Chapter Forty

Mason

When I’m finally able to get through the traffic, past the front desk, and down the hall, I’m breathing hard, my heart pounding in my chest and sweat pouring off my brow. I take the corner into the dorm room so quickly that I lose my balance for a moment and have to grab the wall for balance. It’s only then that I get a good look at the scene before me. I blink a few times—just to be sure I’m not imagining this. My mother is there, and she’s got Walker pinned in an uncomfortable-looking bear hug. My father is sitting on the floor, his arm around my brother’s shoulders.

“Walker, I can’t thank you enough for what you did for Emmet. For us,” Mom is saying.

Walker nods as best she can from the confines of my mother’s embrace. When she speaks, her words come out muffled.

“I did what anyone would do for a friend, Mrs. Stevens,” she says.

“Well, we’re all very lucky and very grateful that Mason has you for a friend.”

Walker shifts awkwardly, extricating herself. “I meant Emmet, actually…”

Ouch. The words are like a punch to the gut, even as I get a good look at her. It’s been weeks and she’s even more beautiful than she was the last time I saw her—if that’s even possible. Though the hint of darkness under her gray eyes tells me she’s not sleeping. Or, at least, not sleeping well. I wonder if the nightmares are back…

But that’s not any of my business anymore. As desperately as I’d like for it to be.

My mother blinks hard and forces a smile. “Still, thank you.”

“Oh, uh, you’re welcome. Really. I’d better be going…”

“Walker, Mr. Stevens—Edward and I—were hoping you’d join us for dinner one night this week. We’d—we’d like to get to know you a little better.”

My former flame/current raging inferno doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash at the suggestion.

“That’s very nice of you,” she starts, looking from my mother to my father and back again, “but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

For a moment, I think my mother is going to say something else. But she doesn’t. She just nods her understanding and allows Walker to pass.

“Let me walk you to your car,” I say, already putting a hand on the doorknob.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she says softly.

“Too bad. I don’t want you being accosted by journalists or cops or lookie-loos,” I inform her, pulling the door open and gesturing toward the hallway with my head.

She huffs and rolls her eyes, but allows me to accompany her out of a side entrance and around the building to where she left her Jeep. Which now has a ticket stuck to the windshield from parking enforcement.

“Oh great,” she mutters, yanking the paper out from under one of the windshield wipers.

“Here, let me have that,” I say, holding out my hand.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got this.”

“Really, it’s the least I can do…”

She spins around to face me, her expression one of supreme irritation. “I’m perfectly capable of paying my own ticket.”

There’s my feisty girl. When I smile, she becomes even more agitated—which is a good thing. Because anger is better than apathy, and there’s a fine line between anger and affection. I take a step closer.

“What is it with you?” she demands.

“What?”

“Don’t act all calm—like nothing happened. Like nothing’s going on…”

“I’m not acting, Walker. I am calm—thanks to you and what you did for Emmet. You have no idea what a relief it was to find you there with him—helping him. You really are his friend. He knows it, I know it, and now my parents know it.”

“I don’t really care what anyone thinks,” she spits.

I take another step in her direction and I smile. “Excellent!”

“What? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that our relationship is already on a stronger footing than it was before.”

“We don’t have a relationship, Mason!”

I realize the calmer I am, the more upset she gets. Another excellent sign.

“Don’t we?”

“No!”

“Really, Walker? Really?” I press, closing the distance between us so that we’re only a few inches apart.

“I have to go,” Walker mutters, pushing around me so she can open the door and get into the Jeep.

“No, I’m not letting you go. Not again. Not like this.”

She looks me squarely in the eye.

“Yes,” she whispers, climbing. “Yes you will.”

And even as my heart is breaking into a thousand pieces, my head is processing the split second of emotion that alights her face. Regret. Sorrow.

This is hard for her, too. That may mean something. Or it may not. But it’s all I’ve got to work with at the moment.