Page 34 of Writing Mr. Wrong

MASON

M ason had spent the last hour wandering the island, trying to get cell signal so he could call a boat to get them out of here. Yeah, the vacation planners probably couldn’t book them a charter until morning, but he didn’t care how much it cost. He was cutting this vacation short.

Asshole move.

He cringed at the whispering voice. Cringed because it was right. Was he really going to drag Gemma home early because his feelings got hurt? He’d already stomped off. Wasn’t that enough childish behavior for one day?

It was like when he was a kid, and his parents fought, and he’d crawl out the window. Down the fire escape. And then run. Run as fast as he could.

And what good had that running ever done?

Did it help his mom? No, it just let Mason block all his feelings, so he could go home later, when they were making up, cuddling and cooing, and tell himself that’s how it was all the time.

That his dad never threw shit around their tiny apartment.

That his mom never cried quietly in the bathroom with the door locked.

That the neighbors never called the cops, and the cops came by and his mom said everything was fine, her husband never touched her, and then the cops would go away and his dad would start yelling again.

“Do you see what you did? All that crying? Don’t you ever think about anyone but yourself? Mason’s gonna be a star. You know that? A goddamn star. What if his coach found out the cops were coming by? You think foster parents are going to pay for private hockey lessons? Think of him. Of Mason.”

Mason pressed his hands to his ears, wincing, as if he could still hear his dad shouting.

And that had nothing to do with Gemma. Nothing to do with why he was out here, sulking.

When he heard a motor, he stopped walking. He squinted and made out a small craft pulling up to the dock.

Right. The daily delivery.

He looked down at the phone in his hands. He’d been trying to get a boat, right? Surely he could offer enough to make this guy drive them to the mainland.

Was that what he wanted?

No.

He clenched his fists. He was being an asshole, hiding out here. And he’d be a bigger one if he ended Gemma’s vacation early just because they’d had a misunderstanding.

That was on him. He hadn’t been clear, and now he had, and she’d said no, and that was her right. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how sure he’d been that there’d been more between them.

Like he’d been sure twenty years ago.

Fuck.

His chest seized as the memories hit. How it’d felt that day, when he’d told Gemma it hadn’t been a dare and she’d said it was fine. No big deal. Just a kiss.

He’d been hurt. Which was ridiculous considering what he’d let happen to her. His friends tried to protect him by hurting and humiliating Gemma, and he’d weakly protested… and then he’d been hurt when she said it was no big deal?

He was doing that again, wasn’t he? Hadn’t learned anything.

No, he had learned something. He’d learned that he’d made a mistake twenty years ago. Gemma hadn’t scared him off then. He’d left. He’d hurt her and then felt hurt himself when she brushed it off.

Because he’d been a stupid kid. Confused and conflicted and scared.

Was he doing that again?

No, he was not.

Mason swung into the villa. “Gem?”

Silence.

He eased barefoot down the hall. If she was writing, he didn’t want to interrupt. He’d fucked up enough today. He could wait. Take some time to collect his thoughts and decide what he wanted to say.

Unless “collecting his thoughts” really meant “losing his nerve and deciding to just let it all blow over.”

He squared his shoulders. Nope, he wasn’t doing that. He strode to her door… and found it open. Her room was silent, the blinds still drawn. He flipped on the light.

The room was empty.

Gemma’s luggage was gone.

He raced into the bathroom, where they’d been keeping their toiletries in their little bags, one on either side of the vanity. Gemma’s wasn’t there.

Mason slowly remembered what he’d heard a few minutes ago. The delivery boat.

As he reached into the living room, he noticed a folded note on the counter, with Mace written across the back in Gemma’s perfect handwriting. He didn’t detour to grab it. There wasn’t time. He’d fucked up, and Gemma was leaving, and he couldn’t let her go. Not again.

He barreled onto the deck and squinted out at the ocean. The boat was just pulling from the dock. He buckled down and ran as fast as he could. He was going to catch up, even if it meant diving into the water and swimming with everything he had—

Someone was still on the dock. Walking his way. Pulling a suitcase. His heart stuttered. The sun was in his eyes, but he’d know that figure anywhere.

“Gem?” Her name came out as a croak, and he started to run again. Then he saw her expression and stopped short.

“Did you miss the boat?” he asked.

She continued along, pulling the bag onto the sand, where it promptly sunk. He strode over and picked it up, and she hesitated, but then let go.

“I was going to leave,” she said finally.

“And you didn’t get there in time?”

“No.”

His heart hammered. She hadn’t stopped and come back. She’d missed—

“I changed my mind,” she said. “I realized if I was dealing with you running away by running away myself, we don’t have a hope in hell of making this work.”

“I wasn’t run…” No, honesty. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I was running away.”

“And so was I. I’ve been running away for thirty years.

Since kindergarten.” She stopped and looked up at him.

“You confessed how you feel this morning, and I choked, not because I don’t feel anything for you, Mason, but because I feel too much and it scares the shit out of me.

It always has. I’ve spent a lifetime denying how I feel about you. ”

“Because I hurt you.”

“No, I was denying it long before that.” She pulled off her sunglasses, eyes meeting his. “I always noticed you, Mason. Even when I tried not to. Then, in high school, I started falling for you, and I stopped. Because I wasn’t going to be that girl.”

“That girl?”

“The silly fool who fell for Mason Moretti. Who thought she had a chance with the Mason Moretti, hockey god. I didn’t want to be with him. I wanted to be with you.”

“But…” He shifted, his skin prickling. “That is me, Gemma.”

“I know, but back then, I really was a silly fool. Not for falling for you, but for telling myself there were two of you. Mace, hockey god, and Mason, the sweet, fun guy I loved being with, loved getting to know better. I wanted one and not the other, and that isn’t how it works.”

“Okay.” He tried not to shuffle his feet, struggling to figure out where this was going, his gut telling him it was goodbye, while his heart hoped it wasn’t.

“You scare me, Mason.”

He stepped back, blinking. “What?”

“Not like that. Sorry. You don’t scare me. The thought of being with you scares me.” She shoved one hand in her pocket and then pulled it out, like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. “In high school, I had this fantasy of a secret romance with the boy no one else saw.”

She looked up at him. “That wouldn’t have worked, and it’s not what I want now. I want all of you. Every bit. That means being with you publicly, going to your games, being Mason Moretti’s girlfriend. And I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready for people to rip me apart online.”

“But they love us together.”

“For now. If it gets serious, that’s when your fans will strike back. I’ve seen it. I’m sure you have, too.”

His shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I have.”

“I’m not a twenty-year-old fashion model, Mason.”

“I don’t date twenty-year-olds, and I don’t only date models.” He lifted his hands. “Which isn’t what you mean. I know. But I’m not an MBA who looks like a model either.” A sidelong glance. “I’ve seen your ex.”

She shook her head. “For every person who negatively compares you to Alan, a hundred will say I traded up, and a thousand will say I don’t deserve it.

But that’s not your problem, Mason. It’s mine.

I want to say it doesn’t matter. But my confidence, my self-worth?

It’s in tatters. I spent nine years trying to be the wife Alan wanted, and now I’m terrified of needing to be someone else.

Not the girlfriend you want—I know being Mason Moretti’s girlfriend will be fucking terrifying and… ”

She took a deep breath. “And I want it. I want it bad enough to face that. I just need you to know that I’m scared and why. It might seem silly to you, and it’s definitely not the Gemma you remember—”

“It’s how you feel now. I get that, Gem.

I’ve seen other players and their breakups and their divorces, and I know that being with me won’t be easy.

” He shifted. “Everyone acts like it’d be so romantic to snag a sports star.

It’s not. Like being a star yourself. It’s amazing, but it’s also… ” His voice dropped. “Not perfect.”

She reached and took his hand. “I can imagine, and I’m going to need to do more than imagine it. I’m going to need to understand it. Through you.”

He nodded.

“There’s something else that scares me, Mason,” she said.

“What happened in high school. I’ve tried so hard to get past it but…

” She exhaled. “I need to know why. Why you let your friends say you kissed me on a dare, why you took all day to talk to me about it, and why you walked away after that. You led me to believe we were starting something, and then you just… left.”

He stilled, his heart thumping so hard he struggled for breath.

“I made a mistake,” he said finally. “A really stupid one, and I regret that I hurt you.”

“Because we were teenagers, and teenagers make stupid choices.”

“Yes.” The word came on a flood of relief. “I’ve always regretted it, Gemma. When I heard my friends were telling people it was a dare, I felt sick. Sick and furious.”

“So why didn’t you fix it? You seemed to want to be with me. Why not walk up to me and show everyone it wasn’t a dare?”

“I…” He seemed to hang there, on that single word.

She waited.

He shut his mouth and pulled back. “I regret it. I hurt you, and that was wrong, and I don’t blame you for not forgiving me.

But I swear I won’t do that again. I mean, obviously, I wouldn’t do that exact thing.

But when people say stuff about us, I will stand up for you.

Always. And I won’t ghost you. You have my word. ”

“I’m not asking for promises, Mason. I’m only asking for an explanation.”

Deep breaths, in and out, like Dr. Colbourne taught him.

“You didn’t seem to want to be with me, Gem,” he said finally. “You said it was just a kiss. No big deal.”

“Because I was hurt. And, yes, young and stupid. I was protecting myself.” She peered at him. “Is that it? You hurt me, and I threw up a wall, and you thought that meant it was over?”

He should jump on this excuse. That’d be the easy answer. A vicious circle of hurt and miscommunication, nothing more.

But there was more , and he’d vowed to be honest, and if he lied now, he’d always wonder what she might do if she found out the truth.

“Can we go inside?” he said. “Please. I’ll explain in there.”

She seemed to search his eyes. Then she nodded and let him lead her back to the villa.