Page 37 of Writing Mr. Wrong
MASON
T he boat was dead. It had started up, sounding like it always did, just running rough.
Gemma steered it out and headed east, and they’d left the island behind, weaving through a few others—all of them dark and seemingly empty—until they were in open water, the lights of the mainland ahead. That’s when the boat died.
Gemma kept her cool. Of course she did, because she was Gemma.
Before they left, she’d checked the radio, obviously, but it had only blasted static.
She’d also checked the fuel, and they had plenty.
There were no warning lights on the running board.
It just ran rough, as it had since day one.
Then it started running rougher and rougher until the engine sputtered and died.
Gemma had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get it started while Mason messed with the radio, hoping for something, anything. Although the boat captain said they could expect a cell signal “a bit east,” they didn’t have any.
“It’s not going anywhere,” Mason said finally, touching her arm as she tried again.
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have risked it.”
“I don’t know what the alternative was,” he said.
“ Not being stranded in the ocean?”
“We can see land. We aren’t stranded.” He shielded his eyes against the rising sun. “How far off do you think it is?”
“Eight miles? Definitely not swimming distance.” She looked around, and then tears glistened. “I’m so sorry, Mace.”
He pulled her to him in a hug, and focused on breathing as his heart sped up and his lungs struggled to get enough oxygen.
Don’t freak out. It’s no big deal.
Except his gut said it was a big deal, a huge one, and if he missed tonight…
He couldn’t even mentally finish that sentence. Thinking it sent his pulse racing, his breath coming short.
Gemma stepped back. “If you have any ideas, I’m listening.”
The panic licked through him, and he could only manage a shake of his head.
“Okay, so…” She looked around. “The only thing I can suggest is that we drop anchor. Either another boat will come along, or we’ll pick up a cell signal or the boat will start again after a rest. That’s not exactly the foolproof plan I’d like right now, but…”
It was all they had. Waiting and hoping.
He dropped anchor while Gemma used binoculars to scan the horizon for boats. He could see dots in the distance, but they were much too far away to make contact.
She lowered the binoculars. “Let’s keep our phones out, in case we pick up a signal. I’ll watch for boats behind us if you watch in front.”
They settled in on the bow. Gemma sat with her legs against his, and he inched closer, the contact calming him.
“Since we’re stuck here,” she said. “Can I… ask about Denny?”
That calm evaporated, his breath quickening. He thought he hid his reaction, but she rested her hands on his leg.
“We don’t have to,” she said. “But I’d really like to understand. I’m not a pro athlete. Not even much of a sports fan. So I’m missing nuances here, and I want to understand what you’re going through.”
He managed a shaky “Okay,” even as his brain screamed it was not okay, that he didn’t want to talk about this. He’d made her talk about her writing, hadn’t he? He’d pushed and pushed, wanting to understand an issue with her career. He couldn’t deny her the same.
She continued, “Denny got hurt because you weren’t there to defend him, and that it’s your job to defend him, especially because he’s young and playing center. Right?”
Mason nodded.
“Some fans think you refused to help him. That you’re jealous of a young player whose star is rising as…” She swallowed sharply, as if to avoid finishing that, but he knew what she’d been going to say, and his heart picked up speed again.
“But that’s not true,” she said firmly. “And no one wants people spreading lies that make them look bad.”
Like letting his friends say he’d kissed her only on a dare.
Maybe she didn’t think that. But he did.
She shifted, her hand moving to rest on his thigh.
“But… you must be used to that, Mason. You’ve spent your career as an enforcer.
To be blunt, you’re a professional asshole, and you’ve always seemed okay with it.
Fans love you for it or they love hating you for it. Am I wrong that you’re okay with that?”
He relaxed. This was easy territory. “I’m fine with it.
I’ve been dealing with the hate part since…
” He shrugged. “Forever. I don’t know what you remember from when we were kids.
Maybe it seemed as if I was some kind of golden boy, and I was, don’t get me wrong.
People spoiled me, and I loved it. Still do.
Can’t deny that. But there have always been those who hated me.
It wasn’t even other kids as much as their parents. ”
“Parents?” Gemma bristled. Then she said, “Okay, no, that makes sense. I’ve had friends with kids in sports, and I know parents are the worst. I’m sorry you had to put up with that.”
He shrugged again. “It came with the territory. I’ve always had thick skin.
Coaches and my shrink told me to tune out the negativity, so I did.
And then I started to embrace it. Those parents were angry because I was better than their kids.
Let them be angry. It confirmed I was better.
As an enforcer, I know what I’m doing: helping my team win.
If I need to be an asshole, I will be an asshole, and if I’m jeered by fans, then it’s because I’m a threat to their team’s chances.
As I should be. Do I get jeered by Growler fans?
No, but they do grumble sometimes, if I take attention from their favorite player—like parents jeering at me for taking attention from their kids.
I know what I’m doing, and I know it’s for my team, not for me, so fuck them. ”
He glanced at her. “That’s the very long way of saying I’m fine with it.”
She smiled and squeezed his knee. “Good. You’re right, on all of it. Your job is being an asshole on the ice.”
“I just need to carry less of that off the ice.”
“A little, yes.” The smile faded, her brow furrowing. “But if it’s not the negative press that’s bothering you, what is it? Do you feel bad because the kid got hurt? That’s understandable.”
His gut clenched, and he scanned the horizon, reaching for the binoculars.
“Mason?” She gently pulled the binoculars from his reach. “Can you tell me how it happened?”
His heart hammered, and he shook his head.
“Is it like with what happened between us?” she said. “You don’t know how it happened? Or why?”
He nodded.
She exhaled. “Okay. Can we walk through it? People think you’re jealous, which you aren’t—”
“Envious,” he blurted. Then he pulled back, rolling his shoulders. “To me, envy means you want what someone has. Jealousy means you want what someone has and you don’t think they should have it.”
He pushed past the urge to duck and dodge. Be honest with her. “Do I wish I had the body of a twenty-one-year-old again? Fuck, yeah. Do I wish I had fifteen years in the NHL ahead of me? Yeah, I do, but I…” His breathing quickened. “I don’t.”
She slid closer, right up against him now.
He kept going, knowing if he paused, he’d stop. “I’m only thirty-six. I feel as if I’ve just gotten started, and now the end is right in front of me, and I… I don’t… I don’t know what to do with that.”
She hugged him, tight and fierce.
“I’m not an old horse ready to be put out to pasture, Gem,” he said.
“For a player my age, I’m in really good shape.
For an enforcer my age? Just still being an enforcer at my age is an accomplishment.
I work my ass off to stay healthy. I’m careful in my fights, and I take the recovery time I need.
But all that means shit, because all people see is a number.
My age. My advanced fucking age at thirty- six . ”
She took his hands, holding them tight and saying nothing, just letting him talk.
“I have one physical issue right now,” he said. “My knee acts up. It doesn’t give out. It doesn’t stop me from doing anything. It just reminds me that it’s there, and I look after it.”
“What does the team doctor say about it?”
“I haven’t told her. At my age, if I even suggest my joints are giving me trouble, the team will start quietly making plans to replace me…
if they don’t already have those plans in place.
So I’m stuck hiding an otherwise minor injury, like some fucking horse afraid of being put down for spraining a leg.
I like Denny. I really do. And I’m glad he’s on our team because he’s an amazing player, but do I feel twinges of envy?
More than twinges. I don’t think it’s jealousy, though. ”
He inhaled and forced the words out. “But what if it is? Like I said, I’m not the most self-aware guy. What if this is jealousy, and I’m kidding myself, and I really am the asshole who let him get hurt?”
“Can you walk me through that game?”
He hesitated.
“Mace?”
He forced his gaze up to hers. “There are reasons why I worry that I did it on purpose. Things that happened that night.”
Her hands tightened on his. “Let me say this, right up front, Mason. If you had a spurt of jealousy and let him get hurt, I would understand that completely. I have had some…” She swallowed.
“Some thoughts about my ex’s new girlfriend that really do not reflect well on me.
I don’t know her, but I’m sure she didn’t need to seduce him, and even if she did, then she set me free, and I feel bad for what’s in her future.
But I still get these moments where I think of all the nasty things I’d like to have happen to her, and then I’m ashamed. ”
She looked at him. “If you let Denny get hurt out of jealousy, then I know you regret it. That’s not the person you want to be, which is all that matters to me.”
With each word she said, the tightness in his chest eased.
What was he most afraid of?