Chapter 131
Emily's POV
I stared at Alex, waiting for him to answer my question about Mason.
He was standing by the kitchen counter, one hand resting on the marble surface, the other holding a glass of water. His posture was casual, almost too casual, and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth told me he was already preparing his defense before I'd even finished asking.
Alex took a slow sip of water, then set the glass down with deliberate precision. "Really, Emily? That's the first thing you want to talk about? We haven't said three sentences to each other, and you're already asking about another guy."
There it was. The deflection. The attempt to put me on the defensive, to make me feel guilty for caring about someone else, someone who needed help. I recognized the tactic immediately because he'd used it on me before, and I wasn't in the mood to play along.
"Don't do that," I said, my voice sharper than I'd intended. "Don't make this about us when I'm asking you a simple question. Where is he?"
Alex's jaw tightened. He pushed off the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. "He's not here."
"I can see that. Where did he go?"
"I told him to leave."
The words landed like a slap. I felt my chest tighten, anger flaring hot and fast beneath my ribs. "You what?"
"I told him it was time to move on," Alex said, his tone flat, as if he were discussing the weather. "He's eighteen, Emily. He can figure it out."
I took a step toward him, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "You had no right to do that."
"I had every right," he shot back. "You brought a complete stranger into our home without asking me or Ethan. You expected us to just accept it, to let some traumatized kid sleep in our guest room while you played savior. Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in watching you destroy yourself trying to fix someone who doesn't want to be fixed."
"He's a child, Alex!" My voice cracked on the last word, the frustration bubbling over. "He's eighteen years old, he's been through God knows what, and you just—what? Kicked him out? Where the hell is he supposed to go?"
Alex's expression didn't change. "That's not my problem."
"Not your problem," I repeated, letting out a bitter laugh. "Right. Because everything's only a problem if it affects you directly, isn't it?"
"Don't act like you know what I'm thinking," he said, his voice dropping into something colder, harder. "You want to know what I think? I think you saw a pretty face and a sob story, and you let it cloud your judgment. I think you got attached way too fast, and now you're pissed because I did what you were too scared to do."
"I didn't get attached," I said, even as I heard the lie in my own voice.
Alex tilted his head, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "No? Then why are you so upset? If he's just some kid you were helping out, why does it matter that he left?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. Because he was right. Not about the attachment—or at least not in the way he meant it—but about the fact that I was more upset than I should have been. I barely knew Mason. I'd brought him home out of instinct, out of recognition, because I'd seen something in his eyes that reminded me of myself. But that didn't mean I owed him anything. It didn't mean I was responsible for him.
Except I felt responsible. I felt like I'd promised him something when I'd let him into my apartment, when I'd given him a locked door and clean clothes and told him he was safe. And now Alex had taken that safety away without even consulting me.
"You should have talked to me first," I said quietly.
"And you should have talked to me before you brought him here," Alex countered. "But you didn't. So I handled it."
"By lying to him?"
Alex's eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite read. "I didn't lie."
"Then what did you tell him?"
He hesitated, just for a second, and in that brief pause I saw the truth. He had lied. He'd told Mason something—some version of the truth twisted just enough to make him believe he wasn't wanted here. And Mason, already so used to being unwanted, had believed it.
I felt my anger shift into something colder, something sharper. "Where is he?"
"I don't know," Alex said, and this time I believed him. "I called him a rideshare. He left. That's all I know."
"When?"
"This morning. Around ten."
I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was almost eight PM. Mason had been gone for ten hours. Ten hours in a town he didn't know, with no money, no phone, and nowhere to go.
I turned away from Alex, my mind already racing. I needed to find him. I needed to make sure he was okay.
"Emily." Alex's voice followed me as I grabbed my keys from the bowl by the door. "Don't do this."
I didn't answer. I didn't trust myself to speak without screaming.
"Emily, listen to me," he said, and I heard him move behind me, felt his hand close around my wrist. I yanked my arm free and spun to face him.
"Don't touch me."
His hand dropped to his side, his expression shuttering. "You're not thinking straight."
"I'm thinking just fine," I said. "You're the one who decided to play God with someone else's life. You're the one who made a unilateral decision without considering the consequences. So don't you dare stand there and tell me I'm not thinking straight when you're the one who screwed this up."
"I was protecting you," he said, his voice rising. "I was protecting us. That kid is dangerous, Emily. I saw it the second I looked at him. He's manipulative, he's calculating, and he's using you."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do," Alex said, stepping closer. "Because I recognize it. I know what it looks like when someone is desperate enough to take whatever they can get, to say whatever they need to say to survive. I've been that person. And I'm telling you, he's going to hurt you if you let him stay."
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. For a moment, I saw the fear beneath his anger, the vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide. But it didn't matter. It didn't change what he'd done.
"Maybe you're right," I said quietly. "Maybe he is manipulative. Maybe he is using me. But that's my choice to make, Alex. Not yours. And the fact that you can't see that—the fact that you think you have the right to decide who I help and who I don't—that's the problem. Not Mason. You."
I turned and walked out the door before he could respond.