Page 47 of Break Me Apart
“Shut up.”
“Was it a dramatic thing?” I ask. “Or did you just fall over him and panic?”
Mason stares at me. “Do you want the truth, or do you want a story that makes me sound like I’ve got dignity?”
“The truth, obviously.”
He exhales. “The pub was closing, and I was hammered. I’d been sitting there ages while he was cleaning up. I... started talking too much. Said things I probably shouldn’t have said.”
“I’m shocked,” I deadpan.
“Fuck off.” He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand like he can erase the memory. “I kissed him, like an idiot, and then he pulled away and told me no because I wasdrunk.”
“No way.”
“Yep,” Mason says, and his eyes go distant for a moment. “He wasn’t judging me or anything. And he didn’t act like it was... disgusting.”
“It’s not disgusting.”
Mason’s gaze snaps back, searching my face. “You’ve been...” he starts slowly, and then stops, as if he’s just had a thought he doesn’t want to have.
“What?” I ask.
He leans back on his hands, studying me the way you study a mate when you realise you’ve missed something obvious. “You’ve been different,” he says. “The last couple of months. Not... happy, because you’re you, but... less like you’re going to bite someone.”
“Charming,” I mutter.
“I mean it,” he says. “You’ve been smiling. Properly. Like an idiot.”
“I don’t smile.”
“You do,” he says, smug. “I’ve seen it. Horrible sight.”
I roll my eyes, but my stomach tightens because I know where this is going, and I’m not sure I’m ready to let him drag it into the open. “Who is it?” Mason asks, his head tilting to the side.
I blink. “What?”
“Don’t play thick,” he says. “You’re not thick. Who’s got you walking around like you’ve been let out on day release?”
“No one,” I lieinstantly.
Mason stares at me, and I stare back. “Oh, my God. Is it—” he starts, points at me, then stops, then starts again like he can’t decide if he’s taking the piss. His eyes widen slowly, like watching a door swing open. “Mate,” he says. It’s half horror, half glee. “No. You too? That’s why you’re so curious about Cill.”
I inhale sharply through my nose. Fuck. “Don’t—”
“Caiden,” he says, voice going softer, more careful. “You’re serious?”
I glance at the door like someone’s going to walk in and ruin my life. Then I look back at him. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’m serious.”
Mason drags a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”
“You can stop at any point,” I mutter.
He lets out a laugh that’s half disbelief. “Right. Okay. Alright.” He sits forward again, elbows on his knees. “So, who?” I hesitate, because once I say it, it becomes real. He watches me with that rare stillness he gets when he’s not performing or deflecting and trying to joke his way out. “You can trust me.”
“I know,” I say.
“Then?” he asks, his brows lifting.
