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)
Suddenly, I’m wondering why his assistant is calling Mason and not himself. Cameron has always made time for us and never palmed us off to his employees.
“Why?” My tone sounds like I’m five years old again and I didn’t know why I was being taken away from my mother.
“I really don’t want to be the one to tell you all, but …”
“Tell us what?” A heavy weight crushes my chest, anticipating bad news.
“Cameron wasn’t feeling well today. He …”
Oh God, are those tears I can hear? I don’t want her to say the next thing that’s going to come out of her mouth. I really don’t.
“I told him to go to a doctor, you know? It wasn’t normal. His skin was kind of ashen and pasty, and he didn’t look well. I thought he might’ve been coming down with a flu.”
Mason stares up at me, all playfulness gone.
“He collapsed an hour ago and was rushed to the hospital.”
“Which hospital?” I climb off Mason as fast as humanly possible. I pace the room, looking for clothes. Wait, I’m wearing clothes.
We need to go to him. We’ll wait by his side. We’ll—
“He’s gone, hon. Massive heart attack. I’m so sorry.”
It’s like a punch through my rib cage, right to my heart.
“G-gone …”
“He’d passed away before the ambulance reached the ER.”
With each word, the pressure on my chest gets heavier and heavier, but no, they can’t be the right words. She’s mistaken. I can’t have heard that right.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, but I can’t answer her.
I drop the phone, and it hits the carpet with a soft thump.
This is not happening. This can’t be happening.
“He was only fifty-two,” I say. “That’s too young.”
Mason stands and picks up the phone, muttering words I can’t hear. Or maybe I’m drowning them out. I’m in a fog of disbelief, and nothing can pull me out of it.
“Denny.” Mason gets in my way to stop the pacing.
I look at him. “He … He’s …” I choke on the truth.
“I know.”
Tears fall freely down my face. “What are we supposed to do with that?”
Mason swallows hard. His eyes are glassy, but he’s holding strong. “I don’t know.”
I sink back onto the bed and hang my head in my hands.
I think back to when my grandmother died. We were on tour at the time. I was sixteen. It was a sad time, but I remember being so busy I barely had time to process her death let alone grieve over it.
Then we had the court issues of proving I didn’t need a guardian because I could look after myself. Cameron was the one who was there for me through all that. Who’s going to be there for me to get through this?
“Mase?” I sniff, but when I look up, he’s gone.
I guess my answer is not him.
I’m too consumed in my initial shock and then grief to notice how hard Mason takes the news, but it becomes obvious in the days following the call. He’s withdrawn, depressed, and he moves on autopilot. He barely knows I’m here half the time, and the other half I’m met with subtle nods and single-word answers. I’m trying to hold it together for him, but we’re both as lost as each other.
Grief is a weird thing. I want to break down. I want to give up. Hell, I want to fucking drink just so I can numb the sadness. But at the same time, I’ve been through this before with my nanna, so I know the pain will dim. I know it will get easier.
Mason doesn’t have that same mentality. His dad is the only person he has lost in his life, and it was when he was young. He’s not sleeping, he’s barely eating, and I think he has said all of two words to me since we got the news.
When my phone rings with Harley’s name on the display, I leave Mason sleeping on the couch and slip out onto the balcony but keep the door open.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“How are you holding up?” Surprisingly, Harley’s voice is a calming presence. He’s always so together, and I trust he’ll know what to do.
“I’m worried about Mason,” I say.
“I’m worried about both of you. How are you handling it?”
Not great. “I’m better than Mason. He’s barely even spoken to me, and we’re—” Shit, I can’t say what was about to fall out my mouth. We’re supposed to be in this together, but it’s as if his grief has broken him. “We were back on track to being … us. And now …”
I have no idea where his head is at. This is testing us at a time we’re not ready to be tested. I don’t know what to say to him or how to make either of us feel better. Anytime I’ve tried to initiate sex to try to get out of my head and forget, he’s shot me down.