AllFreeNovel
Share Us
One night, I found him there when I came downstairs around midnight to get a glass of water for Mason.
When morning came, he was still there. Standing in the exact same spot.
“JJ?”
Blinking out of my thoughts, I pause at Mason’s side, and twist my head over my shoulder.
Dad’s standing against the doorjamb with his hand gripping the wooden frame, knuckles whitened, like it’s all that’s holding him up. I didn’t hear him come back.
My pulse spikes when our gazes connect.
His face is weathered like he’s aged ten years in the last few months, made even more prominent by the way he crumples in this moment. Devastation mingled with guilt shines back at me from reddened brown eyes.
“Happy birthday,” he chokes out.
Pain, sharp and fleeting, rips a gash down my chest. My jaw trembles, and I sink between my shoulders on instinct, like I’m bracing for an attack. All I can manage is a nod, before I whirl around, and hurriedly make my way to Mason’s side.
Distantly, under the roar thundering in my ears, I hear my dad’s steps retreating.
He doesn’t even comment on Mason’s state, the fact he’s here, or offer to help me get him upstairs. It should bother me, probably, but all I feel is grateful to be free of the devastation radiating from him like sonic waves.
So caught up in the acute onslaught of emotion barraging through me, it doesn’t immediately occur to me how tense Mason suddenly is. So tense, that he doesn’t even wait for me to help him up the stairs. His fist is clenched at his side, reddened and puffy from Clay’s cheekbone. With his other hand, he grips the railing, using it to heave himself up the stairs, feet dragging loudly—too loudly. Not that it matters anymore.
His hair has started to dry some, and it falls around his head in a curly, floppy mess that just begs for a brush. Or fingers…
Mouth dry, I keep a safe distance behind him as he trudges his way to my room. He pauses just as he reaches my door on the right, and I imagine him doing this every night he sneaks over.
He just stands there for a long moment, staring seemingly straight ahead. Really, he’s staring at the closed door just up ahead.
It’s been six months now since either of us have been in there. Not since that first week back from Florida.
Mom goes in there to dust the furniture and air it out, but otherwise, as far as I’m aware, everything remains untouched, waiting for the person that room belongs to to return.
Mason abruptly cuts a right , disappearing inside my room.
I swallow tightly and follow him inside.
Keeping my head low, I head for my dresser.
“Don’t get on the bed,” I tell him, brushing past him, just before he can flop down and crash, when he’s still in damp jeans and smelling like puke and vodka. “You’re all wet and gross.”
He doesn’t respond, but does as I say, and just stands there in the middle of the room, waiting for instructions.
On autopilot, I dig through the bottom left drawer of my dresser where I stash the clothes he’s somehow managed to leave here over the last six months. Figuring they’d come in handy eventually. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have any spare shirts currently—he must’ve went home with both last time he changed here—so he’ll have to borrow one of mine. As for boxers…
Well, that’s the one thing we never had an issue with until now.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, yanking out the top drawer where all my socks and underwear are.
They’re gonna be so tight.
Gritting my teeth at the images threatening to burst across my vision, I grab two pairs, and then two shirts—an oversized black Pearl Jam one that will probably not be oversized at all on him, and for myself, an faded gray Marvel tee that has holes around the hem and sleeves, but is so soft, I can’t bring myself to part with it.
“Here,” I mutter, dropping what he needs unceremoniously on the bed next to where he stands. He’s so still, and surprisingly steady, I almost wonder if he somehow fell asleep standing up.
“Can you do this yourself?” I force myself to ask, hating how my voice creaks.
It’s a long moment before he nods.
