Page 32 of Master Daddy

Mason: I’m sorry for being a moody bastard tonight. Shouldn’t have let it ruin the evening. You’re mine, little one. I trust you.

I read it back. Delete it. Try again…

Mason: Patrick’s a piece of shit but I know you can handle yourself. Just hate the idea of him anywhere near you. Call me if you need me.

No, too aggressive. Delete. Try again…

Mason: I want to come back. Let me hold you and remind you exactly who you belong to. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.

I stare at that last one for a long ten seconds, thumb hovering over send. Then I curse and delete it too.

I can’t do it.

Not right now.

Not while I’m this raw.

I toss the phone into the passenger seat like it burned me and crank the engine. The big diesel rumbles to life, and I pull away from the curb without looking back at Luke’s building. I know if I do, I’ll see him at the window, and I’ll cave.

The drive back to the cabin is a blur of dark forest road and headlights cutting through the trees. I can’t stop the thoughts from coming…

Luke and Patrick.

He said there was nothing left, but there must have been something once.

Boys don’t stay with assholes for that long unless there was charm, chemistry, history.

What if one coffee turns into two? What if the asshole apologizes just right, looks at Luke the way he deserves, and that old spark flickers back to life?

“Grrrrrrr.”

My hands tighten on the wheel until my knuckles go white. The truck surges forward as I floor the accelerator on a straight stretch. The engine roars, trees whipping past faster than they should.

I know I’m driving like an idiot, but the anger feels better than the helplessness. Better than imagining Luke laughing at one of Patrick’s jokes, remembering how he used to make him feel before he tore him down.

By the time I reach the cabin, the fury has burned down into a low, bitter simmer.

I kill the engine and sit there in the dark for a long time, listening to the ticks and pops as the truck cools. The lake is quiet, moonlight rippling on the water. Usually this view settles me. But tonight it just feels lonely.

Inside, I don’t bother with lights.

I kick off my boots, grab a beer from the fridge, and drop into the leather armchair by the cold fire.

One beer turns into two. Then three.

The alcohol does nothing to quiet my head. Every time I close my eyes I see Luke’s face from earlier—worried, guilty, trying so hard to reassure me. I should have pulled him close and told the boy it was fine.

Instead I shut down like a damn rookie and came over like a damn fool.

Eventually I drag myself upstairs, strip down, and fall into the big bed that still smells faintly of him from last night. Sleep doesn’t come. I toss and turn, punching the pillow, staring at the wooden beams on the ceiling. The clock on the nightstand flips past midnight...

One.

Two.

This ain’t good.

At three in the morning I’m still wide awake, chest tight, mind spinning in useless circles. I grab my phone from the nightstand and turn it on. The screen lights up the dark room. No new messages from Luke. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.