Pressing her lips together, she sucks in a deep breath through her nose and looks down at her drink. “I probably shouldn’t be the one to tell you all of this, but you deserve to know. I’m not saying that he’s doing the right thing here, but I’m just trying to explain why it’s going to have to be you who makes the first move. He’s already decided that he’s not good enough for you. He wasn’t good enough for his parents. He wasn’t good enough for me. And when you pushed back and put up a boundary—and again, I’m not saying you did anything wrong or that your position isn’t understandable either—but that told him that you don’t think he’s good enough either. The fact that your parents actually feel that way only makes it more firm in his mind.”
Tears slip down my cheeks at the image of a young Mason hiding everything about himself for fear of getting beaten. And then to grow up and have his parents completely cut ties with him … no wonder he didn’t get why I put up with my mom’s crap.
He tied it to his own parents’ manipulation. And maybe my mom was being manipulative too, and while I’ve never wanted to deal with her disapproval, I’ve never been worried that she’d completely disown me. Pretend I don’t even exist. That’s just … inhumane.
Blaire sets her glass down on the table and scoots closer to me, rubbing my back. “I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been with you,” she says. “I love Mason, even if I was never in love with him. And I love you, too. I want you both to be happy. Quit hiding and go talk to him before it’s too late. Please.”
With a nod, I swipe at my tears. “I will,” I promise, and drain my glass.
Chapter Forty-Four
Mason
I’ve barely gotten rid of Blaire, when another knock sounds at my door. It’s too tentative to be Aaron, but it’s possible he sent Sam to check on me today. Blaire came by to kick my ass—her words not mine. She stomped in and delivered a lecture on all the ways I’m a fuckup, which isn’t exactly news. Aaron’s been doing some version of that for the last several days. Blaire hinted that she’d actually spoken to Viola, which is more than anyone else can say, and I tried really hard to rein in my desire to hear more about her.
Tried and failed. “How is she?” I asked, interrupting Blaire’s tirade. “Did she take the interview? Is she quitting?”
Blaire crossed her arms and gave me a level look before quietly saying, “You should ask her all those questions yourself.” The dumbass was implied. And that was the most I got out of her where Viola was concerned.
Before she left, she stepped in close and wrapped her arms around me. “You know that you and I were never meant to end up together, right?”
I rested my arms on her back, strangely comforted by her forced affection. “Yeah,” I grumbled. Because I figured that out a while ago.
She looked up at me, her eyes wide and guileless, none of the piss and fire that had been fueling her since she showed up in her gaze. “Viola and you, though … you guys belong together. You probably both need some therapy to get over your issues, but don’t let her slip away just because you’ve been listening to old stories about yourself that were never true.”
I had to swallow down the lump in my throat, my voice choked while I forced a smile and an attempt at laughter. “You’re one to talk, Miss Abandonment Issues.”
Stepping back, she gave me a sad smile. “I know. Actually, that’s what gives me room to talk. I’ve been using an app that lets me talk to a therapist wherever I am. I’ll text you the info.” With a pat on the chest, she slipped out of my arms. “Seriously, Mason. Talk to her. She’s dying without you.” And on that note, she left.
So I’m really not in the mood to have more sympathy or another lecture. And if it’s Sam knocking at my door, I have no idea which I’m going to get, I just know I don’t want it. But Aaron’ll be super pissed if I don’t answer, so with a heavy sigh, I pull the door open.
And freeze.
Because it’s not Sam. It’s not Ava or Kendra, either.
It’s Viola.
I drink in her appearance like someone who’s been forced into fasting finally being allowed access to food and drink. She has dark circles under her eyes, no makeup on, her hair pulled back away from her face with a black clip, almost invisible against her dark hair. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized tee, her usual off-duty uniform. All I can do is breathe her name.
Her pale lips pull up in a forced smile. “Hey,” she says just above a whisper, one hand lifting and her fingers fluttering in an approximation of a wave. “Can—can we talk?” She makes another tiny gesture with the same hand, silently asking if she can come in.
I push the door wider and step to the side, allowing her into my condo. She looks around, taking it in, and it dawns on me that this is her first time here. This isn’t how I wanted her first visit to my place
