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ANYA

BEING YELLED AT BY an incoherent drunk man isn’t how I wanted to spend my Friday night. I also didn’t particularly want to pack up my life and move an hour north because my boyfriend decided my best friend was a better option than me. I guess we all have bad days, though. Or weeks, in my case.

My heart hurts at the thought of Dylan – my now ex-boyfriend – and Phoebe, my ex-best friend, sneaking around behind my back and lying to me. Forcing them from my mind, I try to focus on the situation in front of me.

The man shouts at me again, spit flying from his mouth and landing on my face. Wrinkles line his forehead and fan out from the corners of his eyes. He waves his hands, swaying so much he almost topples over. I have no clue what he is trying to say, but I’m guessing I’m at the wrong place. I flinch away and sigh as I step back from the kerb, looking down at the address I saved in my notes, which is supposed to be the share house I’m renting a room in. This is where the maps on my phone directed me to.

The street is quiet, which makes the drunk man’s voice sound ten times as loud. I’m positive I’m in the wrong place because a street full of student housing wouldn’t be this calm. I turn, leaving the man to yell at my back as I retreat to the car. The first fall of rain hits my cheeks. Tilting my head back, I glare up at the darkening sky.

I slide into the driver’s seat and retype the address into my phone and, this time, it tells me my destination is five minutes away. Exhaling, I pull away from the kerb, trying to keep my shit together, but the tiny thread of hope I’m holding on to is getting thinner by the second.

Tiredness gnaws at me as I battle to keep my eyes open. This is the last thing I feel like doing tonight, but I had to get away from there. From them.

I swing the car into a busy narrow street, littered with cars parked haphazardly in places they shouldn’t be. Cutting the engine, I peer through the window at the small, weathered house I’m meant to be moving into. Neon lights shine through the windows, and music floats down the driveway as I wander up it. A guy sits on the front porch, his legs dangling from the railing as he blows out a cloud of smoke.

‘Hi,’ I say when he stares at me for a long, awkward moment. ‘Are you Johnny?’

‘Yeah,’ he says wearily, a husky edge to his voice.

‘Hi,’ I say again. The rain is starting to fall heavier now, so I move onto the porch step, trying to avoid my shirt getting any damper than it already is. ‘I’m Anya.’

‘Who?’ His brows draw together.

‘Anya Stark? We spoke on Messenger. I’m renting room three.’

He raises an eyebrow, looking a little surprised. ‘Not anymore.’

My heart does an awkward jolt in my chest. ‘What do you mean, not anymore?’

‘You were supposed to pay the two weeks of rent in advance, but you never did. The room has been rented to someone else.’ His face fades into the stoic expression he was wearing before as he inhales a long drag from the cigarette between his fingers.

I blink at him. ‘What are you talking about? The money left my account.’

‘Never came into mine.’

‘What?’ I frown, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone. I log into my banking app and stare down at the red digits that indicate the withdrawn amount. I shove the phone under his nose. ‘See?’

‘It was withdrawn. Not transferred to me.’ I stare back down at the screen, realising he is right. My heart plummets to my stomach. ‘You also would’ve gotten a confirmation message from me once it went through.’

Swallowing, my shoulders sag in defeat. Once again, I’m furious with myself for giving Dylan access to my bank account because – as usual – he didn’t have any money. He was meant to pay the deposit for me on the day it was due. A fiery ball of anger burns in my chest as I realise he stole from me.

‘Well,’ I say bitterly, stepping back into the rain. ‘That’s just great.’

‘Yeah. That sucks,’ he says flatly, flicking the cigarette to the ground in front of me before disappearing inside the house, slamming the front door behind him.

Running my tongue across my teeth, I try my hardest to stop the tears welling in my eyes from spilling over. I stiffly walk back to the car and exhale a shaky breath before I settle behind the wheel. I dial my brother’s number. My left leg jitters restlessly as I listen to the phone ring out.

After a moment, a text comes through.

Zayden: Dodgy reception. Everything ok?

Anya: Are you home? Or if not is there a spare key?

My brother sends through where his spare key is kept, no questions asked. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, still trying not to burst into tears. After a ten-minute drive, I pull up at my brother’s house. There are several lights on, and an unfamiliar black truck parked in the driveway. Maybe he’s let a neighbour park there. After moving a few pots around, I exhale in frustration when the spare key isn’t where my brother said it would be. Pressing my lips into a line, my eyes bounce from the truck in the driveway to the lights on inside.

Blowing out a hot breath, I knock on the door and step back. Just as a traitorous tear slips out, the front door opens. My breath gets trapped in my lungs when my eyes land on Mason.

My brother’s best friend.

The boy I had always loved, until I hated him.

He’s aged well. Really fucking well. He’s tall, packed with muscle, and with broader shoulders than when I’d seen him last. His eyes seem darker, his jaw more defined, his hair longer. Tattoos that once painted only part of one arm now cover every inch of skin I can see, except for his face and some parts of his neck. He’s dressed in all black; that’s something that hasn’t changed. The shirt shows off how big his biceps are and how defined his chest is. He had always been very attractive, and I’d hopelessly wished he would get worse with age. Damn. And after all this time he’s seeing me dishevelled and crying on my brother’s doorstep on a Friday night.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, my voice betraying me by coming out in a whisper. All the feelings and reassurances I’ve convinced myself of over the years flash before my eyes, and I realise how much of a lie they all were. Because I am very, very much still affected by this man, and he hasn’t even said one word to me yet. In fact, I bet he doesn’t feel a damn thing. That’s where the problems began.

Those dark, whisky-coloured eyes settle on me, and I feel every inch of my insides curl in on themselves. My heart feels as if it’s twisted into a ball of lead in my chest and plummeted into my stomach, knocking against everything in its path along the way.

He quirks an eyebrow, eyes scanning my face, as if reassuring himself it really is me standing here in front of him, shivering and looking on the verge of a mental breakdown.

‘I live here.’

My eyes widen as dread spreads through my veins. His words ring loudly in my ears, repeating inside my head, as if stuck on a loop. ‘Since when?’

‘Since Leasa moved out.’

I hadn’t considered the fact that my brother would have found a roommate after his girlfriend of three years moved out. I should have guessed Mason would be the replacement. It made sense, but in my defence I try my best not to think about the boy who ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it.

Could this night get any worse?

‘Oh,’ I mumble, attempting to swallow, but suddenly my mouth and throat are paper dry. My body has always had an extreme reaction to being near Mason, and it drives me crazy. It’s as if he owns the remote to my body and knows exactly which buttons to press.

The corner of his mouth twitches as his eyes openly roam over me, not caring in the slightest how obvious it is.

‘No “Hi. How are you? What have you been up to?”’ He smirks, leaning on the door frame. My heart jackhammers in my chest at the familiarity of the movement. He used to do that exact thing in the doorframe of my bedroom.

I definitely don’t want to be thinking about him and me in my bedroom right now.

‘No, that wasn’t my first thought when I saw you,’ I say, hoping my voice sounds stronger than I feel.

‘What was that thought, then?’

‘I don’t want to deal with this asshole.’ I fold my arms across my chest, trying to look the opposite of how I truly feel.

Mason grins at me, flashing his teeth. Handsome smile lines appear around the edges of his mouth. The lines that I loved so much. The very ones I’ve trailed my fingertips over ...

‘Good to know you still have that giant crush on me.’

The memory shatters, and I’m forcefully jolted back to reality. My face must reflect my true feelings, because his smirk falters for a moment. I force a blank expression. As best I can, anyway.

‘You wish,’ I spit back, trying my best to mask my hurt.

‘Mmhmm,’ he murmurs, eyeing the bare bit of skin where my shirt has slipped off my shoulder. My stomach does a flip-flop motion. ‘If you say so. Why are you here?’

‘I’ve had a hell of a night. I need somewhere to crash,’ I say, rubbing a hand down my face. ‘Zayden didn’t mention you would be here.’

‘Would it have made a difference?’ he questions, sounding genuinely curious.

I don’t want to do this. I wasn’t ready to face him, nor the feelings I’ve forcefully shoved deep down into a file labelled: Do not open. EVER.

‘Can you just let me in?’ I huff, shaking out the hair that has fallen across my face.

His dark-brown eyes – two smoky quartzes – hover over my glistening cheeks for a moment before he steps back, allowing me access through the door. I haul my bag inside and he reaches around me to grab it, easily slinging it over his shoulder. I wipe my cheeks and avoid his gaze as I scan the room, taking in what is possibly the cleanest place I have ever seen. My brother is not a clean person, and I imagine this is Mason’s doing. It must drive him crazy, always having to clean up after my disaster of a brother. Hurricane Zay, my mother used to call him.

‘Weren’t you meant to be moving into some share house downtown?’ he asks, gesturing to the stairs.

They talk about me? Interesting.

Sighing, I walk in front of him and start to climb, taking in everything around me. A lot has changed since Leasa left.

‘My asshole of an ex really wanted to make sure the knife he dug into my back wasn’t getting out easily.’

I feel the heat of his gaze on my skin as we trail down the upstairs hallway. I pause, seeing a photo of Zayden, Mason and myself. We’re at the beach, and I’m holding my arms out, showing where a line of starfish is sitting on my forearm. Zayden is beaming at the camera, pointing to the starfish. Stepping closer, I squint, looking closely at how Mason’s eyes are on me. I never noticed that before. His lips are tilted up in a crooked smile, his cheeks flushed from running down the beach. I remember that day so clearly. It was one of the last fun days we had before things got complicated. I stand so close to the frame that the tip of my nose grazes the glass.

Why did I never notice he was looking at me like that?

‘Heard about Dylan,’ Mason says, brushing past me and opening a door, revealing a neatly kept spare room. I startle, having been so focused on the photo, I forgot for a moment where I am. Shaking my head, I follow him inside the room. It looks different – bigger than I remembered, with a soft-looking brown comforter that is calling my name. ‘And Phoebe,’ he adds after a moment.

A sickening feeling washes over me at the mention of their names. The two people in my life who I love so much. Or at least, I did.

I have been extremely unlucky in the love department.

‘You keeping tabs on me, Mase?’ I exhale, bringing my hair over my shoulder, feeling how damp it is from the rain.

He lowers my bag onto the bed, and it groans briefly under the weight of it. The bag is practically bursting at the seams, and there are three more just like it in the boot of my car, but they can stay there for now.

‘Of course, Blush.’

Heat burns my cheeks and races down my neck at the familiar nickname. Blush. Every time Mason looked in my direction when we were growing up, my cheeks would shine a bright, noticeable red, as vibrant as a neon sign above my head telling the world I was crushing on him. Since he loved to enjoy my misery and discomfort, he quickly nicknamed me ‘Blush’ to further torment me.

I haven’t seen him since everything went down over two years ago. Or heard that nickname. As much as it was meant to be teasing, over the years it became something a little ... flirty. Which is where the true trouble began.

And now we’re staring at each other, the air between us crackling. My cheeks warm impossibly more, and I step back from him, even though there is already two metres of space between our bodies. No distance is enough when it comes to him. His presence feels like a physical touch, and his hold on me is stronger than my will.

‘So. You’re back,’ I say, just to say something, and I desperately hope he can’t hear how loudly my heart is hammering in my chest.

His lips tilt in the sexy way they always have. ‘Obviously.’

‘How was Mexico?’ I turn towards him, following him out to the hall, certainly not looking at how tightly his shirt clings to his back muscles.

He throws a smirk over his shoulder. ‘Looks like you’ve been keeping tabs on me, too.’

If only he knew I had to block all his stories from my social media so I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t bear seeing his face and crying over it, like I had so many times. I never went as far as blocking him completely. That would have raised questions from my friends and family that I had no intention of answering.

‘More like the only person Zayden likes to talk about more than himself is you,’ I point out.

‘Uh-huh.’

My eyes roam over those delicious arm muscles, down to the ass that’s been burned into my memory for years. Yup. Still as good as ever.

‘Unusual for you to be in on a Friday night, isn’t it?’ I ask, padding into the kitchen and dropping onto one of the bar stools.

‘Stalker, much?’

‘Get over yourself.’

Mason effortlessly moves around the kitchen. He flicks the kettle on, withdraws two mugs from one of the cabinets and leans back onto the kitchen bench.

‘You’re not ...’ I start, a slow smile spreading across my face. Since Mason was at our house every weekend throughout high school, he would go out of his way to cook or do something helpful around the house. I assume it was a thank-you to my family for always taking him in. He knew his way around a kitchen, and often added unique extra touches on simple meals, making them somehow taste ten times better. And his hot chocolate was to die for.

‘Making you the Mason Special? Why, of course I am.’

‘Since when are you nice to me?’ I narrow my eyes suspiciously.

His eyes look a little brighter under the kitchen lights, which cast a golden glow over his skin and a shadow across the slight stubble that’s growing across his jaw.

‘Since you’ve had a fucking terrible time lately,’ he replies, way more honestly than I expected. His gaze lingers on mine for a heartbeat too long. ‘But just tonight. Game over from tomorrow.’

I breathe a forced laugh, tugging the sleeves of my jacket down over my hands before I bring them up to cup my cheeks. I hate the fact that they are still extremely warm despite the cold temperature.

Just seeing his face makes me miserable. I thought I would feel angrier than I do, but I just feel crappy. I hate what he did to me, and I hate even more that I can’t let go of all the feelings I’ve been harbouring for him all my life. I don’t want to feel anything, but that’s impossible when it comes to him.

‘Wouldn’t expect anything less.’

It’s silent for a moment between us. Only the sounds of metal clanging on the bench top and his footsteps as he moves across the tiled floor fill the room. I try everything I can not to stare at him.

‘It was amazing, by the way.’

‘Hmm?’ I murmur, drawing myself out of my thoughts.

‘Mexico.’

‘Oh,’ I reply, my eyes slowly trailing down his tanned forearms and those swirling dark tattoos. ‘That’s good. How long have you been back?’

‘Almost a month.’

‘Just in time for a vacant room, hey?’ I say with a tight-lipped smile.

‘I’ve always had great timing.’

Ugh. Ouch.

‘I know Zayden and Leasa had been rocky for a while, but I still feel like the break-up happened so fast,’ I say thoughtfully, desperately trying to stop my mind from thinking back to everything that happened between us as he turns and slides a mug across the bench top. ‘Seemed like she was just up and ... gone.’

‘Pretty much how it happened, by the sound of it.’

‘You must be glad to get your sidekick back,’ I tease, circling my hands around the cup and embracing the warmth of it, even though I feel cold and empty inside.

‘Zay falls head over heels for every girl he meets. He’s a useless wingman.’ Mason grins lightly. ‘I’m just glad he seems happier.’

I don’t know why I said that. The last thing I want to think about or discuss is Zayden being Mason’s wingman. The thought of Mason with anyone makes me want to empty my stomach.

‘He is?’ I ask, leaning forward. ‘Happy?’

Mason considers this. ‘Honestly? I’m not sure. I think this break-up has been good for him in a lot of ways. They were toxic for each other in the end. But, no, I’m not sure that he is happy, just happier than he was.’

‘They were always toxic,’ I agree with a dry smile. My brother and his girlfriend had a relationship that made no sense to me. Powerful and passionate, but a whirlwind of extreme highs and the lowest of lows. ‘The way they would scream at each other gave me nightmares.’ Bringing the mug up to my lips, I take a small sip. An explosion of warmth and flavour takes over my tongue and I moan, having missed what used to be a weekly tradition.

I’m surprised to see Mason’s eyes travelling down my body as he watches me. The tension from two years ago feels as strong as ever. I want to be able to look at him and not think about everything we once were, but it’s too difficult not to.

‘I’ve missed this,’ I whisper, breathing into the mug.

I honestly don’t know if I mean the hot chocolate or him. Both, really. Mason was a huge part of my life and then suddenly he wasn’t. The hole he left behind is still gaping, as much as I tried everything to fill it up.

‘Me too, Blush.’ He offers me a small, sad smile. ‘Me too.’

He turns, disappearing from the kitchen.