Page 53 of The Spare (The King Dynasty #2)

Chapter thirty-two

My Tears Are Yours

" M ason?" I call softly, knocking on the closet door. "Mason, can I please come in?"

My heart races, and tears prick my eyes at the sound of him weeping beyond the door.

I crack it open, not waiting for a response, and my eyes widen at the sight of Mason sitting on the bench on the other side of the room, elbows on his knees, his phone in one hand and his forehead in the other, crying so hard he's shaking.

Big heaving breaths fill the air, and I swipe a tear off my own cheek as I advance closer. His pain is my pain, always has been. However, I've only ever seen the strong Mason, never the broken down and hurt boy that lives inside of him. And everything in me wants to heal what's broken.

To make him whole again.

"Mase?" I call softly, reaching out for his phone.

He doesn't answer me.

As I pull the phone away, the phone lights up to show me a picture of him and his dad when he was much younger, probably around eleven years old, laying a floor together.

I put the phone to the side, and my heart beats wildly as my fingers brush against his hand, seeing blood smearing his fingers, and noticing he's clutching something else within his grasp.

"Oh honey, you've-you've hurt yourself. Let me see." He lets me pry his fingers apart, and I gasp at the mangled paperclip wrapped around his forefinger so tight it's cutting off his blood circulation. "Oh my God. Masey!"

"Go away, Melody. I don't want you to see this," he says in a raw voice.

My fingers fly to it, unwinding it from his finger and rubbing the raw skin.

I lean in, nuzzling my lips to his jaw and running my hands up his arms. I snuggle in deeper, forcing his head back and straddling his lap slowly.

I pull his head to my chest and stroke a hand down his hair and another down his back.

"You can cry, my love," I sniff, crying also. "You can tell me."

"He hates me, Melody."

My heart skips a beat at how tortured he sounds.

The blood turns to ice in my veins, and I shake my head because it simply isn't true. "No, Mason, he doesn't- "

He pulls back, his face red and damp with tears and his eyes swimming with misery as he stares into mine.

"Melody, all that man has done his entire life is push me away. He doesn't respect me. He thinks nothing of me. Nothing!" he spits. "All he cares about is Hendrix and that stupid fucking company!"

"No, don't say that!" I gasp sharply. I put my fingers to either side of his cheeks and lean my forehead to his. "Mason, he loves you. Richard loves you!"

"No," he gasps, clutching at my hips so hard I wince. "No, he doesn't."

"Mason, he loves you so much. I know he… he approaches you with a tough love style. But he does love you." I rock him slowly, feeling his tears soak my blouse. "When we fence, he's brought you up. He not only loves you, but he's also proud of you."

He pulls away from me, his eyes flickering between mine. Sad. "Then why doesn't he tell me, Melody? Why does he treat me like this?"

I wet my lips, feeling a shiver race up my spine. "Mason, he's been hurt."

"I'm hurting, too."

"I know, baby."

"I'm hurting, Melody."

A little line appears between his brow, causing my heart to tug painfully.

Oh God.

I press my lips to the top of his head while he cries into my chest.

We stay there so long until my legs go numb, and he's staring off to the side because he's so exhausted.

But I keep stroking my fingers through his hair, rocking him gently side to side.

Eventually I convince him to stand up. I wash his face and put the covers over him, waiting until he's fast asleep to do the one thing that soothes me during times like this.

I reach into my nightstand for my diary.

Dear Diary,

There's too much pain in this family. Someone's got to do something. Maybe it should be me. I have no clue if I'll succeed, but I'll never live with myself if I don't at least try.

M. King

The next morning I wait until Mason is at work and ask for Stephen to drive me to King Compound.

Doubting myself the entire way. By the time we pull up on the pea gravel, I'm suddenly worried that despite my best efforts to do my part to repair their relationship, I'll make a monumental mistake and cause it to become worse.

I hand my jacket to Jefferies to hang up, following him not to Richard's office but instead to a rather lovely den with a roaring fireplace and the most beautiful view of a perfectly manicured lawn.

Pausing in the threshold, I glance around at the tasteful dark maroon walls and taxidermy deer heads mounted on the wall with swords and medieval axes, and fight the overpowering feeling of nervousness as Richard's eyes pin on mine.

"Mel, how are you, sweetheart? Maribel's not here right now; she's out for the evening. Some women's charity thing she heads that she couldn't get out of. "

"Oh, I'm not here to see Maribel. I'm here to see you.

I wanted to check on you, make sure you're okay.

" I journey deeper into the room as his eyes, though sad, flicker with a spark of warmth.

He sits in a leather chair, with an old photo album open on the table in front of him alongside a letter. His eyes slide back to it.

Forcing myself to sound assertive, I clear my throat, bending to give him a kiss on the cheek before sitting in the chair closest to him and curling my legs under me.

"I-I'm sorry to come by unannounced-again," I wince, "but may I speak with you, please? It's really, really important." I pull a throw blanket over my lap, showing him that I intend to stay for a while.

"Sure, honey." Richard turns tired eyes to me. "I'm sorry for losing my temper last night, Melody. I hate for you to see me like that. It wasn't my finest moment."

Sympathy arises in me at how haggard he looks. Aside from probably not having much sleep last night, he doesn't look mentally well right now. I reach a hand out to him, placing it over his and stroking my thumb across his fingers.

"Can I…" Averting my gaze I hesitate once more; however, the look of pain that was in Mason's eyes last night drives me on and brings my eyes back to his. "Can I talk to you frankly? Not just as the Melody that you know right now, but… but as a little girl who's lost her father?"

Richard's eyes widen and he leans in, his fingers wrap around mine. "Of course, you can, Melody. You know that."

I swallow hard, deciding it's now or never.

"You're going to lose him, papa," I whisper, feeling a tear trail down my cheek.

His lips tighten, and he takes a deep breath.

"And I don't want to see Mason live a life that I have to live.

Not having a father. The only difference is I don't have a choice. My father is dead. You aren't. "

Richard's eyes flicker from mine to land on the photo album, and as I look over, I see an old photo of what looks to be Richard's parents, Richard as a teenager with his unmistakable brow, a younger William who looks a bit like Hendrix, and a beautiful blond girl roughly sixteen or seventeen who has to be Stephanie. I squeeze his hand again.

"She's beautiful," I whisper. "Your sister."

"Thank you," Richard says roughly, clearing his throat. "I haven't brought out these photos in almost three decades."

Rolling my lips, I put my other hand over where ours are joined. "Richard, I'm the one who found that letter. Not Mason." His eyes cut to mine, but I stand my ground. "He lied and said he's the one who found it because he was worried you'd be angry with me-"

Richard shakes his head. "No, Melody, I wouldn't have-"

"He doesn't think you love him." I say in a rush. not wanting to lose my nerve. Richard goes very still, recoiling his head slightly and furrowing his brow. "He cried all night last night, and I've never seen him cry like that before."

Richard swallows hard. Glancing away. "I love him. Very much. But…"

There's a long pause as he takes a minute to find the words.

"But?" I press.

"It's complicated, Melody."

I tilt my head. "Love's not complicated, papa."

When his eyes turn back to me, the pain in them is so reminiscent of Mason's that it takes my breath away. "For me, it always has been."

"It doesn't have to be," I say determinedly. "Not with Mason. He just wants to know he's doing something right. To see you look at him with pride. I know you're proud of him! You've told me a couple times when we've been fencing. So, why can't you tell him that? "

"Because every man in my life has hurt me. When I extend myself out, I get bitten in the end."

"So you're going to make Mason pay for that?

" I ask, squeezing Richard's hand. "I know he's disappointed you at times, papa, and maybe hasn't done everything by the books, or how you wanted him to, but what those other people did to you is not his fault.

And you shouldn't hold him accountable for it. "

Richard pulls his hands away to scrub them down his face on a deep exhale. He folds his arms across his chest and looks into the fireplace.

"Papa," I sink to the floor and go to my knees.

"I don't have a father, and every day it hurts…

but at least I don't have to live with knowing that there's a chance for reconciliation, and he's too stubborn to give in.

Don't do this to him. Tell him you love him.

Tell him you're sorry. Hell, tell him whatever you need to to begin to fix this. But this is fixable."

I stand, digging into my pocket for the mangled paperclip I'd kept from last night. I hold it up, the dried blood on it glows in the light of the fireplace and I bend, placing it on top of the picture of his family.

Richard's eyes nail themselves on the small piece of metal.