Chapter 123
Emily's POV
"Week and a half, maybe," Ethan said, moving closer and reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear with the kind of casual intimacy that still made my breath catch sometimes. "It's the conference semifinals, so it's kind of a big deal. But if anything comes up, anything at all, you call me. Doesn't matter what time it is or what I'm doing. You need me, I'm on the next flight back."
The careful way he said it, the deliberate emphasis on anything, told me he was thinking about the Mason situation specifically, about leaving me alone with a volatile Alex and a traumatized teenager and all the ways that could potentially blow up.
I forced myself to smile, to push down the weird sense of loss that was trying to claw its way up my throat at the thought of him leaving, and reached up to cover his hand where it still rested against my cheek.
"It's an important game," I said firmly, injecting brightness into my tone that I didn't quite feel. "You need to focus on that, not worry about what's happening back here. Besides—" I glanced over at Mason, who was watching us with those too-careful eyes, and felt my smile become slightly more genuine. "I've got Mason to take care of me now. You saw that breakfast. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to starve with a classically-trained chef in the apartment."
Mason's expression did something complicated, surprise and pleasure and uncertainty all flickering across his features before he managed to school them into something more neutral, and I saw his hands clench briefly in his lap before relaxing.
Ethan followed my gaze, his own expression thoughtful as he assessed Mason for a long moment, and then he nodded slowly.
"Yeah," he said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced but was willing to let it go for now. "Yeah, okay. Just—promise me you'll actually eat real meals and not just live on coffee and spite until I get back."
"I promise," I said, meaning it, and pulled him down for a kiss that was probably more reassuring than passionate but served its purpose anyway.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine for another beat, and then he seemed to accept whatever he found there and stepped away, grabbing his gym bag from where he'd left it by the door.
"I've got to head to the training facility for a few hours," he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Team meeting and some final prep before we leave."
And then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that somehow made the apartment feel immediately larger and emptier and more precarious, like we'd lost some essential ballast that had been keeping everything stable.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door and trying to shake off the weird melancholy that had settled over me, before turning back to find Mason watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, and there was something in his voice that suggested he understood more about feeling abandoned than I was comfortable acknowledging.
"Yeah," I said, forcing another smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just going to miss having him around for a bit, that's all."
Mason nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away for future reference, and then stood and started gathering the remaining dishes with careful, precise movements.
"I'll clean up," he said, not quite meeting my eyes. "You should—you should probably get some more rest. You look tired."
He wasn't wrong.
I was exhausted.
But the thought of going back to that empty bed, of lying there alone with my thoughts and the lingering anger at Alex and the worry about Ethan leaving and the uncertainty about what the hell I was doing with Mason, felt worse than just staying upright and functional.
"Well," I said gently, reaching for my purse on the counter and pulling out my wallet, "I need to head to work in a bit, but let me leave you some cash in case you need to order food or pick up anything—"
"I don't need it," Mason said quickly, shaking his head. "I have my phone, and there's still a little money in my account. I can order delivery for lunch if I get hungry. And—" He gestured toward the refrigerator. "There's food in there already. I think Alex brought groceries yesterday morning. I really don't need anything."
I paused, my hand still in my wallet, and looked at him standing there with that careful, self-contained expression that was trying so hard not to be a burden, and felt something warm and protective settle in my chest.
He was so determined to take care of himself, to not ask for anything, to prove he could manage without causing trouble.
It made me want to wrap him up and tell him he was allowed to need things, allowed to ask for help, allowed to just be without constantly calculating his value.
"Okay," I said softly, closing my wallet but filing away the mental note that he needed more than just borrowed clothes, that I should probably do something about that sooner rather than later. "But if you change your mind, you let me know, alright?"
Mason nodded, and I gave in to the impulse that had been building since he'd made that careful, perfect breakfast and reached out to ruffle his hair gently, the way you might with a younger sibling or a kid who needed reassurance they were doing okay.
His eyes went wide and surprised, and I felt him freeze for just a second before leaning almost imperceptibly into the touch.
"Just wait for me to get back from work, okay?" I said, letting my hand linger for another moment before dropping it. "And if you get bored, feel free to explore the apartment, watch TV, whatever. You're not locked in. You can go out if you want. Just—be here when I get back?"
The last part came out more uncertain than I'd intended, revealing the worry underneath that he might decide this was all too complicated and disappear while I was gone.
But Mason nodded immediately, something fierce and determined flashing across his face.
"I'll be here," he said quietly. "I promise."
"Good boy," I said, the words slipping out automatically, and watched his cheeks flush slightly as he ducked his head.
I turned away before I could do something ridiculous like hug him or promise him things I wasn't sure I could deliver, and headed back to the bedroom to get ready for work.
As I pulled on actual clothes and ran a brush through my hair, my mind was already cataloging what I'd need to pick up on the way home—basic clothes in whatever size he wore, toiletries that were actually his instead of borrowed, maybe some decent shoes since I had no idea what had happened to whatever he'd been wearing when I'd found him.
He needed things.
Even if he wouldn't ask for them.
And I was going to make sure he got them.