Page 303 of Breathe Like Hell

Mason put the visor back up as I pulled out onto the road, heading towards Dakota’s place. He opened the glovebox, flipping through the cassettes in there. Some were mine; some were Dakota’s that I’d gotten for her birthday.

“Which one is her favorite?” Mason questioned without pause, and I liked the way that felt. I liked that he assumed I would know—because I did. I also liked that he wasn’t afraid to ask.

“Ultraviolence,” I answered.

He opened up the case and stuck the cassette into the console, then messed with the volume knobs until Cruel World was playing loud enough to hear over the wind pouring in through the now-open windows.

“Did you text her?” I asked as Mason pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“I am now.”

I nodded, looked back at the dark road.

Dakota Masters. The only person on Earth that’d actually made me believe I might have a future. It was ironic, really. I’d spent all of our first months together as her professor, her mentor, trying to create her own future.

She had no clue how much she’d given me in return.

I’d been a ghost after Mason. A shell of myself. Forcing myself through every hard day and every long night, clinging to a routine of work and study and research, anything to keep myself from slipping into weakness.

But she was perfect. Everything I knew I’d never actually deserve, everything I’d spend the rest of my days working for.

For the first time in a long time, I had hope. I had something to imagine when I thought about the shape of my future. Her.

Of course I’d never be entirely whole without Mason, but I wouldn’t even be here at all without Dakota. I needed her more than she would ever know. When I first met her, the entire trajectory of my life changed. She’d felt so similar to him initially that it scared me, but I’d learned over the months how different she was. I loved her for every similarity and every difference. Every part of her that was soft and small and scared. Every part of her that was learning how to be confident, be brave, be strong.

Fuck.

And yeah, I did still think about the baby sometimes.

I hated how I’d left her then. So now, I was vowing never to run again. Distance hurt no less than vulnerability. It hurt more, actually. I’d thoroughly learned that lesson at this point.

When we finally pulled up to Dakota’s trailer, my heart was ready to burst out of my chest. I could hear Mason’s, too.

Nerves, excitement, love, anxiety, fear, hope.

A vast array of emotions were combining in my blood, swirling like ichor, making my eyes water as the door to her trailer pushed open and she emerged, looking nervous in the glow of the headlights, her big bag slung over her shoulder. She was wearing pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair hanging loose down her back. She locked her door and darted down the steps, around the hood of the truck, and to the passenger door.

Mason pushed it open, taking her hand to help her step up.

Dakota climbed all the way into the truck, scooting over Mason’s lap to sit between us on the bench seat, her tote bag on the floor at Mason’s feet. She looked back and forth between us, probably sensing the change in atmosphere.

I noticed the brief moment where she realized what song was playing, her anxiety melting away into a cute smile of recognition before she was serious again. Ultraviolence now.

Mason spoke first. “I’m going to get rid of my apartment.”

Dakota turned to face him. “Because it’s trashed?”

He shook his head, taking her face in his hands. I’d made no move to pull away from her trailer, the engine of my truck idling. Our truck.

“Because you were right. I still love him,” Mason said quietly, making my eyes sting even more. “And I’m content to admit it now.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

MICAH

“Are you serious?” Dakota asked, her voice already soft and emotional.

“Ask him.” Mason nodded his head in my direction. Dakota turned, her big green eyes seeking out the truth in my gaze. This time, I had no desire to hide it behind ice or steel or walls.