Page 63 of Plain Sight

Mason looks me directly in the eyes. “No. I like this mug. It’s one of my favorites. But if you want to smash it, if that would feel better to you, then smash it, and I’ll get you another one. I can get a million of these, Jameson. I can buy a factory and have them make you a new Mickey Mouse mug just like this one every day until we’re all dead. I can get infinite mugs. But I can’t get another you.”

A horrible, horrible sound comes out of my mouth.

“Do whatever you need to do.” Mason holds out the mug a little farther. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“So will I,” Lily says. She’s standing next to him now. “I’m not leaving. I love you.”

I try to say I love you too, but nothing comes out except another sob.

“I don’t want to.” Even if I did want to, I don’t think I could lift my arms up to take the mug. “I don’t want to. Keep it.”

I’m so tired that I have to sit down.

But if I sit down, I won’t get up again, and I can’t stay in here. For the next few minutes I can. For however long it takes to get a modicum of control over myself, I can.

And then I need to find somewhere I can breathe. Somewhere outside. I can’t be in here anymore. All the years I’ve spent trying to stand it in here, trying to be good enough to take up space in here with my family, are going to crush me.

I’m not sure what happens. Either I lose my balance and tip into Mason, or he steps forward and puts his arms around me. My head falls to his shoulder. And then Lily’s holding my hand, and Gabriel’s saying something close by, and Remy’s there, too.

I’d thought I was pretty much done crying, but I lose it.

Again.

And when I do, it’s with all of them holding on tight.

16

LILY

Jameson cries and cries and cries, one hand in Mason’s shirt and the other hanging at his side, and Mason just stands there with him. My heart beats so hard that it feels like I’m about to walk onstage, only there’s no stage, and there’s no plan.

I want there to be more I can do. I want to have the key to this, like I used to figure out all the answers to the finals well in advance so I could double- and triple-check them.

I don’t know why my mind goes back to those old strategies when talking about law school has resulted in this heartbreak.

It’s not really law school. I know that. But while Jameson cries—his voice ragged and worn out, about to break completely—the old habits kick in. I look for an answer, then look again, and eventually realize that the only answer is to be here.

I feel…very foolish. For not understanding. I kept thinking that the way Jameson’s brothers and his sister and Charlotte approached things was too passive. That there had to be something better.

Maybe it’s less waiting around and more…being there?

What had Charlotte said next?

That probably doesn’t sound like what you want.

No. I’d wanted to find a way to hunt down the kidnapper and capture him. That would have kept us moving.

But it would never have prevented this. Because this has been coming since Jameson’s parents died.

It’s hard to stand still, waiting, but I pretend it’s an exceptionally slow dance.

I’m concentrating so intently that it startles me when Jameson picks up his head, swipes his arm over his eyes, and says a rough okay.

Mason lets go of him.

He and Gabriel and Remy don’t reach for Jameson when he steps around them and leave the kitchen. A minute later, the elevator slides open, then closes.

I’m about to say what the hell? when Mason drops his face into his hands and breathes. Gabriel slings an arm around his shoulders. Remy puts her arms around his waist.