This is one objection I can work with. I skim my fingers over the buttons of the bedrail until I come to the call button that will summon a nurse. In no time at all, a petite brunette arrives and makes quick work of switching my IV to my left arm.
“See?” I hold up my newly bandaged and IV-free right hand with a flourish. “Problem solved.” I pat the mattress again and rub my hand in a circle for good measure. “Now get that very tight end of yours in this bed with me right now.”
My punny compliment gets his lips to quirk enough for one of his dimples to pop out, but not enough for his feet to move.
“Please, Mase.” I purse my lips into my best pout. “I’ll sleep so much better in your arms.” I’m not above using guilt as a motivator.
The maddening man makes me wait a full minute before he rounds the bed, toes off his sneakers, and gingerly lies down in the space I indicated. His tattooed arm snakes its way behind my neck and wraps around my shoulders. Fingers trail along the back of my arm, guiding me to fit against him. Shifting around, I find that sweet spot that is the hollow between his armpit and muscular chest and make myself at home.
Mindful of the needle stuck in it, I carefully drape my arm across his stomach. I slip my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt and slowly trace the grooves of his lickable abdominals.
The relieved sigh that escapes Mase tells me he needed to feel me in his arms as much as I needed to be in them.
I can’t believe everything that’s happened in less than twenty-four hours. Life as I knew it will never be the same. Goddamn Liam Parker.
Inhaling deeply, I try to take in as much of his familiar fresh soap scent as I can. It’s faint, but it lingers enough to calm my nerves before spilling my most shameful secrets.
You are your mother’s daughter. God I hate that I can’t stop the thought from playing on repeat. I’m nothing like that woman, but the seed of doubt has been planted. Yet another gem from my scumbag ex.
“Remember when you told me nothing you learned about me could change how you feel about me?”
“Mmm,” Mase hums in the back of his throat as he buries his nose into my hair. “I think I recall. I do seem to have a steel-trap mind for those moments I’ve had you pinned against walls.”
My body flushes, it too able to recall them…but this is too important. I’ve chickened out too many times already to allow myself to be distracted.
“Did you mean it?”
Something in my tone must give away the gravity of the situation, because in the most feather-light way, a hand comes up to cup my broken cheek. “This”—behind my head, his fingers flex—“is the woman I love. Your past made this person.”
Here goes nothing.
“My mom killed my dad.”
Silence.
If we were anywhere but inside a sterile hospital, I’m sure we would be hearing crickets chirping.
Instead, there’s the steady drip-drip-drip of my IV. Thankfully the nurse removed the clip from the heart rate monitor earlier, so there’s no erratic beeping to go along with it.
I finally work up the nerve to lift my gaze from the even stitching at the collar of Mase’s gray t-shirt to his face. I’m prepared for the worst, for the judgment I’ve come to expect.
Except…
It’s not there.
“What?” Mase breathes the question out.
I repeat one of the hardest sentences for me to utter. “My mom killed my dad.”
“I thought…” His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. “I thought you said your dad was killed by a drunk driver.”
It sends a bolt of pain through my cranium, but I nod instead of giving a verbal answer. This is difficult enough for me to talk about; I can’t waste the precious few words I’m capable of getting out.
Memories of that night slam into me.
JT and I had successfully landed a standing full toss in our partner stunt routine, making us one of only a small handful of pairings to complete such a difficult stunt.
T and Savvy were losing their minds, having captured the whole thing on video.
Coach Kris practically had stars in her eyes as she watched us repeat it for the second time and immediately declared it was something to be added to our routine for Worlds.
When T sent E the video, he was so proud he risked getting in trouble during a team dinner to FaceTime with us. That might have been my favorite part. We were going to see the goober the next day when we all flew to Houston to see Penn State play in the national championship.
So when Pops showed up at The Barracks earlier than normal to pick us up, we all thought it was fortuitous timing. None of us noticed his red-rimmed eyes or how utterly crestfallen he looked until he had to shatter our world.
“My mom—” I cough around the title she lost the right to. “Was the drunk driver.”
“Baby.” Mase tightens his hold, moving me fractionally closer to him. His eyes fall closed and his forehead drops gently to mine as if he can absorb my pain. “Is that why you don’t talk about her? Because she got behind the wheel that night instead of your dad?”
I wish that were the reason. Too bad the truth isn’t that simple.
“My parents weren’t in the same car. She was driving the car that hit my dad’s.”
Bile churns its way up my esophagus. I thought I’d gotten over the sense of abandonment my mother’s life choices gave me years ago. I was fine. I had amazing women fill the motherly role—women who wanted to fill it—through the years: Moms (Michelle, JT’s mom), Coach Kris, Bette, even Mama G. Just because Patricia is my blood doesn’t mean I need her in my life.
“I don’t talk about her because when I was eight years old, she decided being a mom wasn’t for her…at least until she traded up”—I spit every ounce of revulsion I feel into those two words—“to a new Hollywood husband who came with two kids in tow.”
That was the part that hurt the most. E and I weren’t good enough to stick around for, but our step-siblings—our almost-the-same-ages step-siblings—were.
The most humiliating part was when she did show up, I welcomed her back with open arms. Damn was I naive.
“For months, the press ate up every detail of the Dennings’ family drama. And when…” My words trail off, unable to finish for fear he’ll agree.
One long finger curls beneath my chin, tilting it up until I meet his light green eyes again. “And when?” Mase prompts.
I might as well tell him. It’s not like he could want to murder Liam any more than he already does, right?
“And when Liam sent me that shirt”—Mason’s grip on me borders on painful at the mention of my ex—“he included a note.”
#Chapter17
My mind is still reeling over everything Kay told me. As hard as I try, I can’t seem to fall asleep. A quick glance confirms at least she’s not suffering from the same problem. Good. She needs her rest if she’s going to get better.
The quiet snick of the door has me looking up to see E, Bette, and B have returned. In the light spilling in from the hallway, I can read their surprise at finding me in bed with Kay.
I hesitated to climb in next to her, though not because I didn’t want to—god did I want to. It was the fear of hurting her that brought on the reluctance, and I never want to be the one to bring my girl pain again.