Resolution (Mason Family 5)

So I stop. But I’m not happy about it.

“Eliza?”

“Yes?”

I clear my throat. “I love what you’ve done with your …” I glance quickly around the room.

Do I say something nice about her hair? Her outfit? The red jacket hanging on the back of her chair?

Eliza watches me expectantly.

“With your desk,” I say, giving her a quick nod and tight smile before retreating to the safety of my office.

I plop my briefcase on my desk and tug at my collar. Damn this day already. I glance at the calendar and see it’s already Wednesday. Damn this entire week.

I have rested on my discipline for my entire life. While everyone around me hopped, skipped, and jumped with emotional reactions, I did not.

Logic has always been king, and I’ve always worn the crown. Calm, cool, and collected. I act with prudence.

And it’s almost killed me for days.

I sink into my chair and don’t even bother with the computer. The aroma of coffee drifts through the air from the Keurig in the break room, but even that isn’t enough to lure me out of my reverie.

It’s been a couple of days since I saw Dara. Long, frustrating, hard days—hard in so many ways. I keep thinking the need to see her will subside. It’s what I always told my brothers when they acted like this. Give it time. You’ll get over it. But I’m not getting over it.

I pick up my phone and pull up her number, just like I have a hundred times this week.

Should I reach out to her? No. She would likely assume I’m interested in her—interested in something more—if I call to say hello every day or send her a text to say good night or ask her to come by the office so I can see her smile.

I scroll down the one break in my restraint on Sunday night.

Me: How did your photo shoot go?

Dara: Great! They weren’t weirdos after all.

Me: That’s great.

Dara: Wade Mason—were you worried about me? *winking emoji*

Me: I was concerned for your safety.

Dara: Well, thanks. I guess.

Me: I found an earring in the bathroom.

Dara: I’ve been looking everywhere. It must’ve fallen out when my face was pressed against the counter. *drool emoji* *fire emoji*

Me: Should I apologize?

Dara: Only apologize for never doing it again.

Me: I need to get back to work.

Dara: Same. Night, Wade.

Me: Night, Dara. Sleep well.

My cock gets hard just thinking about her bent over my bathroom vanity. And my heart softens just thinking about her asleep in my bed.

I growl into the room. “I can’t do this. I can’t get all fucked up like this.”

But what if I already am?

My insides twist so tight that I grimace. I close my eyes.

I drift back to that day over ten years ago. I know it’s coming, but I can’t stop it. Since I met Dara, I’ve thought about it so much more.

Her face was distorted from crying so much. Tears stained her cheeks, and I wondered if there would be permanent rivers in her skin when she stopped crying. If she stopped crying.

Bile rises in my throat, catching just before it spills into my mouth.

My helplessness. The cold sweat running down my back. The deep canyon of loneliness among faces that judged me in that brisk, acrid room.

I grip the edges of my chair.

Her heart bled on the hospital floor. But it wasn’t just her heart. It was her body, her spirit—our life together—that was battered and bruised, and she sat in the middle of it all.

Because of me.

My mouth goes dry as I snap out of my memories. Each breath is quick but not deep enough.

I get to my feet and bow my head, willing myself to calm down. I try to remember that was ten years ago. She’s not broken anymore. She’s better without you. She healed as much as a person could.

Maybe I’ve healed as much as I can too.

And maybe that’s why Dara has me all fucked up. Because I am. And it’s just getting worse.

The sun is still an hour from rising, but I don’t wait. I can’t. I reach for my phone.

Me: I have some ideas to run by you if you’re available today.

I set the phone down. There’s no way she’s up at this hour. But almost immediately, my phone dings with an incoming text.

Dara: Hey, you. Yeah, I can come by whenever. I have something to run by you too.

Relief rushes through me. I sigh.

Me: How does nine this morning sound?

Dara: Well, I’m up now, so how about eight?

Me: Perfect.

Dara: See you soon. I have to get out of bed now.

There’s an opening to continue the conversation, but I don’t take it.

That’s how it’s done. That’s what I know how to do.

Do not ask questions that you don’t need or want answered.

Now, all I need is to brainstorm the something to run by her.