Reckless (Mason Family 3)

I grip the banister and see Jaxi’s face.

I wonder if she slept well. I wonder if she missed me. I wonder what she told Rosie.

“This is going to suck,” I mutter as I get to the top of the stairs.

My watch says it’s almost eleven in the morning, and I kick myself for missing work. Hopefully, Oliver told Wade I’d be late, so he’s not waiting on me to meet with the legal department over Greyshell.

I round the corner into the kitchen and stop in my tracks.

My mother is standing in the middle of Oliver’s kitchen with a no-nonsense look on her face.

That’s never good.

“Good morning,” she says, setting a plate of biscuits smothered in gravy in front of me. “It’s about time you got up.”

“What are you doing here?”

She opens the refrigerator and plucks out a Gatorade. She sets it next to the food.

“I’m here because your brother called me and told me what happened,” she says.

I sit on a stool.

The food smells amazing, but it also makes me slightly nauseous. I burp. It smells like whiskey.

This does not amuse my mother.

She toys with a pink heart on her necklace and looks at me with full displeasure.

“Hungover?” she asks.

“A little.”

“Hmm.”

“In case you’re wondering,” I say, picking up the drink, “I’m not good today. I’m pissed off. I’m sad, if you must know. I’m irritated that Oliver called you before I had a chance to wrap my brain around things.”

She lifts a brow before taking the pan to the sink.

“In case you must know,” she says, “Oliver was worried about you.”

I take a long drink, and the cold fluid feels good in my stomach.

“I’m sure he was,” I say sarcastically.

She sighs. “I’m not going to ask you what happened because I already know.”

“Good.”

“But I am going to demand you fix this.”

I pick up my fork. “I realize I shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds me, but this is none of your business, Mom.”

The water shuts off in a flash. She gives me a look—the look. The one that says I’ve overstepped.

I stt the fork back down. “I’m sorry.”

The look eases. “You’re entitled to be upset today. I’m entitled to be upset with you too.”

“And why are you upset with me, considering this has nothing to do with you?”

She laughs a one-syllable, choppy laugh that means she’s not laughing at all.

“What? It doesn’t,” I say. “My girlfriend broke up with me. I’m not ten. You don’t have to listen to me cry in my pillow.”

She wipes the counters down with a rag. “I’m not going to listen to you cry in your pillow because you’re going to stop this.”

Irritation sweeps through me, causing my head to pulse again. I’d ask her who she thinks she is, but I know the answer. She’s Siggy freaking Mason, and she’ll kick my ass.

I’m not that hungover.

She tosses the rag in the sink, and then the façade comes off. The hands go on the hips.

I brace myself.

“What kind of man do you think I raised?” she says, starting off nice and hard.

“Depends on which one you’re talking about.”

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t be dense, Boone. I’m talking about you.”

“In that case, extremely handsome. Funny. Charming. Lots of people say charming.”

“Oh, you’re funny all right.”

“Why are you being mean to me?” I ask. “When Coy was all fucked up over Bells, you were kissing his ass.” My eyes go wide. “I’m still drunk! Don’t beat me!”

She shakes her head.

Her disappointment in me really seals the deal. I’ve peaked. It’s all downhill from here.

My brothers are probably pissed I’m not at the office. Jaxi is pissed. Period. Rosie is probably sad that I’m not there, and I can’t even fucking think about that. And now my mom is mad because she realizes that what my brothers always say about me—that I don’t take anything seriously enough—is true.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I know you liked her,” I say. “I tried to make it work. I just can’t … How do you make someone believe you love them?”

“The first thing is telling them. I’m assuming you did that.”

Sort of.

“The second thing would be fighting for them. I’m assuming you’re doing that.”

This is not going well.

“And the third thing,” she says, clasping her hands together and leaning on the countertop across from me, “is putting together a grand gesture.”

I don’t even know what that means.

I’m so fucked.

The fire in her eyes dies down as she motions to my breakfast. Dutifully, I pick up my fork and take a bite. It’s heaven.

“Eat. Drink. We can’t do much today if you don’t get the alcohol out of your system,” she says.

“Did Anjelica send you over here?” I side-eye my mother. “I can’t take her today. I can’t. I won’t do it. She’s mean and bossy, and it’s a recipe for disaster—especially this morning.” I cram more biscuits in my mouth. “I might not even work again. I might be a vagrant.”