by Nina Levine
His arms go around me and we cling to each other for what feels like forever. When his hold loosens, I look up at him. “What is it? What happened?”
“It’s Mum’s cancer.”
Mason’s not much of a talker, so I know it’ll take him a little while to give me the full story. I don’t push him for more now; he’ll talk when he’s ready. Instead, I say, “Have you eaten dinner?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”
I close the door behind us and walk past him towards his kitchen. “You need to eat.”
He follows me. “I don’t need to fucking eat.”
I ignore him. He needs me to take charge tonight, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. “You do. Don’t argue with me.”
“Chelsea,” he says, his tone letting me know he’s about to argue.
I look at him as I point at one of the kitchen stools. “Sit your ass down and let me cook you dinner.”
I’m not sure what response to expect with him. It could go either way. He might be amused enough at me bossing him around to do what I’ve said without argument, or he could become pissed off. I’ll take my chances; he needs me to. The more I look at him, the more I see how ravaged he is.
“Fuck,” he mutters, shoving his fingers through his hair. “This was a bad fucking idea. You should go.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Mason. You’ve never told me you need me like you did in that text. That means something to me, and while I know I’ve let you down in so many awful ways, I’m not letting you down tonight.”
That quietens him. Completely, for a good few moments. Finally, he pulls the stool out and sits his ass on it. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. His actions do all his speaking for him.
“Any requests for dinner, or should I just go through your fridge and see what you have?”
“Good fucking luck finding anything in there that will make an actual meal.”
“You haven’t been shopping in a while?”
“Baby, I haven’t been fucking shopping since you left.”
I stare at him in silence, hating this fact. I internalise it as all my fault to start with but then decide there’s only so much blame I can take. At some point, he’s going to have to get his shit together. “You need to go shopping, Mason,” I say with some force before turning to the fridge and taking a look.
He wasn’t joking; there’s not much food in here that’ll make a meal. However, he does have eggs and bacon, which doesn’t surprise me; Mason’s go-to breakfast to cook me was bacon and eggs.
Holding up the avocado I also find, I say, “This is random. I’ve never known you to buy avocados.”
He eyes it. “Yeah, Harlow gave it to me the other day. She picked them up for cheap and handed them out to some of us at the clubhouse.”
I smile. “I really like her. Always looking out for you guys.”
Locating the utensils and pan I need, I cook us bacon and eggs. Mason sits quietly, watching me. I’m usually a talker and will happily take lead on a conversation, but right now with him, everything I want to discuss feels off limits.
I want to talk about this morning. About last night. About us. But none of those things can lead anywhere good because they can’t lead anywhere, end of story.
And I want to ask him about his mum, but I don’t want to force him to talk about her until he’s ready.
So, I cook. And I hope that just by being here it’s helping him in some way.
“I can’t remember the last time I ate bacon and eggs,” I say as I sit on the stool next to him, trying to find safe ground for a conversation while we eat.
Mason looks at me. “No one cooks it for you, princess?”
His attitude blazes from him, and I don’t know what causes it, but I realise I’m done with taking his hate. Placing my fork down, I say, “I know you’re angry with me, Mason, and I understand why. Up until now, I’ve taken all of it. I’ve let you throw your hate all over me because I know you’re hurting, but I’m done. I won’t take it anymore. I can’t take it anymore. It hurts too much. One minute, we’re kissing and having sex, and the next, we’re back to this. It’s too much to bear. I want to be here for you tonight to help you, and I’ll stay as long as you let me, but after tonight, I won’t be back if all you’re going to serve up is that anger and hate. I love us too much to completely ruin what we have.”
A myriad of emotions flash through his eyes while he sits silently processing that. When that silence continues past the point where I expect him to speak, I wonder if he will actually say anything. And then he shows me the boy I fell for all those years ago and the man I love with all my heart.
“I’m jealous and possessive, and I feel like you’ve locked me in a fucking fire and left me to burn on my own, but I don’t hate you, Mayfair. I could never fucking hate you. Not when I love you more than I know what to do with.” He takes hold of my stool and pulls me to him. Curling his hand around my neck, he says, “I don’t know what we are now, but I sure as fuck know I need you in my life. And I don’t want to completely ruin what we have either.”
His lips come to mine and he kisses me. There’s no hate in sight. Or anger. There’s only love and a plea for me to stay and fight for this together.
When he lets me go, he rests his forehead against mine. “Mum’s cancer treatment is causing nerve damage.”
“What does that mean?”
He lifts his head and meets my gaze. “I don’t know the full details. She only told me this afternoon and she didn’t say much, but it doesn’t sound good.”
I reach out and cup his face. My beautiful, broken man. I’ll do whatever it takes to help him get through this. “Let’s eat, and then I’ll do some research. You can watch Game of Thrones while I do it maybe.” Mason isn’t one for details, so I can’t imagine him spending time researching this. And watching TV is how he relaxes and switches off, so this is a good option for him tonight.
He nods. “Yeah, sounds good.”
Looking down at the stool, I say, “You need to push me back.”
He eyes the stool, which is pushed right up against his. “Fuck that,” he says, reaching across me and pulling my plate across the counter to me. Then, placing his hand on my thigh, he jerks his chin at my food and says, “Eat up. We’ve got a date on the couch for the rest of the night.”
Butterflies.
In my stomach.
So many butterflies.
I really need to crack that fucking password on Joe’s computer because I really need this man back in my life. I need to drag him from that fire I left him in and put us back together.
28
Chelsea
I wake up with a start, not knowing where I am for a moment. It’s Mason’s arm tightening around me that helps me remember.
I’m at his house.
In his bed.
With his arm and leg over me, and his body pressed hard against mine. It’s like he doesn’t want to let me go, and I don’t blame him. I don’t want to go either. My phone sounding with text after text brings me crashing back to real life.
“Fuck,” I mutter, trying to push Mason’s arm off me so I can reach for my phone. When he refuses to budge, I say, “I need to check my messages.”
“Motherfucker,” he grumbles, letting me go. I know he’s referring to Joe, and I’m more than okay with it. I agree that my husband is a motherfucker, but what I’m really okay with is the fact that while Mason’s complaining, his hate isn’t directed at me.
I grab my phone and scroll the messages. Joe came back to me last night just after 8:30 p.m. and told me not to bother sending him any paperwork, but now it seems he wants it.
“Fuck you, asshole,” I mutter, sitting and pushing the sheet off so I can leave the bed.
Mason has other ideas, though. Before I can move, his arm comes around my waist, and he slides me back to him. Sitting up, he brings his mouth to my ear. “I fucking like it when you call him an asshole.”
“He is an asshole,” I say. “He’s a motherfucking asshole.”
Mason chuckles against my shoulder. “That filthy mouth of yours turns me the fuck on, Mayfair.”
I place my hand on his arm that’s around me. “I have to go.”
He kisses my neck. “Why? I was just getting started.”
“I know, but I have to get home.”
He removes his mouth from my neck and lets me go. When he doesn’t say anything else, I stand and look at him while reaching for my clothes. He’s lying on his back with his hands resting under his head, watching me. “I can’t get a feel for your mood. Talk to me,” I say.
“You sure you wanna know?”
Yes.
No.
I nod as I do up my bra. “Go easy, though, okay? We’re still getting the hang of this.”
“I’m pissed off that you have to leave. I’m pissed off that he snaps his fingers and you go running. And I’m pissed off that I can’t fuck you before you go. But I’m a selfish asshole that you should just fucking ignore.”
A smile spreads slowly across my face. Crawling across the bed to him, I kiss him. “I like this honesty. We should keep it up.”
As I move to leave the bed again, he reaches for my wrist. “What is this, Chelsea?”
I know what he’s asking and I don’t have a good answer. Not one that he’s going to be okay with. But I try to answer him, regardless. “This is us figuring out how to be together again.”
His brows furrow. “How the fuck can we be together again if you’re fucking married?”
“I’m working on that.”
“You’re talking, but you’re not giving me much, baby. What are you working on?”
I finish dressing and say, “I have to go. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”
“Fuck,” he mutters, waving me off. “Go, but this is a conversation we will be finishing.”
I have no doubt. Mason isn’t the kind of man who can be easily distracted from a conversation. Not even with the promise of a blowjob. He’s fucking relentless when it comes to some things, and I know this will be one of them.
I manage to get Joe’s paperwork to him without having him completely lose his shit at me. He’s pissed, though, and I know I’ll hear more about that when he arrives home this afternoon.
I shower and dress for the office. When I arrive, Joe’s assistant is in a flap over a glitch with his computer. Staring at it, at the fact it’s turned on and working, I say to her, “Why are you in Joe’s computer?” I try to sound authoritative, like I give a shit that she’s at my husband’s computer, but what I really am is excited that she’s at it. She must know the fucking password.
She frowns at me. “He asked me to log in and send him some files that are on it.”
I walk around the desk to stand next to her. “Oh, that’s right. He mentioned this. What’s happening with it?”
“Ugh,” she complains and proceeds to show me how it keeps crashing whenever she attempts to open one of the files. She then adds, “I’ve got a million things to do this morning before he gets back. I don’t have time for this.”
“Why don’t you leave it with me? I’ll figure it out.”
She looks at me with relief. “Really? You have time?”
I wave her off. “I’ll make time. I don’t want you stressed.”
“Thank you so much, Chelsea.” She walks to the door and looks back at me. “Marrying you was the best thing Joe ever did. He used to be so, ahh, difficult before you came along. I hope you don’t mind me saying that, but he’s so much nicer now he’s with you.”
And here I was thinking she didn’t like me. She barely smiles. It turns out she suffers from the same problem I do—knowing Joe.
I smile. “I don’t mind you saying that at all. Us girls need to stick together.”
After she leaves, I settle myself in his chair.
Okay, dear husband, where do you keep your secrets?
First, I figure out the glitch and send the files to Joe that he’s requested. Then, I start my digging, and holy hell, my asshole husband is in some shit with the mafia. I was right about him being involved in money laundering and insider trading. Going by the files I find, he’s been working for them for three years. I locate a USB stick and start copying the files across. I’m about a quarter of the way through when I’m interrupted by two men who force their way into the office. Joe’s assistant apologises profusely for allowing them in, but I tell her not to stress. I only need to take one look at these men to know no one would have kept them out.
Standing, I say, “Good morning, gentlemen. My husband isn’t in until around lunchtime. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Both these guys look like they’ve stepped in a boxing ring a time or two. They have that smooshed-nose look I always think boxers have.
The blond guy trails his eyes down my body, giving me not-so-nice vibes before saying, “The thing is, sweetheart, we’re not leaving here until your husband comes out and talks to us. So keep this charade up if you want, but our patience won’t last forever. And once it’s gone, there’s no telling what we’ll do in order to get what we came for, if you catch my drift.”
“I’m not lying. He’s not here. Honestly, he’ll be here in about an hour, so feel free to take a seat and wait for him.”
The guy with the black hair steps forward and leans in close. “Babe, you’re not getting it. He owes us and we’re here to fucking collect. And we don’t fucking wait around for anyone.” He tries to intimidate me a little more when he barks, “Go fucking get him.”
I fucking hate all these motherfucking assholes I’m surrounded by. My father, Joe, Matthew Ronson, these assholes.
Dragging my balls out, I say, “You know what? My husband threatens me enough, so if you think I feel scared by you assholes, think again. Do whatever the fuck you want to me, but I’m telling you he’s not here. Trust me, if he was, I’d shove him your way faster than you can blink because I’d be hoping you might take care of him for me, if you catch my drift.”
With that, I walk back around Joe’s desk and take a seat and continue transferring files across to the USB. Files that I am almost certain are tied up with the men who employ the assholes standing in front of me.
I don’t chance a look at them. I just pray they fuck off.
They don’t. However, they do as I suggested and take a seat and wait for Joe. That actually makes my heart happy. I want him to have to deal with them.
I’m almost halfway through transferring the files when the office phone rings, and Joe’s assistant tells me there’s a delivery I need to sign for.
Standing, I eye the two men sitting on Joe’s couch. “I’ll be back. Don’t touch anything.”
The black-haired guy scowls at me while the blond one looks at me with amusement. They don’t say anything, though, and I hurry out to sign for the delivery.
I’ve signed and am making my way back into Joe’s office when his voice sounds from behind me. He’s talking with his assistant, but his eyes meet mine as I turn to glance back at him.
Holy fuck.
He’s back earlier than I thought he would be.
I’ve got a USB stick sitting in his computer transferring financial files that I want to use to force him to divorce me and leave Mason alone, and he’s about to fucking go into his office.
Panic swirls in my gut, causing some light-headedness
as I try desperately to figure out how the hell to stall him and fix this situation.
“You don’t look pleased to see me,” he murmurs when he comes to me.
That’s because I’m fucking not.
Oh God.
God, God, God, where the hell are you today and why aren’t you on my side?
I smile, but even I know it’s a tight smile that won’t convince him. “I’m not feeling the best today, Joe.”
He frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“My stomach. I have cramps and I feel like I’m going to vomit.” Jesus, why didn’t I learn how to be a better liar? I feel like that’s a life skill I could do with.
His gaze drops to the box I’m carrying. The one I just signed for. “What’s that?”
I have no idea what’s in the box. All I know is that Alexa sent it to me, and knowing her sense of humour, I should do my best not to let my husband see what it is until I confirm it’s safe for his eyes.
Good fucking God, I may just die from severe anxiety today.
“It’s make-up that Alexa sent over for me to try.”
I swear Joe has a bullshit detector for me. He narrows his eyes and says, “What the fuck is really in the box, Chelsea? And why are you lying to me about not feeling well?”
Those balls I found earlier for the mafia men? They just fell off. I can’t juggle balls while also juggling an asshole. One has to give, and unfortunately, the asshole isn’t going anywhere soon.
I shove the box at him. “Take a look for yourself. And thank you very much for being a prick. For your information, I’m not lying. My stomach is twisting up like it wants to exit my body. And I could vomit all over you right now I feel that ill.”
The fact that what I just said is the actual truth goes in my favour. Joe doesn’t detect any bullshit, so he refuses to take the box and says, “I see we’re going to have one of those days.”
When he moves past me to walk towards his office, I almost literally throw up all over him.
Scrambling to come up with something—anything—that will distract him from going in there, I blurt, “And here I was actually fucking missing you while you were away. So much so that I bought you something, but you know what? I don’t think I want to give it to you now.”