Resolution (Mason Family 5)

She thinks about that. As do I.

She’s been so wrapped up in life with Zack that the one or two times I suggested they come to dinner with Wade and me, Zack had something going on.

Maybe now I know why my best friend didn’t meet my boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend. Zack wasn’t going to stick around.

“Okay, true, but I do know him through you. From the way he made you smile. And laugh. And … the way he made you happy.”

He did make me happy. So happy.

“I bet he’s just scared,” she says.

“Yeah, well, me too.”

“But you have me.”

I roll my eyes, making her laugh.

She glances at her watch. “I have a quick shift tonight. Do you mind if Cleo stays here since Zack is gone?”

I look at Cleo. She wiggles her butt at me.

“It’s better than being alone, I guess,” I mutter.

Rusti laughs. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Be right back.”

She disappears down the hallway, leaving me with the dog.

“What do you think, Cleo?” I ask. “Will this work out with Wade?”

She barks. Then pants. Then shakes her behind again.

“No, that’s what got me into this situation, you little minx,” I say, laughing.

She barks again.

I feel that reaction. I really freaking do.

FORTY-FOUR

WADE

I’m going to have to move.

I stand in the middle of my living room, and all I can think about is Dara. Not just the moments when she was bent over a piece of furniture or riding me on another but also the way she tucks her legs beneath her while watching movies. How she gets popcorn bits all over the couch every damn time. Her preference for the fireplace to be on whenever she sits down because she likes the ambiance.

It’s this way in every fucking room.

The kitchen? I think of the boxes of donuts I’ve come to expect on the counter.

My office? The awe in her eye at my sketch.

The bathroom? So many lewd, delicious memories that I want to punch the mirrors until they smash against the floor that no longer has strands of her hair on it.

I can’t do this. I can’t live in this space and be surrounded by memories of her.

But will it be easier if I do pack up and go elsewhere? Sadly, I don’t think so. I think she’s burrowed into my soul and will never let go.

I mosey around my house and think of her, grateful her memories aren’t fading away. Dara Alden was the best part of my life. My time with her was the happiest I’ve ever been—happier than I ever thought I could be.

But that’s over now.

Knock! Knock!

Who is here?

I make my way to the foyer and pull open the door. My father is standing on the porch. Fuck. I’m not sure what my face does, but he laughs.

“I know that I’m not too pretty anymore, but you could at least act like you’re happy to see me,” he says.

“Sorry. Come in.”

He nods and steps inside.

I close the door.

“What’s going on?” I ask, heaving a breath. Out of all the people I want to talk to today, he’s … not on the list at all. I’d rather talk to Boone’s dumb ass than my father.

I’m not sure why I feel the way I do about him. A psychologist could have a field day with it, I’m sure. It probably has something to do with Dad seeing me at my worst—facedown in the World History section of the Georgia Tech library. I don’t love that about our relationship.

Thankful that he came? Sure. Enjoy thinking that he knows that? Not so much.

“Oh, I was in the neighborhood,” he says, sitting on the sofa.

I want to stop him, to ask him to use another piece of furniture because that cushion still smells faintly like coconuts. But just before I do that, I realize how fucking stupid that is.

Before long, everyone will stop smelling like her.

My stomach knots, and I reach for my phone.

“Interesting that you found a reason to be in this area,” I say, typing out a text.

Me: How are you?

I hold the phone in my hand.

“Well, we both know I’m lying so let’s cut the shit, huh?” he asks.

“Sounds like a plan.”

He crosses one leg on the other knee. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on, or should I tell you what I heard instead?”

I glare at him. “I don’t give a shit what you heard, and no, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Dara: I’m good. Thank you for asking. Hope you are well too.

Hope I am well too? What?

I don’t know why I keep texting her. I mean, I do—I need to know she’s okay. But every time I get a response, it reminds me of the status of our relationship.

And I fucking hate it.

I hate the disconnect. I loathe feeling like she thinks I don’t care.