Page 57 of Slapshot Bride

“I absolutely would. I have a song picked out.” He smirks and raises the bottle to his lips. “Bonnie Tyler. Total Eclipse of the Heart. The whole four minutes with added theatrics. I will dedicate it to you. In front of everyone.”

I laugh at that because the image of Mason in a bar performing a song is simply one I wouldn’t forget in a while if it happens.

It's also the first real laugh I have had in a week and a half, and it comes out rusty, and Mason watches me do it the way he has been watching me do everything since we were fifteen, and his face softens by a fraction.

“There he is.”

“Shut up.”

“He laughs! He has not died! Hallelujah.” He raises his beer in a mock toast.

I signal a passing waitress and request a club soda with lime.

Mason’s eyes narrow when the waitress leaves.

“Club soda?”

I shrug.

Mason glances around the bar before his gaze settles back on me. It's a look I know well. The quit stalling and tell me what's wrong look.

Usually, it works. But today, I keep my mouth shut.

My drink arrives. I take a sip.

Apparently, that's all the patience Mason has. “Spill it.”

I give him my best innocent look.

He isn't buying it for a second. “First, you walk in here looking like a wounded bear. Then you barely say anything despite my heroic attempts at entertainment.” He gestures to himself. “And now you're drinking club soda.”

I shrug again.

His eyes narrow.

“The Easton from a few months ago would’ve laughed in my face before ordering club soda.”

“Maybe I've matured.”

“Bullshit.”

I grin. “Maybe I'm making healthier choices.”

“Easton.”

“Maybe I just really like bubbles.”

“Easton.”

I grin wider because this is Mason. My best friend. The kid I grew up with.

The one person on the planet who can spot something wrong with me before I've admitted it to myself.

If he has to pry me open and dig around for answers, he'll do it. And the annoying part is he'll probably find them.

The truth is, I've barely touched alcohol since that night.

I take a long drink. I look at the tall glass of drink with the lime wedge on the rim. I don’t know how to begin a sentence that opens this particular topic, but I start anyway.