mine, urging me to stay.
“Please. I want to hear,” he says, his smile gone, and his
eyes locked on the place where his fingers are barely touching my skin. My
brain is totally confused by his touch. I’ve hated him for so long. But I loved
him before that. And now, with him here, in our house—I’m not so sure I
can keep hatinghim. But I’m also
kind of mad at myself that I don’t want to. I feel…weak.
“Okay, this is a secret,” I sit back down and let out a deep
sigh. I can feel his eyes on me, and I give myself a short glance to decide if
he deserves this. Maybe I’m imagining it, and maybe I just want to make it be
there, but there’s a desperation I see in his face that tells me he does. So I
give in and share a little piece of me, let him see himself through my eyes.
“One time, when you were staying with us for a weekend—I think you were
sixteen? You were messing around with some old songs that you could cover. Do
you remember?”
Mason takes a deep breath, almost like he’s giving up. “I
guess. I don’t know, Avery. I used to do that shit all the time,” he says,
almost deflated.
“Okay, yeah. But this day was different. You were putting
together a list of cover songs, stuff you wanted to play at Dusty’s—just you. No band,” I wait, and he nods,
remembering. “You were toying with ‘Wild Horses’ by the Stones. You kept
slowing it down, even more, changing it up and playing around with the melody.
You worked on it for almost an hour. I swear…you sang that song maybe a hundred
times.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he says, the corner of his lips pulling
up into a fond smile. “I never did play it. Couldn’t get it right.”
“That’s just it, though,” I say, looking away, afraid that
if I have to look at him I’ll chicken out. Instead I focus on the small string
hanging off my shirt, twisting it around my finger.
“You had it right, Mason. You had it so right. Every single time you played it—it was right. And
when you weren’t looking…” Oh god, oh
god, oh god. I’m really going to do this. “I, uh…I sort of recorded it.”
I don’t even have to turn my head to feel the full force of
his smile. I don’t know if I feel giddy or mortified—either way, I just
made Mason Street’s entire fucking day. I’m biting my lower lip with enough
force that I’m sure my teeth are going to puncture it when I finally get the
courage to look at him again, and sure enough—he’s grinning ear-to-ear.
“Look, I didn’t tell you that to make you get all goofy on
me,” I say, standing and smoothing out my shorts so they hang a little lower on
my legs. Suddenly, I feel vulnerable even having my bare feet on display in
front of him.
“I know, I know,” he says with a light chuckle. He follows
me to his doorway, leaning on the frame as I step into the hallway, to safety.
He says he knows, but his damn smile is still in full force.
“It’s just…” I purse my lips, trying to find a way to say
something to him that might make a difference. Something that will penetrate
him—not the usual gushing and flattery he’s used to from women. “It’s
just you’re so goddamned talented, Mason. My dad always believed in you. And so
did I.”
When I see his body twitch, I know my words were right.
“Goodnight, Mason,” I say, punching him lightly on the arm,
like we’re old pals. It feels stupid, but it’s the only way I can think of
leaving. He doesn’t say anything back until I’m almost to my door.
“Hey, Avery?” he whispers, and I turn to find him looking at
the floor, hands stuffed in his pockets. When he looks up, it’s almost as
though I’m looking at that sixteen-year-old again, the one who used to matter.
“Yeah, Mason?” I say, my stomach an absolute mess with
nerves.
“Thanks. Just…thanks,” he says, shrugging his shoulders up
and smiling with tight lips.
“Sure, Mason. Anytime,” I say. I close the door and let my
forehead fall flat on it,
“Please. I want to hear,” he says, his smile gone, and his
eyes locked on the place where his fingers are barely touching my skin. My
brain is totally confused by his touch. I’ve hated him for so long. But I loved
him before that. And now, with him here, in our house—I’m not so sure I
can keep hatinghim. But I’m also
kind of mad at myself that I don’t want to. I feel…weak.
“Okay, this is a secret,” I sit back down and let out a deep
sigh. I can feel his eyes on me, and I give myself a short glance to decide if
he deserves this. Maybe I’m imagining it, and maybe I just want to make it be
there, but there’s a desperation I see in his face that tells me he does. So I
give in and share a little piece of me, let him see himself through my eyes.
“One time, when you were staying with us for a weekend—I think you were
sixteen? You were messing around with some old songs that you could cover. Do
you remember?”
Mason takes a deep breath, almost like he’s giving up. “I
guess. I don’t know, Avery. I used to do that shit all the time,” he says,
almost deflated.
“Okay, yeah. But this day was different. You were putting
together a list of cover songs, stuff you wanted to play at Dusty’s—just you. No band,” I wait, and he nods,
remembering. “You were toying with ‘Wild Horses’ by the Stones. You kept
slowing it down, even more, changing it up and playing around with the melody.
You worked on it for almost an hour. I swear…you sang that song maybe a hundred
times.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he says, the corner of his lips pulling
up into a fond smile. “I never did play it. Couldn’t get it right.”
“That’s just it, though,” I say, looking away, afraid that
if I have to look at him I’ll chicken out. Instead I focus on the small string
hanging off my shirt, twisting it around my finger.
“You had it right, Mason. You had it so right. Every single time you played it—it was right. And
when you weren’t looking…” Oh god, oh
god, oh god. I’m really going to do this. “I, uh…I sort of recorded it.”
I don’t even have to turn my head to feel the full force of
his smile. I don’t know if I feel giddy or mortified—either way, I just
made Mason Street’s entire fucking day. I’m biting my lower lip with enough
force that I’m sure my teeth are going to puncture it when I finally get the
courage to look at him again, and sure enough—he’s grinning ear-to-ear.
“Look, I didn’t tell you that to make you get all goofy on
me,” I say, standing and smoothing out my shorts so they hang a little lower on
my legs. Suddenly, I feel vulnerable even having my bare feet on display in
front of him.
“I know, I know,” he says with a light chuckle. He follows
me to his doorway, leaning on the frame as I step into the hallway, to safety.
He says he knows, but his damn smile is still in full force.
“It’s just…” I purse my lips, trying to find a way to say
something to him that might make a difference. Something that will penetrate
him—not the usual gushing and flattery he’s used to from women. “It’s
just you’re so goddamned talented, Mason. My dad always believed in you. And so
did I.”
When I see his body twitch, I know my words were right.
“Goodnight, Mason,” I say, punching him lightly on the arm,
like we’re old pals. It feels stupid, but it’s the only way I can think of
leaving. He doesn’t say anything back until I’m almost to my door.
“Hey, Avery?” he whispers, and I turn to find him looking at
the floor, hands stuffed in his pockets. When he looks up, it’s almost as
though I’m looking at that sixteen-year-old again, the one who used to matter.
“Yeah, Mason?” I say, my stomach an absolute mess with
nerves.
“Thanks. Just…thanks,” he says, shrugging his shoulders up
and smiling with tight lips.
“Sure, Mason. Anytime,” I say. I close the door and let my
forehead fall flat on it,
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