Page 12 of Letting Go at 40

The admission causes both of our breaths to catch. Mine in surprise. His in relief.

He slams a hand against his firm chest. “Do you have any idea how hard that is for me to admit? Or how I even feel? I’m losing him, too.”

Mason’s voice cracks and his Adam’s apple bobs. “The only person to ever understand me. Give me a chance. Stand by my side through every fuck up . . .” His throat constricts again and his voice breaks. “It isn’t only your loss, Anna.”

Tears are streaming down my face in quiet rivers. I don’t speak. I don’t fight back.

Within seconds, I’m in Mason’s arms. He’s hugging me and I’m clinging to him. For just a moment, I melt into his embrace, accepting his strength, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart, and then I’m pushing him away.

We stare at one another again, breathing heavily as if we’ve run a marathon. As if we did something we shouldn’t have done, which we didn’t do.

It was only a hug.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. For touching him. For holding onto him. For not understanding him.

“Me too.” He swipes a hand through his hair, mussing the natural wave of it. For the briefest second, I imagine it’s what his hair looks like after a woman combs her fingers through it or clutches the locks as Mason kisses her senseless.

Just as quickly I shake away the thought.

“No, I’m sorry you’re losing him. He loves you as well.” We aren’t talking about a romantic interest but a strange bromance. One where Ben understands Mason when others don’t. And as Mason has just confessed, Ben has been the one to give Mason a chance, stand by his side, and accept who he is.

With my expression of Ben’s feelings toward one of his oldest friends, Mason’s eyes cloud.

“He sees what I haven’t,” I continue, voice wavering but knowing Mason needs to hear this. “Ben sees how good you are at your core.” His dedication and devotion have been a trickle of surprise. Mason has been a better man than I’d thought possible.

Mason’s head slowly lowers, like a puppy brought to task although he’s done nothing wrong. In fact, Mason has done a lot right, and I haven’t given his feelings enough thought.

With tears still trailing down my face and Mason’s head bent, his forefinger and thumb rub against his eyes and pause at the bridge of his nose.

Something inside me cracks and I itch to reach for him again and offer him the comfort he needs. The compassion he deserves.

However, I’d be the wrong kind of woman for that, and with that thought, I quietly excuse myself and exit the kitchen.

+ + +

Earlier, I’d pushed Mason away. Not because Mason made me uncomfortable. There were plenty of things he said that were rude or crude, and I didn’t approve of, but I didn’t consider him a creep. He had a wild lifestyle; one I didn’t need to grasp. It was his life. He could live it how he wished.

He was going to live while Ben might not see next summer.

And I could not grow too comfortable with Mason. I would not get attached to him.

But I was slowly accepting Mason was the brother Ben didn’t have, even if his friendship with Zack and Logan was equally solid. There was just something different between Ben and Mason. Perhaps it’s as he said: Ben gave Mason chances. Ben stood by Mason through thick and thin, and God knows, Mason’s had some thick in his life. I didn’t need to understand Ben and Mason’s relationship. It was theirs.

Theirs, theirs, theirs . . .

Not mine, whispers through my head as I lie in bed, curled up beside Ben. He wants to move to a room upstairs. His argument is that he doesn’t want this bedroom to hold memories of his last days but of our years together.

The late night talks. The connection through sex. The secrets married couples share.

With shaky fingers, I reach over to touch Ben’s hair, damp from sleep and possibly the onset of another fever.

New tears spring to my eyes.

Shame comes from the comfort of an innocent hug. One shared between two grieving people before someone is actually lost. Every day, the Ben I know, the Ben I love, is slipping away from me.

I close my eyes under the pressure of guilt and grief, yet strangely still feel Mason’s embrace. The strength of his arms. The beat of his heart. His scent which is distinctly clean, manly, and fresh compared to the sickness coming off Ben.

My beautiful Ben with his sweet smile, and once firm hands. A boy who bought me candy, gave me my first kiss, took my virginity—which I willingly gave to him—and then he stole my heart.