Page 7

MASON

I shouldn’t have kissed her .

Nothing else crossed my mind as the lights went out and the restaurant plunged into darkness.

I took the steps in pairs—or maybe threes—hearing Coach's voice berating me in the back of my head about busted ankles before next season even started and the upcoming charity match, but paid his grumpy ass voice no attention anyway.

All I wanted was to get to Nyla because I couldn't leave her like that.

Flushed and jittering about like a glow bug on New Year’s with nowhere to go.

But when I hit the darkened kitchen in time to hear Brady’s too-loud comment in the silence, I knew I was in the wrong place at the wrong time .

Or maybe at the right time.

And then her ex talked down to her like she was nothing.

Fuck me. I’ll rip that man apart.

Torn between letting her look after herself and standing square between her and the asshole she shouldn't have to deal with anymore, I hesitated a second too long. When I reached for her again, my swiping hand came up empty. A second later, the lights flickered back on, and I stood in a kitchen full of cooks all staring at me, wearing identical grins on their faces.

A tug at hip height broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Brady. Uh, hi.” I cleaned my throat as he motioned me down to him. Hell, I swore this kid grew taller every time I saw him.

“Mason.” Brady cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled into my ear.

I winced. “Yeah, mate.”

“You kissed my mum.”

I’d be deaf by the end of the night, and it had nothing to do with the extra whiskey chaser I threw back with Leon earlier.

“Yeah, mate. ”

Brady giggled. “Are you gonna come stay with us? She doesn’t date, you know that.”

“Yeah, I—” Shit, which question am I answering? I cleared my throat and stretched my cramped calves. “I know she doesn’t date, mate. We’re gonna take it slow, okay? Look after you both. Cause you’re important.”

Brady’s face fell a bit and I felt like shit on the spot. “Okay.”

I ruffled his hair. “It's gonna be okay, bud.” I wanted to tack on an I promise at the end of that, but I couldn't commit to that without speaking to Nyla first, so I didn’t. The breath I let out said everything I felt, so I left it at that. The little dude at my waist height seemed to get it, thankfully. He’d seen more than his fair share of fights, I figured, from how his dad and their relationship seemed to progress, shitty as that hand had dealt out to him.

But as I raised my head to face off with the rest of the kitchen, thankfully only one cook was left staring at me. He offered a double thumbs up and jerked his head toward the back door I hadn't noticed before.

“She’s out there with St–” Brady took a deep breath and tried again. “With Stuart.” He shuffled on the spot .

“You think they’re fighting?” I looked down at him, recalling the bruises on Nyla’s wrist when I first met her. I’d never asked where they came from, but if he hurt her, Leon would have a hell of a media storm to clean up in the aftermath. My jaw tightened.

There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask that I couldn’t because he was nine, and that wasn’t fair on him. Nor could I ask the chef guy, because the kitchen was full of people all pretending not to listen in about Nyla’s private life where I got the impression they already knew plenty.

The supportive chef guy opened his mouth as I headed for the door, but it wasn’t his hand on my arm that stopped me.

“Leave it.” Leon’s command halted my feet in their tracks, my body preprogrammed to respond to his commands.

I sighed and stared down at the floor. A pair of my smaller shoes joined mine. I ignored my coach for a long moment. “Does your dad ever hurt your mum, Brady?” I asked in a tight voice I couldn’t shake.

So much for not letting the kitchen staff in on her private life.

He shrugged. “They just fight when they’re together. A lot.” His soggy looking trainers shuffled about on the floor leaving dirty marks that the cook guy would have to clean up later if Brady didn’t. “And I don't call him dad.”

“Yeah, I got that.” I ruffled his hair with my hand. “If there’s trouble, I’m right upstairs, alright?” I kept my eyes on Brady, but I’d said that last loud statement enough for the entire kitchen to hear because, fuck it. If they were nosy enough to eavesdrop in on the conversation, they could damn well keep an eye on our girl too.

Because she was my girl, and nothing in this world would change that. Not after the way she kissed me back a few minutes ago.

“You’re on.”

Unsurprisingly, the chef guy answered me.

I gave him a tight nod and followed Leon back upstairs to join the rest of my team. I had a party to fake it for the rest of the night. Hell, if Nyla was gonna be alright, I might even join them.

“Another two sets and you’re done,” Leon called from the bottom of the stairs while my thighs screamed at me .

I’ll never skip leg day ever again. I’ll never skip leg day again.

I repeated the mantra over again in my head as I powered through the third to last flight in the stair climb challenge, trying not to count the rows in the stadium that I still had to go to, knowing that Leon was full of shit. He had a bad habit of adding an extra set of reps onto whatever training we were on. Today would be no different, even if it was a solo run.

I’ll never skip leg day…

I would have bitched at him aloud if I didn’t think I’d earn myself another double set of reps and a whole lot of cussing—if I had the breath to spare. Instead, I threw that energy into working through a hell of a hangover cure for drinking too much the night before with the team in a rare effort to match them one after I watched Nyla walk back into the restaurant and push her ex away when he tried to manhandle her.

She hadn’t let me or anyone else near her for the rest of the night, but one of the girls slipped me her number—that I already had from her contact form for Brady’s summer coaching clinic, though I’d never used it, not being for the right reasons. But this felt different .

The moment I walked out of the themed restaurant and she was out of my sight, I lit her phone up, figuring she’d answer me if she had time, if I was lucky, or the other side of never if I wasn't, and I’d be begging her on my knees with an apology today.

If my knees would take it.

But she hadn’t left me hanging after all.

MASON: Good to see the asshole left you alone. Brady gave me some pointers.

MASON: I’m still gonna ask you out on that date.

MASON: Let me know if you get home safe after work? Not stalking. Just looking out for you.

I left it after that, pocketing my phone as I walked along the main street with the team who sang their favourite rugby rock anthems—badly—at the top of their lungs. Hell, after a few rounds, I started to join them, until my pocket vibrated enough to break through my whiskey and beer induced haze.

NYLA: Please tell me that’s not you singing.

NYLA: OMFG. It is you singing. I can tell.

NYLA: Stuart isn’t a worry. He’s just frustrating. But thank you.

I watched the dots come and go after that last message for long enough that the team walked on without me. I dropped back, my feet half turned in the direction of the restaurant when her last message finally came through.

NYLA: I’ll hold you to that date sometime. Life is kinda crazy right now but… sometime.

MASON: Sometime works for me. See you at the Granny Grapple in the morning.

My thumbs fumbled the keypad in my haste to spell out a reasonable reply. I had no idea what the various coloured hearts meant, but the purple one suited her in my head, so that’s what I sent. She hearted the message after a moment, but didn't reply and I figured I wasn't in too much shit.

Pocketing my phone, I jogged after the team, wrapping my arm around someone’s neck and let myself be drawn into the next pub along the street. The boys drank and made merry. Hell, after a few I joined them while Leon leaned back and watched us get tanked.

That had been an easy decision at ten p.m. the night before. Now, with the sparrows not quite farting just after sunrise and every muscle straining while I sweated myself stupid before the charity event on the last day of the summer training clinic, I ran stair after stair after stair until I knew I’d dream of the things.

Finally I collapsed at the end of the third set— called it— at Coach’s feet. “Fuck, you’re cruel,” I gasped, reaching for my water.

He raised an eyebrow. “You thought getting pissed last night was smart just because you kissed a pretty girl and she agreed to go out on a date with your sorry ass?”

I groaned out loud and rolled over, glad I didn’t have the urge to puke my guts up into the grass I laid on. “What, you’re fucking psychic now too? Perfect. I can’t keep a damn secret from you or any of my family. Just come round for lunch, man. You and my aunties can all gossip like bitches together.”

“What did you just call me?”

I stared up at Leon and shut my mouth.

“Smart move, Hale. Get your ass up and shower. You have a Granny Grapple to host in less than two hours. Ice bath will be waiting for you. Recover fast, kid.”

A groan left me as I tipped my head back and starfished on the grass, letting my eyes slam shut. “Yeah, fuck. I forgot about that.”

Two and a bit hours later, it wasn’t only my thighs that stung like all get out. The grannies lined up and Coach shook his collection bucket like a pro. The man had donned his tiniest tighty-whities for the honour, and shook that too, I swore.

The biddies lined up for the privilege of dropping in their gold coins and change into his bucket and tackling me plus getting their media picture taken afterward. I braced myself as the next Blue Rinse charged forward, rocking me back onto my heels. Together we tumbled onto the thick mat that I swore had my butt permanently imprinted onto it.

I helped Blue Rinse up and knelt for the obligatory picture afterward, wincing twice over as she went in for the bum grab.

Brady waved from the stands while Nyla laughed at me behind her hand. I'd spent forty-five hellish minutes running up and down those this morning at daybreak, and they weren’t my favourite thing, but she sure as hell was. I waved back, refraining from rubbing my injured behind and deflated my ego as my phone buzzed and the most recent granny released my butt.

NYLA: Brady says you should keep falling over and that you’re doing a great job.

I shook my head and gave a mock thumbs down as I glanced up at them. Nyla laughed at me outright.

“Smile,” Leon muttered, shaking his bucket and his tush for all he was worth.

A very much not Granny threw a fifty into the bucket and gave me a too-white bright smile as she lined up to grapple me.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” I protested, glancing up at the stands and back at Leon. Coach just shrugged, but Nyla’s smile disappeared on cue .

“She’s paid.” Leon’s professional suck-it-up face was back in place. “Make it count.”

I braced my burning thighs and took the fall, rolling out from under the groping arms as soon as I could free myself and smiled vaguely for the camera. But by the time I freed myself from Miss Very Much Not a Granny, the stands had thinned out and Nyla and Brady were nowhere in sight.

I fished my phone out of my pocket, hoping for a snarky message, but there was none waiting.

MASON: Are you still around? I was hoping we could do something after. I’m good with Brady around if you are.

I waited for her response, but unlike the other night at the restaurant, Nyla wasn’t in a chatty mood. I sighed and pocketed my phone, helping Leon pack up after he completed his end of season Coach’s speech, said a few words to my remaining kids and their parents and headed home.

To a family that would smother me and a full house that included everyone but the two people I wanted to spend the rest of my day with the most.