Page 308 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“Yeah,” I whisper, looking back at Bash and Lydia, who are just standing there watching us like two embarrassing parents.

We walk over to a bench out of sight from Bash and Lydia’s nosy asses to get some privacy.

“How have you been?” Mason asks, sitting down next to me.

I feel stupid for how happy I feel being around him again. I’m also scared to feel happy. I know it’s always temporary when it comes to him.

“I’m…” I want to lie and say I’ve been good, but…I can’t. “Pretty miserable, honestly.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “That makes two of us.”

Hearing him say that should make me feel vindicated. Like, good. Now you know what it feels like. But instead, it just makes something in my chest ache. Because I don’t want him to be miserable. I never did.

I slide my hair behind my ear, trying to play off my nerves and the way my palms are sweating. “How are you doing?” I ask carefully.

Mason looks up at me slowly. It’s obviously a loaded question, and we both know it.

“I’m…” he starts, then stops. It looks like he fights to just give me an easy lie, and then decides not to. “I’m trying.”

“Trying how?”

His eyes flick up to mine, and he almost looks….nervous. Mason Sinclair is a lot of things, but nervous is normally never one of them.

It pulls at my heartstrings.

“I’ve been staying with Bash.”

“I heard,” I tell him.

“How much have you heard?” he asks softly, like he’s a little embarrassed that I know.

“I heard what happened with your dad. I even heard that you changed your major.”

He nods. “I did…”

“To?”

He locks his eyes on mine, giving me a knowing smirk. “What do you think?”

I can’t help but smile back at him, feeling proud. “So, you’re really gonna do it?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, almost more to himself.

“How are your brothers?”

I watch as his face lights up with joy anytime they’re mentioned. “They’re good. I call them just about every day, and I’ve been saving up from my job to go see them by the end of summer.”

“You have a job?”

He looks offended but still smiles. “Yes, I have a job.”

“You gotta work with the common folk now?” I tease, feeling lighter with him suddenly, like we’re right back in our old rhythm together.

“I’ve always been the common folk,” he teases back. “I’ve never fit in with the stuck-up rich pricks.”

“No,” I tell him. “No, you haven’t.”

“I’m…I’m doing an outpatient program back in San Antonio,” he throws out, shocking me.