Mason takes a long pull from his beer. “You planning on becoming a groupie and sleeping with him?”
“Maybe,” I tease.
He scoffs and shakes his head.
The next song starts—thick bass, flashing strobes, and perfectly synchronized choreography. The crowd sings every word back at them, deafening in its devotion.
Maddie looks like she’s having the time of her life. She’s jumping up and down with her friends, screaming at the top of her lungs.Her glitter makeup is running down her cheeks, but I’m not sure if it’s from tears, sweat, or both.
I glance sideways, partly to see if Mason’s enjoying himself, partly because I can feel him radiating some unspoken mood. Every time the shaggy-haired guy steps forward to sing a solo, Mason’s beer can rises to his lips.
Which is…interesting.
He yawns and stretches, muscles flexing, then casually drapes his arm across the back of my chair. It’s such a clichéd move, but my pulse still stumbles. The heat of his arm warms the back of my neck, his fingertips ghosting against my shoulder.
When the next song starts, I realize Mason isn’t actually watching the concert—he’s watchingmewatch the concert.
As a slow ballad fills the arena, thousands of phone lights flicker to life, turning the crowd into a glittering sea of stars. Without looking at me, Mason’s hand drifts to my knee, palm open expectantly. Waiting.
I slip my fingers into his, and he squeezes gently. Our hands stay hidden in the dark, tucked out of sight. His thumb traces slow circles over my skin, and my stomach flips. For a fleeting moment, I let myself wish it could always be like this.
By the time the final confetti cannon goes off and Harmony Heartz waves their dramatic goodbyes, Maddie and her friends are all hoarse from screaming, their arms draped up to their elbows in new friendship bracelets.
Maddie’s glowing, which seems to make Mason relax a little—like her happiness makes this whole ordeal worth it.
Our migration toward the exits is slow, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. Mason positions himself behind the girls, his hand resting lightly on Maddie’s shoulder to steer them through the chaos. I trail behind them.
We pile into my car and creep through the mass of traffic. The three hour drive back to Claremont Shores starts with laughter and off-key Harmony Heartz choruses, gradually thinning as the girls’ exhaustion catches up to them. By the time we dropMaddie’s friends off, she’s slumped against the door, dead asleep, glitter smudged across her temple.
When we pull up to Mason’s place, he turns to me, voice low. “Do you… wanna stay the night?”
I blink. We’ve never slept in the same bed. We always meet at my place for sex, and Mason leaves afterward to get home to Maddie.
But now he’s inviting me to stay withhim.
“Um, sure. Sounds good,” I say, trying to make it sound casual, even though my heart’s hammering.
Mason gives me a small smile, then slips out the door and opens the back seat. He moves gently, scooping Maddie into his arms like she’s weightless. She stirs only slightly, a soft murmur escaping her as she curls instinctively against his chest. Watching him carry her with a steady protectiveness hits me square in the sternum. He’s such a good brother.
Inside, the trailer is warm in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. The furniture is scuffed and mismatched, but it feels lived-in. Framed photos of him and Maddie line the walls—school pictures, birthday cakes, family beach days.
He nudges open Maddie’s bedroom door with his foot. I hang back in the hallway, watching as he tucks her beneath a purple comforter. A green frog plushy is already waiting on her pillow, and he adjusts it so it’s snug in her arms. He smooths her hair back from her forehead and presses a soft kiss there, whispering something too quiet for me to catch.
Mason steps out quietly, pulling the door closed with a faint click. As we move down the hall, we pass his mother’s bedroom, the door left wide open. My eyes catch on the figure in the bed—her skin pale in the dim lamplight, her frail body cocooned in a quilt. A cluster of orange pill bottles crowds the nightstand beside her. Mason’s gaze lingers there for a second before he silently steers me down the hall toward his room.
Once inside, he shuts the door and lets out a tired laugh. “That was… a lot. Thanks for coming with.”
I shrug. “It was honestly kinda fun. I had a good time.”
He arches an eyebrow, skeptical. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think I always have a good time with you. No matter what we’re doing,” I admit.
His smile softens. “Me too.”
He strips down to his boxers and climbs under the sheets. I hesitate, standing at the foot of his bed.
“What’s wrong?”
