Page 8 of Mason
Sutton
Whatever pain medsTrent gave me couldn’t quite touch the ache in my chest that only increased each time I looked down at the two broken pieces of my cello.
My mother’s cello that she had so lovingly taken care of despite not pursuing the instrument in depth.As a kid, I remembered how she would carefully clean it, a secretive kind of smile teasing at her lips as her fingers brushed the wood, plucking the strings with genuine affection.As if it were an old friend that held treasured memories.
And now, it was broken.Into three very unequal parts.The neck.The base.And a crazy-long splinter that was still piercing my belly.
Upon my arrival at the hospital, one doctor immediately ordered an X-ray.After some debate with another physician, they decided to do a CT as well.Just to be safe.I’d rolled my eyes but kept my mouth shut.Wade Myers would be footing the bill anyway.He was responsible for my health insurance until I was twenty-six, as long as I was in some form of school.Or until I got married.Whichever came first, according to the agreement his lawyers had hashed out with Mom way back when.
While the doctorshmmmedover the results of the scans, Harper stood beside my bed, relaying information to her bestie, who was an actual medical professional.Unlike the grumpy, albeit delicious, man hovering nearby.Harper’s son, Mason.
Impatiently, he tapped his Italian loafer on the floor.His tie was undone, and his hair was slightly mussed from the many times he’d combed his fingers through the dark-brown strands.As we waited for the doctors to decide whether they could simply pull the splinter out or if I would require surgery, Mason undid a few buttons on his shirt.
“Oh, now we’ve moved to the slutty chest phase,” I muttered to myself, watching him more than the skilled pros who had dedicated their educations and lives to medical science.
His skin was slightly sun-kissed in a way that said he spent a lot of time without a shirt on.He had a dark mark directly in the center of his chest, which winked at me each time he ran his fingers through his hair.I wanted him to either button all the buttons to hide it from me…
Or take his shirt off completely so I had a better view.
Even with his shirt perfectly in place, Mason Stevenson was distracting.From his dark hair to the shape of his blue-gray eyes to his leanly muscled shoulders and tapered waist, his thick thighs and his very large…feet.Pretty guys had never been something that had captured my attention.But Mason wasn’t pretty to look at.He was fucking intoxicating.
Each time, I lingered on the shape of his face.His eyes were a beautiful blue-gray that didn’t match his mother’s violet hue, but they were rimmed with thick lashes like hers.His nose was neither too broad nor too narrow, with the smallest bump on the bridge that I wanted to trace my finger over.Scruff decorated his jaw in a well-groomed beard that accentuated his full lips.
At a guess, I clocked him in his late twenties—thirty at the most—putting anywhere from a ten to twelve year age gap between us.Why that mattered, I couldn’t figure out.It simply did, and not in a bad way.
At least, I thought I’d muttered it.From the way every set of eyes in the room suddenly turned on me, I realized I might have spoken louder than I meant to.Harper coughed, but in that obvious way that people did to cover a laugh, while the doctors stared at me like they were worried about my mental state.
Damn pain meds.And double damn for being a lightweight.When I had my tonsils and adenoids removed at the age of seven, Mom said my reaction to the pre-surgery meds had been hilarious.Then again with my wisdom teeth at fifteen.She kept her phone on record in her pocket all the way from the oral surgeon’s office home and then replayed it for me once I’d recovered.While there were no visuals besides the occasional flicker of light through Mom’s pocket, the audio was embarrassingly hilarious.
Fuck, I miss her.
“Whose slutty chest are you referring to, beautiful girl?”Mason asked, his brows pulling together in a sexy scowl.I was definitely not going to admit to myself that I loved when he called me that.How it warmed parts that I never realized were cold, brushing a healing heat over some of the most painful wounds hat lingered in my chest.“Are you looking at people’s chests now?”
“You’re doing the whole slutty chest move.Showing a little skin, giving everyone a glimpse of your tight pecs.Being all distractingly hot and yummy and…” I snapped my jaw shut, my brain finally catching up to my mouth.
It was the drugs.
They forced me to spill all the thoughts in my head for the world to hear.
His smirk only irritated me more.Because it just heightened his attractiveness.Which was unfair.I tried to make my glare colder, which caused Harper to giggle ever so quietly.Obviously, I was not successful in creating a mean glower.
“Why are you here again?I think the doctors can figure out a game plan without you standing there all broody.”He needed to go.Now.Before I said something that killed me with embarrassment.That was totally a real thing.It happened to poor unsuspecting people every day all across the world.There was probably an entire team of scientists with theories and experiments working on it, trying to find a cure for the quick-onset illness that caused instant mortality.
“Someone’s got to be here to remind you to eat,” Mason said, so freaking matter-of-factly, I wanted to throw something at his stupid, handsome face.
“I was practicing for the competition!”I defended, my fingers tightening reflexively around the pieces of cello in either hand.
If I hadn’t known it would cause more damage to my precious cello, I might have swung it at him.He’d been harping on that minor detail since arriving in the ED mere moments after Trent and Martin wheeled me through the ambulance bay, Harper jogging to keep stride.Those damned drugs Trent had shot me up with made me think Mason was concerned.Even though he looked and sounded like an asshole who thought he had any right to question my life choices.
I didn’t want him to care.
Not even a teeny-tiny bit.
Obviously, narcotics made it easier to lie to myself.
Huffing at my own inner battle of being honest, I glared up at him.“Winning was more important than missing a few meals.”
“Why?”he asked quietly, stepping closer to the bed.Bending over me, he asked the hard question, the one I didn’t want to answer more than anything else he could have asked.“Why was placing first more important than maintaining your health?”
