Ex-best friend.
I follow him inside the insane mansion he calls home. It’s an amazing wood-and-stone structure, and when there’s snow everywhere, it looks like a picturesque ski resort.
Inside is exactly the same as the last time I was here. Soft, plush couch in front of a stone fireplace. Hall to the right leading to guest rooms. Stairs to the left leading to more bedrooms.
Sitting at the informal dining table is Mason’s mom, and even that feels the same.
Mason’s outward appearance may be drastically different, but I get the distinct impression nothing else has changed.
Mason’s mom stands. “It’s been so long.” She approaches me and hugs me in a way only a mother can. Or, grandmother in my case. Fuck, I miss my nanna.
“Way too long, Mrs. Nash,” I say.
“Mom, can you give us a few minutes?” Mason asks.
“Sure thing. I was about to head home anyway. It was great seeing you again, Denver. You boys talk, and I’ll bring up some food for dinner later.”
“He won’t be here for dinner,” Mason says.
I knew he wasn’t going to make this easy on me, but by the sound of it, he’s not even going to hear me out.
I’ve apologized a million times in my head, but now the moment’s here, I have no clue what to say.
His mom’s gaze flits between us before she plasters on a smile. “I’ll make extra just in case. If you aren’t here when I get back, Mason won’t let it go to waste.” She pats her son’s stomach on her way past, and he winces.
I’m starting to see how he piled on the weight so fast. He might have a bit of extra padding, but if I’m honest with myself, I find him even more attractive now than ever before. And that’s saying something because I’ve always thought he was gorgeous.
Don’t start that shit again, Denny.
Not even in his presence for more than a few minutes, and my thoughts are already drifting back to all those times on tour where I caught myself staring at my best friend a little too intently and pushing every confusing thought back down into a box labeled I don’t want to deal with that.
“Coffee?” Mason asks.
“Thanks.”
We move toward the kitchen, and he gestures for me to sit at the table. There’s this weird tension between us that never used to be there, and I have no idea where to start or what to say.
Maybe we should start with small talk.
Yeah. I can do that. “What did your mom mean when she said she was going home? She lives here.”
“When I came home for good, she moved back into her house. She’s still close by.”
I frown. “You live up here all by yourself?”
Mason presses the button on the coffee grinder and holds his hand up to his ear as the whirring noise fills the space to say he can’t hear me. Or he doesn’t want to hear me.
I guess I don’t have a right to know about his life anymore. The thought of some beautiful woman with long, flowing brown hair coming down the stairs at any moment makes my gut twist.
Mason always had a thing for brunettes. After his blonde fiancée—she who shall not be named—cheated on him and they broke up, he swore off blondes. Actually, he swore off relationships. He was twenty when it happened. Well, according to the public he was nineteen, but that’s neither here nor there. When Mason signed to Joystar, just like they changed Harley’s and my names, they changed Mason’s birth year. Apparently, a nineteen-year-old serenading young teen girls was too creepy. If you ask me, making sure we were all underage was creepier to me, but we did a lot of things that didn’t make sense thanks to the label.
Harley and Ryder hid their sexualities. We all played our own assigned part.
Why are we thinking about going back to that? For money? Harley says his new label will be different, but will it?
Mason makes our coffees while all the millions of memories fill my head. When he slides over a cup, I take a sip and moan.
I’m hungover as fuck, my head hurts, and part of me can’t believe after two and a half years we’re finally face-to-face.
“Rough night?” Mason asks.
“Apparently. I can’t really remember, though.”
He nods knowingly. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve spilled a secret while drinking. I should’ve changed my gate code, huh?”
The gate code is his birth year—his real one, not the manufactured one.
I go to argue, but I can’t. Apparently, I did sell him out even if I don’t remember it. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you, though?”
“Definitely. If I’d kept my mouth shut, I wouldn’t be here doing something I should’ve done a long time ago but haven’t had the guts.”
“I don’t understand, Denny.”
My name is weighted with disappointment and hurt. Like I wasn’t feeling horrible enough already.
“You and me both,” I mutter.
“Can you at least tell me why you disappeared from my life immediately after promising you wouldn’t?”
Is he kidding me? “You mean apart from making a fool of myself by kissing you?”
“It has to be more than a stupid kiss.”
That’s what he doesn’t understand. He didn’t that night either. It wasn’t just some stupid kiss to me.
It was all the confusion that had been building over months—no, years. It came down to two quick seconds of his lips on mine followed by the crushing reality of rejection.
“I …” I have no idea what to say to that.
“Was it because you didn’t think I’d be supportive of your sexuality? Or that I’d try to convince you to keep it a secret or … that I’d disapprove? You know I have absolutely no issues with people living their truth.”
“I’m not … it’s not …” I grunt. “I still haven’t worked any of that out, okay?” Because you’re still the only guy I’ve ever been attracted to.
“Then what did I do that was so wrong you felt you had to cut me out of your life? It’s not like you were in love with me or anything.”
My gaze flies to his, and his mouth drops open.
“Oh, shit, was it?”
“No,” I say quickly. Maybe too quickly. I try to cover. “Check your ego.”
“I don’t get it. I did nothing wrong. And then … then when I needed you …”
“Y-you needed me?” Why does that idea call to me? Mason needing me. Wanting me.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Stop it.
“I needed someone to tell me everything was going to be okay when I had no faith that it was,” Mason says. “I needed someone to encourage me to keep trying, and when everything that mattered to me blew up in my face, I needed a friend. You broke my heart.”
You broke mine first.
I can’t say that. I don’t have the courage.
“All I can say is I’m sorry.” And I know it’s not enough.
We sit in silence while we drink our coffees. I try to think of something to say. Anything. But nothing comes close to being good enough.
The security gate tells me the others are back, and we’re no closer to coming to any sort of civility.
Mason glances toward the door. “Tell Harley I’m still not interested. I can’t … we can’t …” He shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s any coming back from this. For you and me or for Eleven.”