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“Please. I want to hear,” he says, his smile gone, and his eyes locked on the place where his fingers are barely touching my skin. My brain is totally confused by his touch. I’ve hated him for so long. But I loved him before that. And now, with him here, in our house—I’m not so sure I can keep hating him. But I’m also kind of mad at myself that I don’t want to. I feel…weak.
“Okay, this is a secret,” I sit back down and let out a deep sigh. I can feel his eyes on me, and I give myself a short glance to decide if he deserves this. Maybe I’m imagining it, and maybe I just want to make it be there, but there’s a desperation I see in his face that tells me he does. So I give in and share a little piece of me, let him see himself through my eyes. “One time, when you were staying with us for a weekend—I think you were sixteen? You were messing around with some old songs that you could cover. Do you remember?”
Mason takes a deep breath, almost like he’s giving up. “I guess. I don’t know, Avery. I used to do that shit all the time,” he says, almost deflated.
“Okay, yeah. But this day was different. You were putting together a list of cover songs, stuff you wanted to play at Dusty’s—just you. No band,” I wait, and he nods, remembering. “You were toying with ‘Wild Horses’ by the Stones. You kept slowing it down, even more, changing it up and playing around with the melody. You worked on it for almost an hour. I swear…you sang that song maybe a hundred times.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he says, the corner of his lips pulling up into a fond smile. “I never did play it. Couldn’t get it right.”
“That’s just it, though,” I say, looking away, afraid that if I have to look at him I’ll chicken out. Instead I focus on the small string hanging off my shirt, twisting it around my finger.
“You had it right, Mason. You had it so right. Every single time you played it—it was right. And when you weren’t looking…” Oh god, oh god, oh god. I’m really going to do this. “I, uh…I sort of recorded it.”
I don’t even have to turn my head to feel the full force of his smile. I don’t know if I feel giddy or mortified—either way, I just made Mason Street’s entire f**king day. I’m biting my lower lip with enough force that I’m sure my teeth are going to puncture it when I finally get the courage to look at him again, and sure enough—he’s grinning ear-to-ear.
“Look, I didn’t tell you that to make you get all goofy on me,” I say, standing and smoothing out my shorts so they hang a little lower on my legs. Suddenly, I feel vulnerable even having my bare feet on display in front of him.
“I know, I know,” he says with a light chuckle. He follows me to his doorway, leaning on the frame as I step into the hallway, to safety. He says he knows, but his damn smile is still in full force.
“It’s just…” I purse my lips, trying to find a way to say something to him that might make a difference. Something that will penetrate him—not the usual gushing and flattery he’s used to from women. “It’s just you’re so goddamned talented, Mason. My dad always believed in you. And so did I.”
When I see his body twitch, I know my words were right.
“Goodnight, Mason,” I say, punching him lightly on the arm, like we’re old pals. It feels stupid, but it’s the only way I can think of leaving. He doesn’t say anything back until I’m almost to my door.
“Hey, Avery?” he whispers, and I turn to find him looking at the floor, hands stuffed in his pockets. When he looks up, it’s almost as though I’m looking at that sixteen-year-old again, the one who used to matter.
“Yeah, Mason?” I say, my stomach an absolute mess with nerves.
“Thanks. Just…thanks,” he says, shrugging his shoulders up and smiling with tight lips.
“Sure, Mason. Anytime,” I say. I close the door and let my forehead fall flat on it, and I stay there, frozen, for a good two minutes. I think I may have just made an enormous error in judgment. I promised myself I would never fall for Mason’s charm again. But something seems so different. Maybe…maybe it’s me.
Max is bundled in his weighted blanket, fast asleep. He’s always been good at falling asleep, and I feel lucky. Many kids with autism struggle, and I don’t know how their parents survive. I need these few hours in the evening—alone. I need the me time to let my brain stop, though I often spend those hours finishing up homework or researching something for Max. But that’s my choice—and at least I can put my headphones on and just be.
