Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“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.”
If possible, this might be worse than when he didn’t kiss me back. My heart twinges. It hurts. I want to take it all back. Everything. From kissing him to ghosting him, I wish none of it had ever happened.
Maybe then we’d be in each other’s lives. Maybe then I’d still have my best friend.
I need to find a way to apologize and have him truly hear how sincere I am.
I messed up, and I’ve spent way too long avoiding this moment. “At least take some time to think about the Eleven reunion. The only reason I’ve said no so far is because of you. Because I didn’t want to have to face my mistakes. Your solo career might not have gotten off the ground, but this tour could save it. If you’re happy to live here by yourself, then fine. Do that. But you can’t let this opportunity pass by because of our bad blood.”
Mason purses his lips. “Calm down, we’re not Taylor Swift levels of hate. I’m just not willing to put myself in a position to be disappointed again. I don’t want to go back to an industry that sees me as expendable. No one will care if I’m there or not.”
“Not true. There are millions of fans out there hoping for it. Screw the execs and the industry people. Do it for the fans who made us all who we are.”
For the briefest moment, I see a crack in his tough exterior, but it doesn’t last long. “Not interested.”
The Mason I knew was always warm and inviting, and he would’ve gone to extreme lengths to make any of us from Eleven happy.
New Mason’s bitterness is like a slap in the face.
I guess I was wrong. Mason’s physical appearance isn’t the only thing that’s changed about him.
I wish I knew how to fix it.
Fix us.
I don’t think I can.
And for the second time in two and a half years, I walk out of Mason’s life.
Chapter Six
Mason
Mom picks up pancake mix and chocolate chips from the shelf in the supermarket, and I promptly put them back.
“You need to stop with overfeeding me,” I grumble.
All those times where I wasn’t recognized on the street and felt really good are tainted now by the look Harley, Blake, and Denver gave me a few days ago. It was similar to how I felt when Cash’s band didn’t recognize me over Christmas either. Though, with them it was tolerable because while we ran in similar circles once, and I would consider Cash a friend—loosely—when the people you spend seven years on tour with don’t recognize you? Maybe it’s time to hit the gym and stop eating all of Mom’s food.
“Nonsense,” Mom says. “You’re stocky and healthy. I swear when you were away, they didn’t feed you ever, and your label was okay with that. It’s like they wanted you all to look like little boys instead of men.”
This is not the first time I’ve had this conversation with my mother, nor will it be the last. She was supportive of me moving to LA to pursue my musical career. She was not okay with me dropping out of college at the end of freshman year because I got a record deal to be in a boy band. She didn’t expect it to happen that fast, and she was worried it would all blow up in my face, and then I wouldn’t have a career or a diploma.