ve broken him.
Way to get us back on track.
Chapter Eight
Mason
I … Yeah, I have no idea what to say to that. At all.
Denver looks small and young, like the kid brother I once saw him as. It makes me want to coddle him and protect him. But he hurt me. Just like I hurt him apparently.
“I had no idea,” I say. “None at all. We were drinking, we were celebrating, and we were about to go our separate ways. I figured …” What did I figure?
A million different scenarios have run through my mind over the last two and a half years. They all consisted of theories where Denver’s confusion over his true sexuality made him run. I thought I handled the situation with empathy, but maybe I was wrong.
I had no idea what was going through his head when he kissed me. I’d even chalked it up to Denver drinking and he always did things out of character when he was drunk. Never, not even once, did it cross my mind that Denver had any sort of romantic feelings for me.
The other day when I’d said it wasn’t like he was in love with me, something flashed in his eyes, like I’d hit the nail on the head, but then he shot that down, and I believed him.
I had no reason to think otherwise.
“I didn’t know,” I say again. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like there’s anything else you could’ve done in that situation. I kissed you, you’re not into guys, end of story. It’s my shit to deal with.”
“I still would’ve helped you if you were honest with me.”
“Hey, I have a thing for you, and you don’t feel the same way. Want to sit by a campfire and sing ‘Kumbaya’ while we dissect my sexuality? Sounds like that would’ve been fun.”
I step closer to him. “Denny—”
He shakes his head. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to use that voice on me.”
“What voice?” I do a voice?
“Your ‘Aww, poor Denny is so lost. I must coddle him like a little lamb and bring him Christmas joy with all the other kids.’ It’s condescending as fuck.”
“I … I didn’t realize caring about you was being condescending.”
Denver closes his eyes, and I get the impression I’ve said the wrong thing again. Somehow.
All my bitterness toward him is suddenly replaced with wanting to make things right. He made mistakes, but apparently, I did too. I’ve been so obsessed with how much he hurt me I didn’t consider what he could’ve been going through.
Because he never fucking told me.
“I want us to be friends again,” I say and actually mean it. “How do we make that happen? Do … do you still feel that way about me, or can we move past this?”
His aqua eyes hold firm even though he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. He always does that right before he tells a lie. “I’ve had plenty of time to get over you. I’m not that sad.”
My heart stutters because I want to believe he’s telling me the truth even though the signs say otherwise. I love Denver so much, and the last thing I want to do is hurt him.
“Can we sit?” I gesture to his white dining table that looks like a glass bubble. God, he really has bad taste in furniture—that hasn’t changed. “Maybe if we talk it all out, we won’t have to walk on eggshells around each other while I’m here.”
Denver relents and takes a seat at the head of the table. It could be a power move. This is his house, I’m the one who needs a place to stay, and he’s in charge.
I’m okay with that. He can have whatever he wants. I want to fix him and make him happy any way I can. If he asked for the world, I’d find a way to give it to him.
I purposefully sit next to him in the closest spot possible, and then silence filters through the room. I guess I need to start this off. “Can I ask … have you ever been with a guy before?”
“Never.”
“Not even after …” I roll my hand in a “you know” kind of way for him to get to the conclusion himself. I’m sure he doesn’t want me bringing up the kiss between us a million times.
“Nope. No other guy has ever caught my interest.”
“Did you try?”
“Really? You think I was going to risk going on any gay dating apps or hooking up with guys to test a theory? My career—” Denver’s mouth slams shut.
“Your career, what?”
“You know what it’s like for Harley and Ryder. They’ve kept their secret for a freaking decade. Knowing my luck, I’d meet some guy and then bam, front-page news the next day is a picture of me and him kissing.”