Misunderstanding Mason Page 5

  Fuck that. Kirstin wasn’t walking out without answers. So help him, he’d force his head to create the right questions.

  Slowly clenching one hand into a frustrated fist, Mason strode from the room. “Kirstin!”

  “I didn’t do it!”

  Her customary, teasing response stole a little fuel from his fire. Against his will, he chuckled. Damn her. He was primed and ready for a confrontation, and she knew exactly how to disarm him before he ever got a word out.

  Rounding the corner into the living room, he spied her in the kitchen, green eyes laughing over the brim of an ice-cold bottle of root beer. With an amused smile that contradicted her terse I’m fine by several volumes, she offered him an unopened beer.

  Mason’s stomach churned. Any other night he’d have welcomed a cold brewski with Chinese. After last night—never again. It would take several months of sobriety before he came near another malt beverage.

  “I’ll take one of those.” He gestured at her caffeinated drink.

  When she exchanged the beer and slid it across the countertop, he caught the bottle in both hands and leaned his elbows on the cool granite. He picked at the soggy paper label as he sifted through the clutter in his head. Beg her to stay? Tell her he didn’t understand?

  “Is something wrong?” she asked as she mirrored his posture.

  Everything.

  He glanced up, and the noise behind his skull became deafening. He didn’t know what to say any more than he ever had. Where the hell had the Kirstin who just got him gone? The woman who understood how hard it had been to say, “I love you.” How hard it sometimes still was, when that little phrase didn’t seem to convey enough.

  With a shake of his head, he cast aside all the important things and focused on the current, least agonizing question at hand. “Did you remember we have the Gamesquare launch tomorrow night?”

  She blinked. Her shoulders stiffened.

  Great. She’d forgotten.

  “No. I know it’s tomorrow.” Avoiding eye contact, she turned her bottle around in tiny circles.

  Or not. Mason squinted. Fidgety hands, teeth gnawing on her lower lip—they were back to I’m fine. His stomach balled into a knot. Sure as shooting, he was going to have to do some groveling. “But?” he prompted, not at all inclined to hear the answer.

  “Well…things being what they are…I didn’t… You know…” She shrugged.

  “No.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t know.”

  Kirstin let out a heavy sigh and lifted her gaze to his. Her teeth worked her bottom lip with more vigor. The nervous habit only tightened his grip on his bottle. For this, he didn’t need an interpreter. Or a neon sign. His fluency in Kirstin spelled out TROUBLE in big bold letters.

  “I’m not sure it’s the best idea, Mason. I mean…” She gnawed on her lip again. “We aren’t together anymore. I don’t really want to give Don the wrong impression.”

  Mason drained his root beer in one gulp, then set the empty bottle down with more force than he intended. The clunk echoed through the quiet kitchen. He stared at the countertop, letting a sudden, unexpected, explosion build. Tempering that uncomfortable anger, he took a deep breath and lifted his narrowed gaze. For the first time in a long time, words came without hesitation. “I don’t really care to have Don Margelies and the entire Gamesquare Board of Directors know my girlfriend walked out on five years of a damn good thing.”

  Kirstin’s eyebrows shot to her hairline, and her eyes widened like saucers. “They don’t have to know.”

  “No?” Mason straightened, the muscles in his back turning as tight as iron. “You think they aren’t going to ask where you are, Kirstin? You’ve been attending these damn launches with me for the last two years.”

  “I can be sick.” Her hands fluttered faster.

  With a disbelieving laugh, Mason shook his head. “No, you can’t be. I’m not going to lie, only to have to cover my tracks the next time I run into Don.” Like when he asks about the yacht trip again.

  “Right.” She nodded, a wry smirk twisting one corner of her mouth. “Your pride. Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Shoving away from the countertop, she deposited her half-full bottle in the trash. “What is it you want then, Mason?”

  Damn it. He didn’t want to fight. It wouldn’t accomplish anything. Sure, he might guilt her into attending tomorrow night, but that only set him up for hours of complete misery. He pulled in another deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. Doing his best to keep the hurt out of his voice, he quietly said, “Just calm down a minute.” With a grimace, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to argue. We’ve done too much of that lately. Let’s talk about this.”

  Her trek across the kitchen to the refrigerator came to an abrupt halt. Fingertips resting on the door handle, she slowly turned to look over her shoulder. “I’m listening.”

  Mason ran his hand down his chin and heaved a sigh. “You know I hate these things. And I get it that you don’t want to be there. Don and I are good friends. Yeah, I can tell him. Yeah, he’d understand and leave it alone. I’d rather not do that the night of a launch where I’m expected to be smiles and laughter.”

  Kirstin’s hand slowly dropped to her side. She pivoted, facing him more fully, her body language open and accepting. Encouraging him to continue.

  He held her gaze, not knowing where the words came from, or how they managed to come out without sounding like gobbledygook. They simply flowed, from his heart to his throat, and off his tongue. “Truth is, I want you there. Would you please not make me go alone, even if you have to pretend you want to be with me?”

  Chapter Six

  Kirstin refused to wince. Pretend she wanted to be with him—damn it all, that was the problem. She wanted to be there. She just didn’t want to be the object at Mason’s side that he only remembered when someone else stopped giving him attention. She wanted to be Kirstin Jones, Mason’s partner… Mason’s wife.

  The woman he raved about and thanked in public, like Don did to Marie. The woman he introduced to all his acquaintances, like Lisa’s husband had the night Mason and Kirstin attended Edge Skateboard’s investors’ banquet.

  Not a wallflower Mason left to entertain herself while he chatted it up with his programming cronies.

  But the pleading quality behind his unblinking stare unraveled her faster than she could create reasons to decline. She opened her mouth to tell him he had it all wrong, she wouldn’t pretend, she’d go, and she’d be proud of his accomplishments regardless of whether they were together or not.

  Thankfully, the bright peal of the doorbell stopped her from uttering something so absolutely foolish. In desperate need of a distraction, Kirstin headed for the front door. “I’ll get it. You put it on the card, right?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered.

  Let him stew a bit. She’d go. She didn’t have the willpower to sit at home alone when she’d bought a brand new dress and likely wouldn’t have an opportunity to wear it anytime in the next century. But Mason didn’t need to know how much power he still held over her. How easily she could still cave and forget that her needs were equally important.

  She greeted the delivery runner with a smile. The same redheaded, freckle-faced teen who’d been delivering their Chinese for too long to count, waited beyond the glass storm door.

  “Hey, Nick. Mason put the tip on the card, didn’t he?”

  “Yep.” He jostled two bags from the crook of his arm and passed them to her one at a time. “Mu Shu Pork, Pineapple Chicken, two spring rolls, and a double order of crab Rangoon.”

  Kirstin’s mouth watered at the mention of crab Rangoon. Bless Mason. Every now and then, he did manage to get it right without being prompted. She greedily accepted the bags, waved goodbye to Nick, and eased the door shut.

  Mason waited in the kitchen, at the table he’d set with two plates and two fresh bottles of root beer. A frown twitched on her forehead, his choice of drink an oddity. Then again, judging by the
empty beer bottles she’d spied in the trash, he might have a reason to avoid alcohol.

  She set the bags down and dished out servings without a word. Mason’s gaze prickled the skin along her arms. Guilt settled between her shoulder blades. He didn’t deserve games. He’d asked. Even used please—astounding for Mason. Making him wait for an answer wasn’t fair.

  “Fine,” she muttered as she slid into her chair. “I’ll go.”

  To her complete surprise, Mason reached across the table and covered her hand with his. Her gaze jumped to where he touched her. His thumb brushed across the base of her wrist. Then, he squeezed her fingers and let go. “Thank you.”

  Forcing herself to ignore the sincerity that clung to his whispered thanks, Kirstin shrugged. “No big deal. One more night won’t kill me.”

  It might. An entire evening at Mason’s side, pretending everything was hunky-dory in their life, might very well be the end of her. But again, Mason didn’t need to know. All he needed to understand was that they were over. After tomorrow night, there’d be no more launch parties. No more afternoons working side by side—well, after Lisa’s project, at least. Once she paid him his commission, she’d get the last of the things from the house and they were through.

  She found the courage to look at him. “That’s it, you know, right?”

  Mason stopped chewing for a nanosecond—long enough to give her a stiff nod.

  Contented by the fact she didn’t have to elaborate, Kirstin stabbed her fork into her chicken and popped a bite in her mouth. Around the fruity-tinted bite she asked, “So, how much more do you want to accomplish on this project tonight?”

  ****

  Mason didn’t give a damn about Lisa Bennet’s project. His world had just tilted upside down, the reality of Kirstin’s decision hitting him square in the sternum. Worse, she’d driven home that sharp-edged truth with the brutal reminder tomorrow night would be their last night together. The last time he’d have her sweet smile to latch onto to overcome petrifying nerves at launch parties.

  His appetite took a nosedive through the floor, and he pushed his plate aside. “I don’t.” Rising from the table, he added, “I’m going to jump in the shower and hit the sack.”

  Silence descended around them as he took his plate to the sink and scraped it into the garbage disposal. Behind him, the creak of wicker carried ominous undertones.

  Kirstin’s voice came softly, little more than a whisper. “Maybe I should finish up the flat graphics and just drop them off with you. We have time; we don’t need to push to get this done overnight. Or even in a week.”

  Mason shook his head. He didn’t have time. Kirstin hadn’t given him time. She’d made the decisions, executed her plan, and left him struggling to discover how love just disappeared in a matter of weeks.

  Misunderstanding the side-to-side motion of his head, she asked, “Why not? I know you’re not fond of Lisa, but it’d be easier, Mason.”

  Easier? For who? Her? Incredulous, he whipped around, the question on the tip of his tongue. It died at her crestfallen expression, her bowed head, and the defeated slump to her shoulders.

  The only thing he knew to say burst free. “I love you, Kirstin.” So much so, that this was tearing him to pieces.

  When she lifted her head, the light caught pooled moisture in the corners of her eyes. Mason’s heart clanged into his ribs. She did care. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be on the verge of tears. When Kirstin shut down, it was as if she flipped a switch. Nothing got through the shell she erected to keep it out.

  As she stood, he caught her by the wrist. His gaze searched hers, words lodging in the back of his throat once more. He needed to say something. What, however, eluded him. But when that gathered moisture trickled down her cheeks, one thought rose above the cacophony of noise and managed to work its way out of his throat in a hoarse whisper. “You love me too.”

  She nodded as she brushed the tears from her cheeks.

  “Come home, Kirstin.”

  “I can’t.” Twisting out of his reach, she crossed her arms over her chest and huddled into them. “It’s not enough. I’ll always love you, but I want more. From you. From us.”

  More? Hell, he’d give her the damned city of Atlanta if he could find a means of doing so. She knew that—didn’t she? She had at one time. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything he’d done to give her the opposite impression.

  Well, except ask her to marry him. But he’d been working on that. Now he didn’t care so much about marriage—he had to convince her to come home first.

  When she started for the door, he took one long stride and captured her elbow, dragging her around to face him. Instinct took over. Drowned out the nonsensical chatter in his head. He cupped her chin between thumb and forefinger, tipped her head up, and softly touched his mouth to hers.

  At the gentle, welcoming clasp of her lips, everything inside him sighed in peace. She hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t turned her head. There was still hope. He didn’t know what more he could give her, what more he could do to prove how much he needed her, but he’d figure it out. He just needed ti—

  Kirstin set her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed away from the kiss. Backing completely out of his grasp, she whispered, “I need to go home now.”

  “You need to stay.”

  She walked through the kitchen on a path to the patio door, taking his heart with her. “No, Mason. I’m sorry, but I can’t be alone anymore. The things I want…” Pausing, she gave him a sad shake of her head. “I can’t change you. I don’t want to change you. But it’s not fair for me to have expectations you can’t meet.”

  Expectations he couldn’t—

  Before Mason could voice his confusion, she opened the door. “I’ll go with you tomorrow night. But I don’t think we should work together tomorrow.”

  The glass panel rolled shut, stirring the scent of cinnamon through the air.

  ****

  Once Kirstin hit the grass between the two houses, she sprinted to the Roberts’, up the stairs, and inside. Sam and Theresa looked up from their places in front of the television, Theresa waved. “Hey you, there’s a great movie starting on prime time. Grab a Coke. We’ve got popcorn.”

  Unable to work even a polite refusal through her throat, Kirstin shook her head and fled for the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, the tears she’d barely held back broke free. She leaned a shoulder against the wall and buried her face in her hands, despite the darkness that surrounded her.

  It had been easy to leave Mason the first time. Sailing on anger, she didn’t have to confront her heart. He hadn’t argued. Hadn’t asked her to reconsider. He’d been content to let her walk out without protest. Tonight, he’d pried all the heartache out into the open and compounded everything by forcing her to acknowledge that even if they were completely wrong for each other, she still loved him.

  The basement door opened. “Kirstin?” Theresa’s voice echoed into the dark.

  Kirstin sniffed, swiped the tears from her face with the back of her hands, and tried to answer. Her response, however, clogged with emotion. It came out on a pitiful sob.

  “Hey.” The light flipped on. Footsteps tread lightly down the stairs. “What happened?” Theresa’s hand touched Kirstin’s shoulder and drew her into a hug.

  “Mason still loves me,” Kirstin choked out as tears started to flow once more. Under the gentle pressure of Theresa’s guidance, she sat down on the bottom step and leaned into her friend’s sideways embrace. “He…” She sniffed again. “Asked me to come home.”

  The whole sordid story came out in a rush. The awkwardness of working beside him, his sudden attunement to things she’d been absolutely convinced he couldn’t possibly comprehend. All the way down to the kiss that had devastated her resolve and the dinner tomorrow night that loomed over her head like a date with the gallows.

  Compassion warmed Theresa’s brown eyes. She took hold of Kirstin’s hand and held it loosely, a gesture tha
t rang oddly like something Kirstin might have done when she was in pigtails. It reminded her of skipping around the playground with her best friend, Erin, while singing Pop Goes the Weasel.

  Theresa’s light touch helped balm the hurt.

  “Maybe you should talk to him again. Sounds to me like he might be ready to listen this time,” she suggested.

  “I can’t,” Kirstin answered with a sigh. “I’ve told him so many times this last year. I can’t go through it again. It’s like hitting my head on a brick wall.”

  Theresa looped an arm around Kirstin’s shoulders. “Kiddo, I don’t know everything. I don’t have all the answers. But I’ve been married for eleven years, and let me tell you, sometimes I’ve wanted to walk out that door and never come back. Sam’s not perfect. Neither is Mason.”

  “I know that, Theresa.” She sat up straighter as her emotions settled, allowing her to form logical conversation. “I don’t expect him to be perfect. But things changed when his job took off and we bought that house. There’s too much room for him to hide over there.”

  “You could put yourself in his path.”

  She nodded. True, she could, but that had gotten old after the first few months. “I’m tired of reaching out, only to be left behind the next time he turns around. I hate his job. I hate that house.”

  A smile played at Theresa’s mouth. “You don’t hate that house.”

  Kirstin grumbled and leaned against the wall. She did love the house. It just hadn’t turned into the dream home they’d intended.

  “I don’t think you hate his job either.” She squeezed Kirstin’s hand. “I think you’re hurting and you’re running from that pain. And Mason, in his dense but endearing way, doesn’t have the slightest clue what he’s done.”

  How could he not know? She’d told him on numerous occasions that she was sick of being second to his job. That she couldn’t deal with the fact he didn’t have time for her.

  “Things don’t change because you buy a new house. I’m willing to bet Mason’s job was every bit as demanding before you bought that place.” Theresa gave her an encouraging smile. “And five years of commitment doesn’t just fall apart overnight. If you were that miserable, you wouldn’t have stayed around as long as you did. Think back. Something started this. That’s where you begin. Whatever happened—the answer to fixing it’s there.”