Reputation (Mason Family 2)

Mom told me that Joseph Davenport had colon cancer. I called Bells about it when I found out, but she didn’t answer. I shot her a text instead, and she told me she was fine … and that her new boyfriend didn’t appreciate me texting her.

Which was a load of bullshit.

But I acquiesced because I didn’t want to cause her more problems. I just checked in with Mom about him from time to time and snuck over to see him when I was home a couple of times. What else could I do?

“How’s he doing?” I ask.

Boone shrugs. “It just got upgraded … downgraded? I don’t know the right term for something like this. Anyway, it’s now a stage four-something. It’s not good. But Bellamy manages it pretty well. You know her …”

You’d never know if she was handling it well or not. That’s not how Bellamy works.

“Well, if you’re good, then I think I’m going to head to Gramps’s and watch some golf,” Boone says. “I know Holt won’t look for me there.”

“You’re hiding out from our brother at our grandpa’s? This is where you are in life?”

“Absolutely.” He gets up and heads for the door. “Wanna come?”

I chuckle. “Nah. I’m gonna sit here and try to be productive.” Or go back to bed.

Boone pauses at the door and tries to hide a smile. “Holt said to tell you not to forget to take the trash out.”

“Tell him to fuck off.”

He laughs. “I’m not telling him shit. I’m avoiding him, remember?”

“I might go by his office today and just bother him. Keep him from getting anything done.”

“If you get bored later, I’ll be home around five or so. I can help you write music.” He pats an uneven beat on his leg just to mess with me. “Did you get a rental car?”

I nod.

“Good.” He heads out the door. “I’ll catch ya around.”

“See ya, Boone.”

He waves over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

I blow out a long, heavy breath as the silence of the house descends around me. It makes not being at home in Nashville all the more noticeable.

Without a doubt, I know that I’m going to go stir-crazy if I don’t find something to do.

That or I’ll become so irritated by the fact that I’m in lockdown that I’ll go crazy.

I tug my suitcase on the bed and open it with a flourish. My things were stuffed inside after a hasty pack-and-go last night. Grabbing a wrinkled T-shirt, I slip it on over my head.

My mind skips over the past few minutes—Willa, Meadow, Bellamy, her father.

Why can’t anything ever just be okay?

I touch my cheek again. It stings a little but doesn’t ache like I thought it would. But the momentary pause to see how I feel makes my skin all over seem too tight. My muscles are too rigid. My energy level too high.

Something has to give.

I put on some socks and sneakers before plopping an Illinois Legends hat on backward. Then I head down the stairs and out the front door.

The Savannah breeze is fresh and cool. I probably could’ve used a hoodie, but I don’t have the gumption to go back inside and get one. Instead, I walk across the lawn and try to let the trees and their swaying mosses work their magic at calming me down. It was my secret weapon growing up. I even wrote my first song with that rhythm in mind. But today?

Today, it’s futile.

My attention keeps dragging through the foliage to Bellamy’s house.

“But Bellamy manages it pretty well. You know her …”

The truth is that I don’t know her. Not anymore. And as much as it bothers me that her father is sick and she may or may not be taking it well, it drives me nuts that I don’t know her.

At one point in my life, she was one of my best friends. There were no secrets between Boone, Larissa, Bells, and me. And now, I don’t know what she needs, only that it’s probably nothing from me. It’s easier to live with that when you live in another state and are so busy that you can’t see straight. But seeing her in person? It hits different.

It makes a lot of things hit differently.

The roar of an engine distracts me, and I look at the street. A car rolls up the Davenport’s driveway. I mosey my way over to the edge of the block wall—to the spot where rose bushes only separate our yards.

The car stops at the main garage. I try to look interested in the foliage in front of me and not like a creeper.

A woman gets out of her car. A few seconds later, the little girl—Bree—who was with Bellamy earlier runs around the corner.

Bree talks animatedly with her little hands flying through the air. She nearly bounces up and down. I catch a smile flickering against my lips as my gaze is yanked to the side.