Reputation (Mason Family 2)

He pulls me closer and holds me against him. I can hear his heart beat through his shirt. It’s hard and rhythmic and so steady. I wish I could close my eyes and just stay right here forever.

“I know you’re scared,” he says. “And I’m happy you feel comfortable enough to tell me that. But why don’t you look at it the other way? Like instead of the possibility of having your heart broken, you have the possibility of having someone to help you through shit?”

I nod.

He grabs my shoulders and peels me away from him. A slow smile touches his lips.

“I love you, Bellamy,” he whispers.

My eyes go wide as a quick uptake of breath fills my lungs.

“I should have said that to you so many months or even years ago ’cause I’ve loved you since the day I made you eat that taco out of a leaf, mud, and grass,” he says.

I laugh, the memory coming back to me.

Tears fill my eyes.

My brain screams at me that I’m too exposed—that I’ve gone out on a limb for him before, and he’s broken my trust. But as I sort through that emotion and try to rationalize it, I realize it’s not fair to him … or to me.

I know he loves me. I feel it when he touches me, and I see it in his eyes. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and I’ve never felt like this around anyone either.

But is that enough?

Because I know how the world works. It’s cruel and evil, and just because you love someone, it doesn’t mean they’re yours forever.

He nudges me. “I was kind of hoping you’d say it back.”

I sniffle. “You know that I love you too. I love you so much that it scares the shit out of me.”

Pride ripples across his face. “Let’s agree that this might get complicated and that we’re going to have to take it day by day.”

“And we have to communicate and be honest.”

“And we have to make each other a priority.”

I nod, liking the sound of this. It helps to soothe the vulnerability that rears its ugly head.

“We have to communicate,” I say.

“That's our weakness. We've never communicated well—unless it was with threats,” he says, laughing.

I laugh too.

It almost feels too good to believe, the answer to the manifestations that I didn’t put much faith in.

But the longer he holds me and doesn't rush me and the more things that he whispers into my ear about flights and cell phones and promises of everything that I've ever wanted, I find myself doing the one thing I've always feared more than anything else—I've put my trust in him.

My breathing evens out as soon as I make the decision. I'm without reservations but not without fear. But I figure a little fear is healthy.

“My mom is making meatloaf,” he whispers in my ear.

I laugh out loud. “Your mom makes great meatloaf.”

“We should totally go get some before my brothers eat it all.”

I hold my breath. “We?”

“Yep. I told you, I'm all in, baby. This is just the way it's going to be now. You're going to have to trust me. If not, it’ll be really fucking awkward when I'm ringing the phone off the hook and showing up in the middle of the night when you refuse to answer.”

“Knock first in case Suit is here,” I joke.

I think steam comes from Coy’s ears. I stop it with a kiss.

“Let’s get meatloaf,” I tell him.

He readjusts our hands, locking our fingers together.

“Are you going to hold my hand all the way over there?” I joke.

He looks up at me stone-faced. “Hell, yes I fucking am. Might as well just go in guns blazing and let everyone know. Because I want them to know that when I am not here, they are now responsible for you too.”

“No, Coy,” I say, shaking my head. “That's … I don't … No.”

He spins me around and captures me in his arms. “You’re mine now. You better get used to this.”

As I look into his eyes, I don’t think it’s going to be hard to fall madly, stupidly in love with him. And that might be a good thing.

And it might not too.

Seventeen

Coy

“There better be meatloaf left,” I say as we step into Mom’s kitchen.

I close the door behind Bellamy.

The room is loud and chaotic like it always is when my brothers gather for dinner. Wade stands next to the pantry with our father, talking about something that’s guaranteed to be mind-numbingly boring. Holt and Oliver sit at the table with cups of coffee and smug little grins on their faces. Boone is perched on the counter, his hand in a bowl of Chex Mix while he listens to Holt’s girlfriend, Blaire, rattle on about something that seems to hold his interest.