How We Deal With Gravity (15 page)

“No offense, Ray, but Adam is a douchebag,” I say, feeling
like I need to stick up for myself. I may be a fuck up, but I’m not Adam Price.
I don’t run from people when they need me. Of course, no one has ever needed me
before.

“You’re right, Mason. He is, and you’re nothing like him,”
Ray says, and I feel like I can breathe for the moment. I don’t know why that
man’s opinion of me matters so much, but it does—and now that Avery’s in
my head, too, it feels like it matters more.
 

“But here’s the thing...I’m not going to live forever. I
know, it’s a shocker,” he jokes, rubbing his hands around his giant belly. “But
seriously, Mason. There is going to come a day where my baby girl…she’s going
to be alone. And what life has put on her plate—well, it’s a heavy load.
And she needs a partner, someone to help her carry it. But you can’t drop
things on her when times get tough. And you can’t choose something else first,
because Avery and Max—they get to be first. They have to be. Because if
they’re not Avery will fall apart.”

I know everything he’s saying. It’s the debate doing ten
rounds in my head right now. I know Avery needs someone, and I know I’ve only
been around a couple of weeks, and everything sputtering in my chest right now
is all new and warm and honeymoon shit. But I also know I’ve never wanted to be
anywhere more…not even the road. And I’ve never wanted to be someone’s
someone.
But damn do I want to be her
everything.

“I get it, Ray. And I won’t be reckless. I promise,” I say,
holding his gaze, which is intimidating the hell out of me, but I suck down
that fear and hold it anyway, pushing on. “But just so you know…it’s not like
Avery is just some girl to me. Your house…it was always more of a home to me
than my own home. And Avery—she was a part of that. I might see her
differently now, but I’ve always seen her. She’s always been home.”

Ray bites at his bottom lip, his eyes lowered and cautious.
“Mason, I have always thought of you as a son. I hope you know that. And I’m
glad that you feel that way about being here. But Avery has always seen you as
more. I’m not naïve; I know when my daughter loves someone. You just make sure
that if you decide to open that door—to her
and Max
—that you’re ready for everything on the other side.”

There’s nothing but silence after he speaks, and he doesn’t
stick around long enough to hear any more of my thoughts. I know he’s not
really interested. And I know that it would probably make Ray rest a lot easier
if I put on the brakes, finished out this little
stint
here at home, and headed back out on the road, without
starting something new with his daughter. And maybe my life would be a whole
hell of a lot easier, too. But I’m starting to wonder if it would be worth it?
Any of it? Without…
her
?

Avery

Everyone is looking at me like they all know. The girl in
front of me in class kept turning around and smiling. I think she sensed my
mood—I feel ridiculous that I thought last night was anything more than
it was.

Before I woke up this morning, alone in Mason’s bed, I was
dreaming. My subconscious actually went to the place where Mason and I are some
happy couple, moving into our first house
together
,
picking up Max from school
together
,
going to the grocery store
together
.
Then I woke up—alone. He didn’t even leave a note.

I thought about calling him. I programmed his number from my
dad’s phone when I left this morning to take Max to school. I thought about
calling him all the way to my class. Then I thought about calling him during my
drive back to Max’s school. I’m still fuming, and the closer we get to Dusty’s,
the more I want to take one of those golf clubs to his headlights—and
then his head.

“Is Mason going to be at Grandpa’s?” Max asks from the
backseat. His question has me so baffled—I almost drive off the road. Max
doesn’t look forward to people. He looks forward to earning
things
, like game time or his next
chocolate milk. He’s never once asked about seeing his grandpa or Claire. Why
Mason
? And of all days to ask, I swear
he’s intuitive.

“I don’t know, Max. I think he has rehearsal with his band,”
I say, secretly hoping Mason’s car is in the lot when we pull in—for
Max’s sake, of course.

Max doesn’t respond, but instead, continues to move his
finger around the iPad in the backseat. I’ve gotten used to the one-sided
conversations with Max—once he gets the information he’s looking for,
he’s done. It’s something we’re working on, closing out conversations and
taking an interest in what other people have to say. I tell myself that’s why
I’m about to ask him the question I’m about to ask.
 

“Why do you want to see Mason?” I ask, my eyes darting
around the parking lot as we pull in. His car isn’t here.
Damn.

Max doesn’t answer, which isn’t anything unusual, except
usually he’s
not answering
my
question about how he enjoyed class, or therapy, or a visit with one of his
doctors. And I should care about those answers more than I do this
one—but I don’t.

When I park, I take off my seatbelt and turn completely
around in my seat so I can face Max. “Did you hear me, Max?” I ask, his eyes
moving rapidly around the surface of the iPad, his body language completely
tuning me out.

I put my hand on the screen to distract him, and he jerks it
away, continuing to play whatever game he’s working on. I am walking a fine
line right now, and I know I could have kicking and screaming in seconds if I’m
not careful; I reach again for the iPad. I don’t block it, but I put a small
amount of pressure on it with my finger, tilting it just enough to distract
Max, and I ask him again.

“Max, you can keep playing this as soon as you answer my
question. Why do you want to see Mason?” I ask, my breath held, and my inner
voice praying he just answers. I can see his breathing picking up, and I can
tell he’s frustrated. His finger keeps moving around the iPad, but I know he’s
having a difficult time seeing the screen at the angle I have it. His
frustration is building, and I’m about to give in…

“I need him to teach me something,” he says, and I let go of
the iPad, and he continues on with his game.

“Okay, well I’m sure he will be around later,” I say,
getting my things and stepping out of the car. I wait outside his door, not
opening it, for a few seconds, just looking at him through the
window—watching him live in his own little world. I know he didn’t say he
wanted to
hang out
with Mason. Mason
has something he wants, and that’s what Max is focusing on.

But what he said still scratches at me. Max has never asked
to learn something from
someone.
He’s
resourceful—he answers most of his own questions with the help of
YouTube. But he used the word
need
just
now. He said he needed Mason. I keep playing it over and over in my head, and
it both thrills me and terrifies me at the same time.

I don’t have a poker face. It’s a skill I always wished I
possessed, especially with Claire. She doesn’t have much of a filter. So
basically, I’m an open book for her to analyze without punishment. She’s on to
me the second I walk in, and I know I only have a few minutes before she’s at
the lockers with me, swapping shifts.

“What happened? Adam wants you back, doesn’t he?” she asks.
It’s funny how far from the center of my anxiety she is. Under any other
circumstances, my dinner with Adam last night would have been enough to wreck
me for days. But then I kissed Mason. And slept in his arms. And he left
without saying a word this morning. And somehow
that’s
the part I don’t want to talk about. So I go with her lead.
Yeah, let’s be angry with Adam for a while.

 
“He’s getting
married,” I say, knowing that will be enough to set Claire off. I’m right, and
she spends the next ten minutes swearing and questioning, getting bits of
answers from me at a time until she has the entire story. I let my friend be
angry, and I love her for it. I listen to her say all of the things that went
through my head—and the entire time, I think about Mason.

“What are you going to do?” she says, and her question jolts
me back. I haven’t really thought about it, not that there’s much to do, so I
just shrug.

“I have to think about things,” I say, turning to walk back
into the bar. Claire follows, and I can hear her muttering behind me. My dad is
at the bar, so I head his way to help him dry glasses and get ready for the
night crowd. I give Claire a knowing glance, and thankfully she picks up on it.
I’m not ready to have the
Adam
conversation with my dad yet, so she quickly changes subjects.

“So, when’s Mason coming in,” she asks, and for some reason
my heart skips, like she hit an open nerve. I stare at the glass in my
hands—shining and drying, and hoping like hell my friend doesn’t start
exploring
this
topic instead.

“He’s rehearsing with the guys. Probably won’t see him
tonight,” my dad says, kind of gruffly. He grabs an empty bin, leaving me there
to finish the rest of the glasses alone.

“Uh oh, looks like Mason pissed your pop off,” Claire
teases. I keep my stare on my work and raise my brow a little with a shrug.
It’s not the best acting, but please let it be enough.

Claire heads to the corner to talk with Max, getting him
ready to take home. I finally breathe now that her spotlight is gone. I don’t
know what I’m doing. I’m letting Mason consume me, and all the while, I have
this unbelievably enormous
other worry
that I should be tending to. Adam is getting
married
, and he basically wants to disown Max.

Max never asks about his dad. He doesn’t remember him, and I
don’t bring him up. It’s probably not the best parenting. But, I have thought
this through a thousand times. Max’s therapists don’t really see the value in
me having a conversation with Max about Adam, and over the years, the topic has
just faded into nothingness. I had a worry in the back of my mind that one day
Adam would just reappear and want to be a part of Max’s life. But now…

“I’m pretty sure that one’s dry now,” I hear Cole’s voice
over my shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, lost in my thoughts there,” I smile, and
move on to the next line of glasses.

“So, your dad’s pretty much been in a shit mood all morning.
Adam bring that on?” Cole asks, tentatively. He’s never been very nosey. In
fact, it took him months to ask about Max’s autism.

“Probably. Dad is possibly the only person who hates Adam
more than I do,” I laugh. It’s true, though; I’m honestly surprised my father
didn’t sock Adam in the jaw yesterday.

Cole nods at my answer and lifts the last bin of glasses up
on his shoulder to carry to the back. “Well, maybe we can make Mason deal with
him tonight then,” he says. I freeze, unable to follow the line of his sight to
the front door where I
know
Mason has
just entered.

I’m hyperventilating. I can feel my ears filling
up—the few sounds in the bar muffled by the oncoming panic attack. I’m
going to pass out if I don’t do something, so I crouch down behind the bar and
sit with my knees pulled up by my chin, forcing myself to take in deep breaths.
I can’t believe this is happening—I’ve survived so many more stressful
situations, and this one…
this one...
is
the one that’s going to take me off my feet? I can hear Ben’s laugh—his
cackle—and it makes my entire body wash over with a wave of nausea.

I lie down completely now on the slip pad on the floor, my
knees bent, and my forearms draped over my head.
This is not happening
!
I
can barely hear their voices, but I know the entire band is here. I bet they
spent the afternoon listening to Mason talk about me, and how
easy
I am.

“Avery? What the hell, you’re on the floor!” Claire says, a
little louder than I would have liked.

“Shhhhh, just shhhhh!” I say, waving my arm over my head.
“I’m fine. Got dizzy. Please, don’t draw attention to me.”

She comes over to sit next to me on the floor, and puts a
towel filled with ice on my head and neck. The coldness shocks me a little, but
I’m suddenly hearing again and the room is no longer closing in on me.

“Thanks,” I say, wincing at her.

“You should go home. And you shouldn’t drive. I can get Max,
let me go get him from Mason,” she says, and I react by grabbing her
arm—my fatal error. Claire’s eyes narrow on my grip, and I can see her
piece everything together in seconds, and all I have left is my ability to beg.

“Oh. My. God!” she says, again, louder than I’d wish.
“You…and Mason!”

“Claire, I’m begging you. Pleeeeeeease!” I whisper roughly,
pouring on my best pleading look—hoping she has some line drawn somewhere
in her mind that sets off when she’s making her best friend uncomfortable.

“I just need the bare minimum,” she asks, smirk on her face.
She’s bribing me—only this time, instead of dirt on someone else or some
cute new guy at the bar, she’s strong-arming me for embarrassing details about
myself.

“We…kissed,” I say, keeping it very vague. When her face
lights up, I know I’ve given her enough. But I also know I’ll be spilling
everything soon.

Claire stands back up and continues to act naturally at the bar,
looking down at me every few seconds while I work to sit up and get to my feet.

“Where is he?” I ask, now sitting with my legs crossed and
my eyes right at Claire’s knees.

“He’s still over in the corner, with Max,” she says. I take
a giant big-girl breath and smooth out the loose strand in my hair. I was
banking on the few extra minutes alone to really get my legs back, and to
figure out whether or not I want to be angry or coy, but he’s already spotted
me and is headed my direction.

“You’re here,” he smiles, like nothing’s wrong. Of course
I’m here; I’m always here.
Jackass.

“Yep,” is all I say. All that time stewing, all of those
pretend conversations, giving him a piece of my mind, and that’s the best I can
do.
Yep.
At least I was short, and I
can tell he knows I’m pissed.

“Come with me,” he says, grabbing my hand faster than I can
pull it away, and walking me around to the front of the bar. I’m expecting him
to walk me outside so we can talk about what a
mistake
last night was privately, but instead, he stops in the
middle of the restaurant, pulls out a chair, and proceeds to climb on top of
it, reluctantly letting go of my fingers. My brain is telling me now would be a
good time to run, but my heart is literally drumming in my throat, and dizziness
is threatening again.

“Excuse me, everyone! Guys? Hey, can I have everyone’s
attention?” he’s yelling, waving a hand over his head. The bar isn’t
Friday-night kind of crowded, but there’s a good amount of people here—at
least thirty or forty—and they’re all looking at the unshaven man with
the mortified girl standing below him. Just to be sure everyone is watching,
Ben stands on a table at the other end of the room and whistles with his
fingers.

“I got your back, buddy,” Ben winks and holds up a bottle of
beer.

“Thanks, man!” Mason says, his smile huge. He’s loving
this—whatever
this
is. “You all
know Avery here, right?”

A couple of whistles have my face absolutely burning with
embarrassment, and I cover my face with my hand, staring at my feet.

“She’s cute when she’s shy, isn’t she?” he says, and somehow
I know I am now even redder. Oh my god, what is he doing?

“Well, I appreciate y’all indulging me here, but I just
wanted to let you know that I like her. I like her…
a lot
! And we haven’t really talked this out yet—” he says,
then leans down to whisper to me, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there this morning. I had
something important.”

He stands back up to continue, but keeps his eyes on mine,
holding our gaze with a serious look before letting his dimples slide in place
again. My heart has literally stopped. My eyes are wide, and the words Mason is
saying have me wanting desperately to smile—but shock has taken over
everything.

“Anyhow, I just wanted to make sure my intentions were
clear. I’ve got some work to do with this one, so I wanted to make sure the
story was straight from the get go. I like Avery Abbot, and I’m going to work
my ass off to make her like me back. So no hitting on her and messing up my
thing
, got it?”