Mason
The clock on my phone says it's past one in the morning.
I sigh heavily, roll onto my side, and punch my pillow.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Mallory kissing Choir Boy. I see his hands all over her body, the glint of his tongue entering her mouth. Her back arches into him, her eyelids fall shut.
The asshole saw me standing there and did it anyway. I thought British guys were supposed to be polite and befuddled. Charming but not in a 'steal your girl' way. Not that Mallory is mine, but she certainly shouldn't be his either. She's a mom, for God's sake. She shouldn't be sneaking off with her daughter's teacher at her son's football game.
Then again, she's funny, intelligent, and inhumanly beautiful. Men will put up with a slew of kids and a possessive baby daddy to get a shot with her. James didn't have the nerve, but Daniel Higgins certainly does.
The insides of my cheeks are raw from biting at them. The tendons in my forearms are sore from clenching my fists. I'm so wound up, it takes me a moment to recognize Mallory's hushed voice echoing through the hall. I can't make out her words, but she sounds concerned.
I jump out of bed, tiptoe past Blake's bedroom, and peer over the banister.
Mallory has just ended her phone call. She's wearing long, cotton pajamas with Shrek's face printed on the back, the tagline reading 'Can't today, I'm swamped.' She stuffs her feet into a pair of furry boots, grabbing her purse from the coat rack.
"Where are you going?" I whisper-shout, knowing with certainty that Mallory isn't the type to heed a booty call.
She whips her head around, squinting at me in the darkness. "Go back to bed, Reeves."
"Fuck that," I mumble, jogging down the stairs and into the foyer. "What's going on?"
She types a message into her phone, her fingers flying over the touchscreen. "Fine. You can come, but you need to stay calm."
By definition, when someone tells me to stay calm, my mind jumps to the worst possibilities. Grace and Blake are asleep upstairs, but Aidan is out of the house. Did something happen?
"Mal, if you don't start talk—"
She pockets her phone, opening the front door as she explains. "Aidan just called. He was supposed to be spending the night at Payton's. They went to the oil fields to celebrate their win—"
"What?"
"—but they drank too much, and now Aidan doesn't feel comfortable getting in a car with anyone."
I grab my sweatshirt from the rack, ripping it over my head, and stuff my feet into a pair of my son's slippers, which house Homer Simpson's bobble head where my toes are supposed to go. Our respective outfits would be comical if I wasn't so upset.
My heart pounds in my chest, worry and anger like two dueling swords. The oil fields are a place teenagers go to get fucked up. Aidan is a good kid and a stellar athlete. There's no reason he should be dragging his mother out of bed in the middle of the night to retrieve his ass from the shitty side of town.
"Blake and—"
Mallory locks the front door behind us, interrupting me again. "I just texted Grace. If she wakes up, she'll know where we are."
I follow her toward the Range Rover, taking the keys from her shaky hand. "Has Aidan been drinking?"
"He was slurring a bit," she answers, a worried whimper passing her lips.
"Fucking hell!" I curse, slamming the car door once I've seated myself. "Does he do this often?"
Mallory hastens to latch her seatbelt, the concern evident in her tone. "This is the first time, Mason. You need to stay calm."
"I'll show him fucking calm," I growl, revving the engine. The kid needs to be taught a lesson. I'll lock him in his room without food for a few days; give him a chance to straighten out his priorities.
"How many times did you drink too much in high school?" Mallory asks. "How many times did things get out of hand when we partied at the oil fields?"
I peel onto the main road, heading across the train tracks. "This is different."
"How so?" she challenges.
"Because I had a grandfather who beat the shit out of me on a weekly basis!" I roar, hoping the volume of my voice will make her understand. Aidan is not me, and he's not going to become me—a bitter man who neglects his kids and misses every opportunity to form a relationship with the woman he loves. "Aidan has the best fucking mother on the planet. You've taught him better than this."
Mallory opens her mouth to argue, but my words of affirmation have her taking pause. She sits back in her seat, staring at my profile like she's never seen me before. After a few minutes, she finally speaks, her tone soft and bewildered.
"Thank you."
I glance at her, confused. "For what?"
"For saying that I'm a good mom."
I tighten my grip on the wheel, flying through the one red light in town. "You know you are."
"Yes, but it's nice to hear," she mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You've never said it before."
Shame wraps around my temper like a heavy blanket, muffling its effect. I take a deep breath, realizing Mallory is correct. There are so many things I should've told her, but I've been too selfish to admit them aloud. Too afraid to lay my cards on the table, and face even more rejection. She has no idea how much it hurts to watch her with other men, and I have no idea how painfully lonely it is to be a single mother.
When we pull into the dirt lot beside the oil fields, Mallory shifts in her seat, her nervous energy heightening. A slew of cars, some new and others old, fill the space. A rusty, broken fence surrounds giant, vacant oil drums. At the center of the lot, someone has lit a bonfire. It's the only source of light, giving substance to a small group of teenagers. They're sitting around the fire, laughing and tossing back beers.
I don't see Aidan, but Payton is easy to spot with his blonde hair, blue eyes, and a movie star smile. He has the magnetic quality of a kid who knows he's going places. His arm is currently around a beaming girl, his hand in the back pocket of her jeans. I blink, nearly mistaking the couple for Mallory and me at that age.
"I need you to follow my lead on this, Mase." Mallory places her hand on my thigh, her eyes wide and earnest. "You're forgetting that tonight could've gone in a different direction. If Aidan and I didn't have a solid, trusting relationship, he wouldn't have called for a ride."
I roll my eyes. "You always knew how to find the positive side of any situation."
"If you go apeshit on him like I'm sure you want to, he might not call next time," she continues, squeezing my thigh in warning. "He'll be too scared to face reprimand from his parents, and he'll get into a car with someone who's been drinking. We need to be the lesser of two evils."
Dammit, why does she always have to be correct? It must be nice, sitting on her cloud of righteousness. Mallory makes decisions after agonizing contemplation and careful scrutiny. She sees repercussions, where most people react without thought and deal with the consequences as they rise.
"I hear you, Mal," I say, leaning forward to surprise her with a kiss on the cheek. "But stay in the car. It's cold."
For once, she listens to me. I get out of the vehicle, feeling comically idiotic as I approach the group of teens in sweatpants and Homer Simpson slippers. The laughter dies down, and a few kids fall off their milk crates when they realize who I am.
"Where's Aidan?" I ask, adopting my deep, 'don't fuck with me' tone that I usually reserve for sports journalists who pry into my private life. I'm officially renaming it my Papa Bear voice.
"Dad?" my son asks, stepping around an oil drum.
What color he had left in his cheeks drains when he sees me. He drops his bottle of beer, as if the glass burned his hand, and shuffles his feet. His eyes are bloodshot, and his pupils are dilated.
He clears his throat, refusing to look at me. "I called Mom—"
"And I'm here," I interrupt, stepping aside so I can point to the Range Rover. "Get in the car."
A series of 'oohs' erupt from the circle, the remaining rule-breakers snickering at Aidan's retreating back. I narrow my glare on them, but my shoddy paternal instincts kick in. At the end of the day, they're just kids. Someone needs to be looking after them.
"How are the rest of you getting home?" I ask, glancing toward the pile of keys sitting on a mossy tree stump.
Payton steps forward. "Derek's dad has a van, but it's only got eight seats. He should be here in thirty minutes."
I glance around, counting nine heads. "Who's the odd man out?"
Payton smiles lopsidedly, raising his hand. "I was just gonna wait until I sobered up enough to drive."
"Get your keys," I tell him. "We'll take you home."
Payton bids his friends farewell, exchanging a few congratulations on winning the game. He kisses one of the girls, his tongue performing a cave diving expedition in her mouth. By the time we make the short trek to the Range Rover, my patience has worn thin.
"What are your plans for after high school?" I ask Payton, purposefully slowing my gait.
Mallory and Aidan are discussing something in the car. Aidan has his head between the two front seats, and Mallory is distracted. I have less than a minute before she starts to wonder where I am. Plenty of time to release some of my pent-up aggression.
"I've got recruiters from a few colleges that have shown interest," Payton answers, trying very hard not to slur his words. "I'm hoping to play football for Alabama or Florida State. Somewhere warm."
"Seems like you've got some options." I turn, placing my hand on his shoulder so that he's forced to look me in the eye. "If you ever put my son in a predicament like this again—where he's forced to choose between getting in your car after you've been drinking or calling his mom for a ride—I will make sure you never play football. One word from me, and no college will sign you, let alone the NFL. Got it?"
Payton widens his eyes, his throat bobbing with a swallow. "Understood."
The drive is made in relative silence. Payton doesn't live far from the oil fields. In fact, his house is just three doors down from where I lived with my grandfather. Almost every streetlight is dead, ripped screen doors hang off their hinges, and rusted cars sit like omens in the driveways. Payton thanks us for the ride, then sneaks around the back of his house to enter through a window.
Again, I can't help but see the similarities between his life and mine. It makes me wonder why Aidan has chosen Payton as his best friend. Is it because he's been missing his father figure, and Payton reminds him of me? We're both quarterbacks from the wrong side of the tracks, and from what I've seen, he attends Pemberton Academy on scholarship.
Unfortunately, I'm too tired to wrap my head around the intricate psychology behind that.
When we get home, Aidan's inebriation has finally hit him. He leans into me as we walk up the steps and into our house. Mallory flicks on the lights, revealing Grace sitting at the bottom of the stairs, phone in hand.
She stands, jaw dropping to the floor when she sees her twin brother. "Oh, you are in so much trouble."
Aidan pushes himself away from me, stumbling into his sister. "Olivia was at the fields tonight. Payton had his tongue down her throat."
Grace's upper lip peels back over her teeth, color rising high in her cheeks. "You're such an asshole."
"Aidan, stop being cruel," Mallory scolds, pulling him away from Grace.
Aidan holds his hands aloft, pleading. "I'm just telling the truth!"
"You're doing it with malicious intent, and you know it."
Aidan drops onto the floor, legs spread out, spine against the wall. He closes his eyes, whispering, "Sorry."
"Gracie, go back to bed." Mallory kisses her on the forehead, but Grace remains unfocused, her frown deepening. I'm confused by what has her so upset. "I'll be up in a minute so we can talk."
"No." Grace shakes her head, taking the stairs two at a time. "There's nothing to talk about."
We watch her disappear into her bedroom. Mallory sighs heavily, dropping her face into her hands. I step forward, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. Her muscles are like rocks, hard and unforgiving. Tonight has been tough on her.
"What was that about?" I ask softly. "The Payton and Olivia thing."
Mallory scratches at the tension in the back of her skull, her eyes locked on Aidan's sleeping form. "Grace has had a crush on Payton for years. He's never given her the time of day."
My eyebrows skyrocket. "She has a thing for her brother's best friend? She can do way better than him."
"Tell her that." Mallory crosses the foyer, carefully avoiding Aidan's legs. "I'm going to make some coffee."
"No. You're going back to bed. I'll keep an eye on Aidan."
Our son shifts his weight, lying flat on the stone floor. He grumbles, drool falling from his open mouth. Mallory hesitates, as though she doubts whether I'm up to the task.
"Mal, do you think I don't know how to nurse a hangover?" I step toward her, lifting her chin to look at me. "I'll get him some water and bread, then carry his drunk ass into the living room. I'll sit with him and watch to make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit."
She licks her lips, forcing my gaze to her mouth. "He's heavier than he looks. Don't hurt your hip."
I smirk, elated that she's concerned. "I'll be fine."
"Okay," she relents, her shoulders dropping with an exhale. "Thank you for coming with me tonight."
"Don't thank me for something I should've been doing for the last fifteen years."
Her exhausted eyes bounce between mine, an unreadable shimmer in them. "You're here now."
"And I'm not going anywhere."
She nods. To my surprise, she seems to believe me this time.
***
I dangle a piece of bacon under Aidan's nose. He makes a face, his skin turning green.
"Please, Dad," he begs, shoving away from the kitchen counter. "I've thrown up five times."
"That you remember," I add.
It was a long night. Mallory went to bed, and I did exactly what I planned. After hauling Aidan onto the couch, he managed to open his eyes. He looked around frantically, and I knew I had less than ten seconds to find a bucket before he sprayed the contents of his stomach over the living room rug. He wound up puking in a Dutch oven from Crate & Barrell. I'll have to buy Mallory a new one.
After I got some water and bread into him, he passed out again. I sat on the coffee table, watching his chest rise and fall for three hours straight. It reminded me of his infancy. Mallory and I would take turns staying awake with the twins. We were so scared they'd stop breathing in the middle of the night. It didn't seem possible that something so small could stay alive on its own.
When the sun rose, I cooked a giant breakfast. Thankfully, I've managed to regain some skill in the kitchen. Blake was the first to wake up. He tried to sneak eggs shells into the pancake batter, but I told him to go draw a mustache on his older brother's face. That was an easy distraction.
Grace blessed us with her presence next, shooting daggers at her sleeping twin. She took the permanent marker from Blake, adding pimples to Aidan's otherwise clear skin. It seems as though that appeased her, and she's been in a better mood. Every time she looks at her brother, she has to fight not to break into hysterical laughter.
By the time Mallory descends, all three kids have had something to eat. Aidan has spent a majority of the morning in the bathroom, but he managed to keep his last bite of eggs down. It's a good thing there isn't a mirror over the toilet, or he'd have seen the unflattering additions to his face.
Mallory presses a button on the Keurig, then steps up to the island, rolling her lips between her teeth when she sees the drawings on Aidan's skin.
"Can we get to my punishment now?" Aidan asks, his voice hoarse.
Mallory catches my eye, trying to hide a smile. "You're grounded for two weeks. No electronics unless it's for school. And you won't be spending the night at Payton's anymore."
Aidan drops his head. That may be enough for Mallory, but our son needs to understand the turmoil he caused last night. He needs to know that there are worse things than not being able to leave the house for two weeks or use his phone whenever he wants.
"Do you know how worried your mother was?" I ask, keeping my tone controlled, although I'd like to shout at the top of my lungs.
"I'm sorry." To his credit, the kid does look apologetic. "I've drank before, but not that much. Trust me, it wasn't worth it. I'm never doing it again."
"You will." I know all too well how he's feeling right now. For a while, just the smell of alcohol will turn his stomach. After some time has passed, he'll forget how terrible it was and try again. It's a vicious cycle. "You'll drink again, but you'll be twenty-one and you won't be calling your mommy for help in the middle of the night."
Mallory clears her throat. "Mase—"
"You woke your mother, got her out of bed, and had her driving to the shitty side of town to pick you up. If I hadn't been here, she would've been awake all night like I was. She would've been on her own, checking your pulse every five minutes to make sure you didn't succumb to alcohol poisoning. Does your mother deserve that, Aidan?"
To my surprise, tears glisten in Aidan's eyes when he looks at Mallory. "I'm sorry, Momma. I really am."
Mallory places her hand on Aidan's arm, silently forgiving him.
"Next time that happens," I say, forcing his attention back to me. "You call me first."
Aidan nods. "Yes, Dad."
"Alright." I clap my hands together, the jarring noise making him wince. "I think we're good."
While I gather dishes from the dining table, Mallory's stare follows me around the kitchen. Again, she's looking at me like she has no idea who I am.
Quite honestly, I don't know who I am either, but I'm liking this new version of myself. I think my kids are liking it too. And if I keep at it, I'm hoping Mallory will fucking notice.
I'm here, baby girl. And I'm not going anywhere.