Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 42185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
I cock my head. “What happened?”
“Did you know that I have an older brother?”
“You mentioned him,” I say.
“His name is Jeremy,” he says softly, switching to my other foot. I can’t suppress a groan of delight. “I try not to think about him often.” He’s silent for a moment, rubbing my foot. “He was an addict. Heroin, oxy, whatever he could get his hands on. Started when he was young and just got worse and worse as he got older. My father hated him for it, thought he was weak and pathetic. You should’ve heard the fights.”
He doesn’t smile as he remembers.
“Jeremy wasted away,” he says softly. “My parents supported him financially, but barely. Kept him in drugs, though. Kept him alive. He was in and out of rehab but by the fourth time I think my parents had given up on him already.
“After my father died, I remember the lawyers coming to us, sitting us down in Dad’s study, and reading the will. Everyone expected Jeremy to inherit everything. That’s how the Wards always did things, the oldest male took it all, no matter what. Even though Jeremy was an addict, I still figured he’d get every penny.”
He goes silent, slowly kneading my foot.
“What happened?” I prompt him softly.
“He got nothing,” Mason says. “Not a cent. I couldn’t believe it. They left it all to me, and Jeremy got nothing at all. There wasn’t even a mention of him in the will, almost like he never existed. Even my sister got something, a nice little trust fund. Everything else went to me. Jeremy overdosed two weeks later.”
I stare at him, eyes wide. I don’t know what to say. He keeps rubbing my foot, slowly but surely.
“I blamed myself. It’s my fault that he died. He was so angry, so depressed. I got everything and he got nothing, and he couldn’t handle it. He tried to deal the only way he knew how, by getting fucking high… and this time it killed him.”
He goes silent now. I let it stretch on for a moment.
“You know it isn’t your fault,” I say.
“He was probably going to do it no matter what, sooner or later,” he admits. “If they had left him the money, it would’ve been a real mess. They did what they had to do…”
He trails off.
“But you’ve never forgiven yourself,” I say to him.
“Right.” He takes a breath and stops rubbing my foot. He slowly releases it. “I’ve never told anyone that.”
I lean forward and kiss him. I don’t know what else to do. That’s such a hard story to hear, such a tragedy. He blames himself for his brother’s death when he had nothing to do with it. His brother was an addict, and he can’t control that. Sooner or later, that sort of thing catches up with you.
I understand it, though. I can see the pain in him, even now, almost like it’s still fresh. He hates himself for what happened to his brother.
I kiss him and hug him tight. He doesn’t cry, but he holds me close. We stay like that for a little while until slowly breaking apart.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“For what?”
“Listening. It felt good to say that out loud.”
“You can tell me these things,” I say. “Anytime you want. You don’t… you don’t have to make me wait for hours.”
He laughs softly and kisses me. “I don’t open up easily. Sometimes I need to make sure you’re real before telling you my secrets.”
I sigh a little bit, stretching. “Well, I’m real. Get used to it.”
He laughs again before standing. “I have work to do.”
I nod and stand, slipping my shoes back on. “I’ll leave you to it.” I head back to the door.
“Hazel,” he says, and I turn to look at him. “Really. Thank you.”
I smile. He looks so incredibly beautiful standing there, darkness all around him, but still trying.
“Any time,” I say, and leave his office.
16
Mason
I wake up with light streaming in through my window and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the need to look at the clock.
I smile and stretch. Another dreamless night, another gift. It’s pretty obvious why I’m sleeping so well, although I’m not sure I’m ready to admit it.
I think back to yesterday, telling Hazel about my past. She didn’t seem judgmental or angry about what had happened with my parents and my brother. That story is a deep pit of guilt that I’ve been holding onto for a long time, and finally I feel like I can relax a little bit.
I never told anyone that. Not even my first wife, Marla.
She was so different from Hazel. Marla was tall, thin, blonde. She was almost severe, except for when she laughed. I thought she was beautiful and funny and would make a good wife to bring with me to charity events. I thought she’d be a good mother.