Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Denver parks the car in his garage and goes through the house to meet me at the front gate.
He leads me inside, through his expansive foyer and living room that’s filled with more god-awful trinkets and “art” than last time I was here, and as he passes that horrible duck he’s owned forever, he pats his head. “Good boy.”
“I can’t believe you still have Bill.”
“He’s my good-luck charm.” Denver goes out to his back balcony, and I follow.
His house is built into the side of a hill, so his entry level hides the whole underneath part of the house where he has a gym and a music room.
We go down the stairs and walk across the grass to the standalone square hut I guess I’m calling home for a while. At least until everything blows over.
Denver slides open the wooden door and lets me in. “Umm, so I’ll be on set again tomorrow all day. We’re pulling long hours on this stupid reality show, so you’ll have the place to yourself.”
I read he’d signed on to be a judge on a reality talent show, and I’d wanted to call him to congratulate him but knew it would go unanswered.
So, I don’t congratulate him now either. “Okay.”
“’Kay.” He spins on his heel but pauses. “I’m really happy you’re here.”
I wish I could say the same, but maybe I’ll get there.
Is there a self-help book for that? Forgiveness for Dummies. I’d buy it.
Chapter Seven
Denver
Having Mason in my guesthouse is weird. Especially because I’m gone from sunrise to way past sunset throughout the week, so we haven’t run into each other.
Every night I get home from the set, I can’t help looking out at the light streaming from his window. It’s tempting—so tempting—to go out there and talk to him, but my days are long, and I’m too mentally drained to muster the energy. Or the courage.
Offering him a place to stay is the least I can do, but I know it’s not enough. If I could, I’d give him everything he needs, but putting myself in that position opens me up to the confusion and longing I developed the last time we got close.
I can’t live through that again. I drank myself stupid and threw myself into working as much as possible so I’d be distracted. Hell, I’m still on that path, and my body can’t take it for much longer. If it wasn’t for the long hours I’ve been putting in at Fandom and coming home utterly exhausted, I’d drink just to forget Mason’s in my backyard.
It’s not until the weekend that I actually see Mason again.
He wanders into the house in low-hanging sweatpants and a loose tank top. His hair is down, his beard still mesmerizingly thick, but it’s his arms that my gaze gets stuck on as he walks into the kitchen.
My hand freezes on the coffee machine’s On button.
Mason may have put on weight and have a bit of a foodie gut, but it’s as if he spent that entire time out in Montana swinging an ax. I remember when I stayed with him during a tour break, he made us go chop our own firewood. Fuck, he was so sexy. Even as a scrawny guy, the sight of him splitting wood … it made me spring wood.
I have to wonder if it had something to do with Mason being confident and strong-willed. He was responsible for his family and the land they owned, and he took it so seriously. When his dad had passed away, Mason took it upon himself to become the man of the house. Everything he did—moving to LA for college to get a smart degree and chase a pipe dream, and then landing a gig with one of the highest-selling acts of all time … He did it all for his mom and sister.
I remember the year we had our first taste of success, and we were performing on a morning talk show. The anchors were buttering us up about how we were the biggest thing since One Direction. It was probably the most relaxed I’d ever seen Mason.
He was relieved that he’d made it and didn’t have to go home penniless or without a way to substantially support his family.
Mason carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I abandoned him because of my crushed ego. Okay, and heart. Can’t forget the crushed heart too.
I can play it off as being confused all I want. I know the truth deep down.
The reason I haven’t been able to face him for so long is pure and utter heartbreak. I shouldn’t have put that on him, and I shouldn’t have been such a shitty friend.
How do I make it up to him without sacrificing my heart again?
“Morning,” he mumbles, and yep, there goes my cock thinking it’s two and a half years ago.