Page 36 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

He patted the spot beside him. “Come watch the sunrise with me.”

“The boat is late.”

He shrugged. “We’re on island time.”

He was right—ten minutes wasn’t a big deal.

As Gemma walked toward Mason, she surreptitiously checked her cell. No signal, of course. No way to confirm that the boat was just delayed.

She should have told him about Denny. Then he could have decided whether he wanted to leave yesterday with the delivery drop-off.

She checked her watch again as she sat down beside him.

Mason put his arm around her. “Stop worrying.” He pulled her against his shoulder. “Hey, maybe we’ll get an extra day.”

Her stomach clenched. “You can’t miss a game.”

He shrugged. “They’d understand it’s not my fault. I warned the coach that I’d be returning today, and I can prove I made all the arrangements to get me back in time. I might pay a penalty, but I’d survive.”

Except it was also Denny’s first game back, and if Mason skipped, everyone would think he did it on purpose.

“I’m not planning to miss the game,” he said, turning to kiss the top of her head. “If our ride’s not here in thirty minutes, I’ll find another way.”

He pulled out his phone. “Yep, still no signal, but worst case, we’ll boat out a bit and get one. See what’s—”

He stopped and started tapping his phone.

“Mace?”

“I have a partially downloaded email,” he said. “It seems to have come in last night when we must have had signal for a bit. It’s from the private charter that’s supposed to fly us to LA and—Fuck.”

He ran a hand through her hair. “Well, it looks like we’re getting that extra day after all. They canceled the charter.”

“What?” she said.

He held out the phone. The email warned that it had only partially downloaded, but what she could see was enough.

Mr. Moretti,

I just realized we’re double-booked in the morning. The other client reserved their flight earlier, so unfortunately, they take precedence. I’ve rescheduled your boat pickup for the following morning at 5:30, with your flight now departing

It ended there.

Oh no.

Gemma’s gut clenched. Someone in the charter office screwed up, and their flight had been canceled with only a few hours’ notice. And the charter had helpfully canceled their boat, too, meaning they couldn’t get to the mainland and rebook on another plane.

Mason shrugged. “Nothing we can do.” His smile was tight, but he only said, “My coach will understand. We’ll drive the boat out later and find a signal, and I’ll give him a heads-up. Take my licking.”

When she didn’t respond, he squeezed her shoulders as he stood. “It really is okay, Gem. I’ll just be told I shouldn’t cut it so close. Now, do you want coffee? Or a sunrise swim first?”

“Mason?”

He looked down at her. “Don’t worry. Really. You might find this hard to believe, but I am Mr. Responsibility on the team. Never miss a game. Never miss a practice. Never even show up late. The coach—and the owners—know that.”

“It’s not…” Her stomach lurched. “Oh God, Mace. I screwed up. I really screwed up.”

He frowned at her. Then his eyes widened. “Shit. Do you have someplace you need to be tomorrow? I never thought of that.” He cursed under his breath. “Asshole move, right? Only thinking of myself.”

“No, this time I’m the asshole. I wasn’t thinking of myself—I swear I wasn’t—but I made a decision for you, and that was wrong and…”

She couldn’t get the rest of the words out. He was there, holding her arms as if to keep her from falling over. The beach swayed, and sweat broke out on her forehead.

“Gemma? You’re kinda scaring me. What’s wrong?”

She looked up into his face, dark with worry, and she tried to push the words out.

Denny’s coming back. This is his first game.

When nothing came, she fumbled for her phone. “Al—my ex—emailed.”

Mason exhaled, as if in relief. “Okay. So he’s being a jerk.” He stopped. “Or is it something else? The divorce wasn’t finalized?”

She shook her head and mutely held out the email.

Mason started reading it. When he tensed, she thought he’d hit the pertinent part, but he only said, “PR stunt. Just warning you. What a—” He stopped. Then his eyes moved faster. Too fast for his dyslexia, and she cursed herself for making him read. Speaking of thoughtless…

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I can read that for you.”

“No, I’ve got this.” His breath was coming quickly. “Denny. He’s saying Denny will be back for this game—No.” He nudged the screen away. “He’s lying, Gem. Being a jerk. If Denny was coming back, my coach would’ve…”

“Would have called you,” she murmured when he trailed off.

“I am so sorry, Mason. I knew, and I… I kept it from you. I’d seen how upset you got over Denny, and there was nothing you could do—which is not an excuse.

There is no excuse. I should have told you and let you decide.

At the very least, I should have made sure we got off this island yesterday.

I never thought of it. If I had—” She swallowed and rubbed her face.

“No excuses. I screwed up. I screwed up so badly.”

“It’ll be okay,” he said, but his voice was hollow. “This isn’t your fault.”

“It is. I—”

“I blew off the call. Blew off messages from the team shrink, too. She wanted to talk to me about Denny, and I ignored her. I did what I always do. Brushed it off and—”

His breathing came in quick gasps, and his hand shot to his chest. “Fuck. I can’t breathe.”

She grabbed his hands. “Where does it hurt?”

He motioned to his chest as he struggled for air. She helped him sit down on the sand, and he didn’t resist, just kept gasping. She machine-gunned questions and got enough to know he wasn’t having a heart attack.

A panic attack.

She didn’t say that. She wasn’t risking him arguing, and it hardly mattered what label she stuck on it, as long as she knew what it was.

She had him close his eyes and focus on breathing deep, counting to five with each inhale and exhale.

Oh God, she’d screwed up so much.

No. She could not make this about her. She’d known the thing with Denny bothered him, but his panic suggested there was more to the story.

She’d already presumed there were nuances she was missing, nuances that couldn’t be understood by anyone who didn’t play professional team sports.

She hadn’t pushed, because it was none of her business, and Mason obviously hadn’t wanted to talk about it…

which should have been a clue that he needed to talk about it.

Mason said yesterday that he didn’t understand why he did things.

From what he described, though, she didn’t see a lack of self-awareness. She saw avoidance.

I did what I always do. Brushed it off. Touching a hot stove hurts, so I won’t touch it.

He wasn’t avoiding feeling guilty. He was avoiding feeling . Dodging strong negative emotions, particularly ones that he hadn’t developed the skills to handle.

Was that shocking? Pro sports had a culture of machismo, and hockey even more so.

Add to that the fact that Mason grew up with a father who’d mocked Mason’s mother for her tears and unhappiness.

As a boy, Mason learned not to dwell on things that upset him, and Gemma was sure part of that had been survival.

His father would not have put up with a son who let himself feel any strong emotion except anger.

Internalizing those emotions could have made Mason hard. Could have made him callous. Could have transformed him into his father. Instead, in avoiding that, he’d avoided the hot stove. Something upsets you? Don’t think about it.

She couldn’t blame Mason for that. It was how Gemma got through the last few years of her marriage.

Once Mason’s panic attack subsided, Gemma held his hands in hers and sat on the sand and gave him a moment before saying softly, “I’ll fix this, Mason. I swear I will.”

“There’s no way. We’re trapped here, and it’s my fault.”

“I should have told—”

“No, please,” he said. “I don’t want to argue. I know why you didn’t tell me, and it wouldn’t have mattered if you did. I wouldn’t have left yesterday.”

“I’ll still fix this,” she said firmly. “We’ll head out on the boat. The guy who brought us here said we should be able to pick up a signal to the east, heading for the mainland. If we don’t, we keep going.”

“But the boat’s running rough.”

“Yes, but we took it out yesterday. While we’d need to leave it on the mainland for the owner to deal with, I presume that’s better than missing the game.”

He nodded silently.

“I’m going to get you to the mainland,” she said firmly.

“Then we’ll see what our options are from there.

Fly to LA or anyplace that can get us a flight up to Vancouver.

Even if we can only reach Seattle, we can rent a car and cross the border.

The game starts at seven thirty. You’d need to be there by seven at the absolute latest, right? As long as they know you’re coming.”

Another nod.

“We can do this,” she said. “As soon as we have a cell signal, we start looking for options. We’ll have everything arranged before we reach the marina.”

It would help if she knew where the marina was, but she’d figure that out. Head due east and pull up a map as soon as she could.

The main thing was that they knew no one was coming to pick them up, so they had to leave now.

“Ready?” she said.

He took some time getting to his feet, as if still numb. Then he looked at her and caught her up in a fierce hug.

She hugged him back. “We’ve got this. Now let’s go.”