Aria
We fall into a natural silence as the tension slips away leaving us in familiar comfort. For months Wyatt has been here, next to me, watching and protecting. He doesn't say much which makes him easy to overlook, and sometimes I do. But it's times like this that I find the warmth of our friendship cementing. There aren't many people I'm comfortable being around just sitting in silence, I appreciate Wyatt is one of the few. It allows me time to prepare for what awaits me at home.
Mason may have allowed me to avoid him for the past few weeks but that was before tonight. It's easy enough to slip away, to detach myself so I do, knowing I'll need the calm the numb brings. I close my eyes as I pull on my heavy emotions. Mentally I drag them from the tsunami in my stomach, they come easily enough, the path to the vault is worn and second nature. It doesn't take me more than a breath to have them locked inside allowing a numb void to fill me.
Another learned comfort. Another shield. I wield it now as my only defense to what comes next.
By the time Wyatt pulls past the camped-out press, the darkened gates, and wove down the long driveway Mason has the Massive front door pulled opened as he looms in the frame. Lust slams into me hard and fast cracking the vault wide open. It was stupid of me to think my normal tricks would work around Mason. Isn't that why I've kept our relationship focused on the physical.
I can't be anywhere near Mason without feeling and I'm a coward, so I've taken the easy way out by overindulging in the good parts of us. The parts I can handle. Even having his hours ago does nothing to stop the rush of heat that fills me. The man is sexy as sin, even angry at me looking like a warrior waiting for battle. His chest still bare showing off his rock-hard muscles and tempting tattoos. His thick arms are crossed in front of him while he grinds his teeth together and glares in my direction. I should be scared and trembling in fear. I've seen people, men, angry with me plenty and I know the consequences of being the cause of that anger.
But I'm not scared and I'm trembling but not in fear. No pure desire has me rocking in my seat so I can pull the door open. Like a puppet on a string, my body moves to him with no conscious thought. I don't stop until I'm toe to toe with six-foot-something of a powerful, barley controlled man. His furry wraps around me draw me closer, like a moth to a flame. I can sense the danger but the attraction wins out, so against my better instincts I lean in. Apparently, I'm fucked up like that.
"Mason." His sweatpants are hanging low on his hips and the ridged line on his abs are begging me to touch them, trace them, so I do. He shudders at the touch, unwinding his arms and scooping me up he doesn't stop to talk to Wyatt or even wave in his direction. He just walks us in, slams the door, and keeps going until we're in the kitchen.
He sets me on my feet next to the island where I do most of my work. The room is beautiful and spacious perfect for whipping up large amounts of anything. My heart flutters with the thoughtfulness of the setting. I'm not naïve enough to think I can get out of conversation tonight, but Mason is so considerate he knows I'll be most comfortable in his kitchen. I can't help the tears that gather in my eyes nor the rising guilt in my belly. He is the only one to think about me, my needs my wants, my comfort. Even while angry and scared he still thinks about me and what I'll need. He's an amazing, kind, thoughtful man and he deserves so much better.
Bending down I slip my boots off before washing my hands and waiting for him to start. The silence between them is unsettling, nothing like in the car with Wyatt. He settles in his favorite seat across the island. He's tense and guarded, preparing for a battle we've been ignoring, more accurately I've been ignoring for weeks now.
He doesn't speak until I've gotten all the ingredients out for chocolate chip cookies, easy and quick but still perfect for my nervous hands. "Why did you sneak off to a bar?" His voice is low and dangerous. He's in business mode, with no room for lies or manipulations, straight to the point and demanding. Fuck if it doesn't rile me up even more. Maybe doing nothing but fucking with this man for the past three weeks wasn't really a good idea.
Fuck.
***
Mason
I fight hard to keep myself in control, to keep my voice low, and even when all I want to do is let loose, raise my voice, and demand she stops pushing me away so she can fucking talk to me. Walking up to my phone ringing and the bed next to me empty had my pulse skyrocketing and any remaining alcohol dissipating from my system.
I shake away the memory and remind myself she's here, she's safe. It settles the anger and fear but helplessness washes over me in intense waves. If I wasn't sitting already it would have knocked me down to my knees. As it is I have to lean into the counter and grip the edges. I'm always in control or I was. Now I'm fucking a useless bastard stuck in an out-of-control storm, trying to hold on long enough to get out of it one piece. But the longer I hold on the more I know we'll emerge broken. No matter how hard I hold on for the two of us, I can't do it alone. I need her to hold on with me but she's letting go.
The longer she stands in the kitchen and mixes the batter the more the tension in her shoulders falls away and her soul shines through. Like the sun she lights up, filling the room with warmth and comfort. Baking puts her in her happy place, allowing her to thrive and just be. She doesn't have limits or rules. Her worst critic is only herself. She's free and it's beautiful to watch.
There have been many nights I've opened the door to the far-off sound of buzzing music. Following it down the halls in a trance-like state I'll find her at the counter her slim arms pressing down into some kind of dough or bowl. Humming along to the song without realizing it as she shakes her hips and twirls in her spot.
Enchanting. She's enchanting. I'll stand there watching her in her element. With nothing holding her down or back and without knowing I'm there, she's a hundred percent herself. I'll watch until she looks up or until I peel myself away so she can stay where she's the happiest.
Tonight is no different, my anger at her and the unnecessary risk she took tonight simmering down to a dull throb as my desire for the woman in front of me roars, demanding my attention. I try to stay patient but my resolve is weakening and I can't afford it. Aria may be the love of my life and I might want to make love to her all night long but the reality of our situation needs to be dealt with and discussed. I can't continue to get distracted by our desire, no right now I need to stay strong.
She buries her head farther into the bowl in her hands, mixing the cookie dough faster and avoiding eye contact. Frustration swells deep in my gut causing me to tug on the short strands of my hair, the physical pain relieving some of the emotional for a second before she speaks. "I've told you from day one I didn't want people following me around all the time. And now with the press up against my ass no matter where I go?" She pauses to pull in a shaky breath, her voice isn't any steadier. There's a hidden emotion in there somewhere, the same nagging emotion that's been gnawing at me for weeks now. "I just wanted a night alone. No attention, no second glances, no looming figures. Just me by myself, anonymously."
My eyes stay trained on her waiting for something, a tick to prove she's lying or the flicker of her eyes so I can see the truth. I get nothing, instead, she keeps her eyes vigilantly on the small balls of chocolate chip cookie dough she is rolling.
Keeping my voice even I try to keep my anger away, the longer I stay rational the better chance I have of getting some real answers out of her. At the very least having a real conversation on where this is headed. "You'll hardly leave the house with any of the guys with you, you won't even leave to go somewhere with me. Having one guy with you won't call any unnecessary attention your way, but it will ensure your safety.
"You know whoever blew up your apartment is still out there. My father could have someone watching the house or the press could have seen you sneaking away and cornered you. Did you put yourself in danger to get space? You have plenty of opportunity for space in a safe manner, this shit was dangerous and irresponsible." I feel like I'm in the boardroom or in my office talking to a disobedient employee not my…. My what? Girlfriend sounds too immature. Fiancé is a stretch too far. No matter what I'm not her boss, nor her father and I won't treat her like I am. So, I grind my teeth together to prevent the lecture from spilling out like it wants to.
Tapping my fingers on my sweats I watch as she places the last ball on the tray and places them all into the warm, waiting oven. As she bends, I can't help but notice her stiff movements, that freedom I usually love seeing while in the kitchen, is falling away the longer we talk.
"I don't know what you want me to say, Mase. It's suffocating here sometimes!" She twists around her eyes lit with her fire she loves to direct my way. Usually, I appreciate it but lately, it is driving me insane and lights my own fire. Everything I've been shoving down and pushing aside is raging forward. I freeze in my seat keeping myself still, letting her get it all out before I unleash my bit.
"I just wanted some independence. I have to ask to do anything or go anywhere. It turns into a big production, special SUV's and armed men. I have to fight through cameras and prying eyes just to walk into a bar and be recognized with you next to me. And sorry if I wanted to do something on my own. Without having someone standing over my shoulder watching and judging my every breath.
"I went to a random bar across town, where I knew I wouldn't be recognized. I snuck out the back and called an Uber. I knew it was wrong, I knew I was taking a chance, but I needed it. Do you know how good it felt to sit there and drink in peace? Next to strangers that paid me no attention?"
I call fucking bullshit on that nonsense. Her whole fucking appearance screams for attention. It's not her usual leggings and sweater when she's at home. Or her casual jeans and a cute top for the rare occasions she does leave the house. Even when we go out, which thinking about it hasn't been often or really at all, she's in a ball gown or tight, sexy dress. Tonight, she's in clothes I've never seen, tight leggings and a crop top, showing off half her stomach and dipping low enough to give me, and every other man tonight a hint at what's underneath.
I've trusted Aria since day one, especially when it came to her being faithful, but now looking at her… I didn't notice her appearance earlier, too busy being relieved she was okay and angry she left to really take note of her appearance. And now that I have, I can't help but wonder who she was wearing that for?
She was hurt and damaged when we meet, she thought she was incapable of intimacy. Maybe now that she knows that she is capable, she needs more than what I can offer. She is beautiful and experimental in bed. Feisty and any man would be lucky to have her, she has to know that.
But she wouldn't cheat, would she? We have amazing chemistry and a fantastic sex life. If she needs something else in that department, she would tell me, wouldn't she? At the very least I would know, wouldn't I? I can make her scream my name and cream all over my face in a minute. I leave her satisfied and filled. She shouldn't have to go anywhere else. Ever. And if that was what this night was about then I know that whatever we might have had we don't any longer.
"You snuck out to a bar across town, in a random Uber. Letting no one know where you were going, even that you were leaving at all. Dressed like that?" My voice is so tense and drawn tight a gentle breeze could snap it, unleashing the full force of my disbelief, uncertainty, and anger.
Her gaze stays narrowed and pointed even as she jerks her head to the side like I threw a physical punch. My heart stutters to a stop for an extended second as I watch her embrace her own anger, using it as a shield. The second she opens her mouth to growl out her words I stand and round the corner, coming closer but not invading her space.
"Like what Mason? Like a normal Twenty-four-year-old going to a bar? If you're accusing me of something just say it." She doesn't move from her spot, holding my eyes as she dares me to say it. Dares me to open a path we'll never be able to close again.
I've never felt as out of control as I do at this moment. I know what I want, where I want my life to go, and yet no matter what move I make even with the best intentions it leads me to moments like this. I keep up appearances, leaning back on the counter across from her, crossing my arms, and holding her stare. Inside my stomach is churning with nerves and uncertainty. My throat clogged with anxiety and desperation.
I don't know how to get control of this. And I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold on to the string of my sanity until it snaps in two.
"What's going on with you Crash?" I breathe out, trying one last time to be reasonable and patient. I see a flash of pain flicker in her eyes before she dips her head low and heads towards the mess on the counter.
"Oh, I don't know Mason? What do you think?" I think she's trying to stay tough, trying to act mad but this time her words have no real power behind them.
I follow behind her, grabbing the container of flour and putting it back in the pantry. "I think we should call Dr. Tussing in the morning. You need to talk to someone about everything you've been through. A professional, that can actually help you process everything you've been through." I have more to say but I don't get the chance to keep going as she slams the bowl in the sink and stalks away and out of the kitchen.
This is what happens every time I've brought it up. She shuts it down and walks away from the conversation or changes the topic completely. She refuses to talk to a doctor and I can't for the life of me understand it. We talked briefly after the incident and sometimes I can get little pieces out of her after a nightmare or panic attack, but mostly she avoids any mention. She isn't talking to me or Tara or any of the guys. I checked. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but I asked. She's around them more than me but even then she hasn't said anything to but everyone has noticed her behavior.
Or lack thereof.
Cracking my neck, I slam the pantry door shut and stomp behind her.
"I'm serious Aria. You need to talk to a doctor. You aren't sleeping, you have panic attacks. You're at a standstill with Shirley's. I haven't seen you eat a real meal in forever. You won't fucking talk to me, and you're only leaving the house to sneak off to the bar, looking like you're ready to fuck?" Anger laces every word as my legs eat up space between us. I step in front of her so I can stop her in her tracks. Her face is about as red and angry as I feel.
She erases the inches between us as she pulls her shoulders up higher, making herself seem bigger and stronger. Her dainty little finger comes out and pokes me in the chest. Her nail digging in as she drills it into my muscle. "You're really stuck on that, huh? You think I would cheat on you?"
I match her glare as I grab for her hips. With this girl's luck, she'll shove me a little too hard and toss herself backward. "No, I don't. Or I didn't. How should I know what you would or wouldn't do when you won't talk to me?" I hiss.
"I'm with you every fucking night Mason! I'm fucking you every night! I'm up, baking, cleaning. I've been going to Shirley's making food for the food pantry, filming the show, and fucking managing the next fundraiser since I sent the last one to shit! What else do you want for me?" Her eyes are wide and she's still slamming that finger in and twisting, there will be a nice black and blue mark there later.
"You might be with me, but you're not fucking talking! You're avoiding it! Don't pretend otherwise." My voice echo's in the empty space, making the anger feel bigger and more dooming. "I can't help you if you won't let me. And if you don't want my help you need someones. This isn't healthy, Babe. You can't keep living like this."
"I just needed some time to process okay?" I watch as she deflates. Her shoulders dropping and her hands settling flat on my chest. Her voice is softer, sweeter. "None of this is easy. A year ago I was a random poor girl in Buffalo. Now random people know my name and want my story. I'm living in a freaking mansion and my dream is about to become a reality.
"On top of that, I was kidnapped, and…" she stumbles over her words like she can't make herself say them. She might be handling this worse than I thought. "… And everything else. It's just a lot of change really fast and I needed some time. I'm sorry I snuck out tonight. I know it was stupid. I'm sorry I worried you. And I promise I won't ever cheat on you.
"I'll be okay. I just needed a little time. I'm actually meeting Tara at Shirley's tomorrow. We're going to plan the opening and get the word out." Her voice is soft and sweet now. Her touch is warm and inviting. But her eyes still hold a deep pain, but they beg me to drop it. So, I do…for tonight. Tomorrow I'm calling Dr. Tussing.
Sometimes when someone is out of control and spiraling, they need someone else to take control. She says she needed time; I gave her that. She doesn't get any more while I step back and watch her fall deeper and deeper into despair.