Page 97 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“No,” he insists, loud and slurred. “No, I’m not going back there.” His voice cracks. “Fuck, I don’t—”

My heart aches. “The Sig house, Mason. Not…home, home.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, relieved, then slumps over a little more.

Chase meets us out at the front.

“Fuck, Sinclair…what the hell?”

Tank shakes his head at him. “Can you take us all back to the house?”

Chase nods.

Once we’re all in the car, Mason falls into my lap in the back seat. I feel like I’m right back to having Lydia in the same spot.

It makes me realize how alike they are in some ways…but howverydifferent they are in others. Where Lydia’s destruction is usually loud, Mason’s is quiet. He holds a lot in. He paints on a fake smile and makes everyone else around him happy…even whenhe’snot.

Mason mumbles something I can’t fully make out, but it sounds something like, “Fuck, I miss her so much.”

I can’t tell if he’s talking about a girl or his mom. Both still make my heart hurt for him.

“What did you say?” I ask, running my fingers through his hair.

He moves his hand up to rest on my leg and turns his head slightly. “Why am I…never enough for…anyone?” he whispers.

“You are,” I tell him, my heart tripping over itself to comfort him.

He shakes his head on my lap. “Not for my own dad, not for Delilah, not for Jackie…not for any of my…friends—”

“You are for me,” I say, cutting him off.

I don’t know who some of those people are, but screw them for making someone like Mason feel less than. Mason is one of the most genuine, caring, and kind-hearted guys I know. Yeah, he might hook up with a lot of girls, and people will call him a typical playboy, but he would never intentionally hurt anyone or disrespect them. He also may have been raised by a shitty father, but his mother had to do something pretty fucking right to have made Mason the man he is today.

When we get to the house, Chase helps me pull him out of the car. Mason stumbles, curses, and then laughs at himself all in the span of two seconds.

We drag him upstairs, and Chase pushes open their bedroom door.

“Let’s get him in the bed,” Chase says, already pulling off Mason’s jacket.

I kneel in front of Mason, untying his shoes as he leans backward onto his palms.

“I got it,” he says, attempting to help, but then he just…doesn’t. He stares at the floor instead, eyes glassy.

Chase takes over, tugging off his shirt while Mason keeps apologizing under his breath.

When we finally lower him into the bed, he looks so unlike his normal confident, in-control self. It makes my heart break a little, wishing I could help him, wishing I could help whatever is going on inside his head.

He looks at me and reaches his hand out to cup my face before dropping it to his side. “Simone?”

“Yeah?” I answer, brushing some hair away from his forehead.

His voice comes out so small, barely even a whisper. “You’re—you’re my…best friend.”

My chest feels like it’s being forcefully ripped open, spilling out all these feelings I don’t have names for with Mason.

“Get some sleep,” I whisper.

He nods slowly as his eyes drift closed, and then he’s out.