Chapter 14

The walk back to the apartment was quiet, but not in an awkward way. Mason didn’t say much, and I appreciated that more than I could put into words. He had this way of being present without being overbearing, of giving me space while still making me feel like I wasn’t alone.

But even with his steady presence beside me, my thoughts churned.

Last night.

The memory was like a shadow, lingering at the edges of my mind no matter how hard I tried to push it away. The sound of that guy’s voice, the way he smelled of alcohol, the feel of his hands on me—it all came rushing back in flashes I couldn’t control.

I hugged my arms tighter around myself, trying to keep the trembling at bay.

“Cold?” Mason’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I glanced up to find him watching me, concern etched into his features.

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he nodded toward the building as we approached. “Almost there.”

When we reached the apartment, I felt an odd mix of relief and apprehension. I was glad to be home, but I wasn’t ready for the silence. Silence meant being alone with my thoughts.

I kicked off my shoes at the door and headed straight for the kitchen, needing something—anything—to occupy my hands. Mason followed, his footsteps soft behind me.

“You want some tea?” I asked, pulling down a mug from the cabinet.

“Sure.” His answer was calm, easy.

I focused on the small tasks: filling the kettle, setting it on the stove, grabbing tea bags. The familiarity of the routine helped steady me, and for a few minutes, I almost felt normal.

Almost.

But then Mason spoke again, and the fragile bubble I’d created popped.

“Happy,” he said softly, his voice hesitant. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about last night?”

I froze, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. My first instinct was to shut him out, to tell him to drop it. But when I turned and saw the look on his face, so patient, so damn sincere, I couldn’t.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to start anywhere,” he said, stepping closer but keeping his distance. “Just say what you feel. Or don’t. Whatever you need, I’ll follow your lead.”

His words were simple, but they hit me harder than I expected. No one had ever said something like that to me before.

I swallowed hard, my eyes darting away from his. “I just… I feel stupid.”

“Why?” He frowned, his tone laced with confusion.

“Because I should’ve known better,” I said, my voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have gone off alone. I shouldn’t have—”

“Stop.”

His tone was firmer now, but not harsh. It startled me enough to make me look up at him.

“None of this was your fault,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The intensity in his voice made my chest tighten, and I felt the tears I’d been holding back threaten to spill over.

“Mason…”

He stepped closer then, carefully, like he was afraid I might bolt. “You’re safe now,” he said softly. “That’s what matters.”

And that was it. The dam broke.

I sank into a chair at the table, my head in my hands as the tears came. They weren’t loud, dramatic sobs—just quiet, shuddering breaths as the weight of everything I’d been holding in finally spilled out.

Mason didn’t say anything. He just sat down across from me, his presence solid and grounding. After a while, I felt his hand cover mine, warm and steady.

When the tears finally stopped, I took a shaky breath and looked up at him. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I might actually believe those words.

The kettle on the stove began to whistle, breaking the heavy silence in the room. Mason’s eyes flicked toward it, and he stood, his hand brushing mine briefly before he turned away to grab the kettle.

“You wanted tea, right?” he asked, his tone light but steady.

I nodded, sniffling and wiping my face with the sleeve of my sweater. “Yeah. Tea sounds good.”

He poured the hot water into two mugs, dropped in the tea bags, and brought them to the table. He slid one toward me and sat down again, cradling his own in his hands.

The steam curled between us, and I focused on the warm ceramic against my palms, letting the quiet moment settle.

“You know,” Mason said after a beat, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone, “I’m starting to think tea is your answer to everything.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, caught off guard by the unexpected shift in conversation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Just that every time something happens - good, bad, or in between - you always seem to end up making tea.”

I blinked at him, then laughed softly despite myself. “I made you hot chocolate when you had a nightmare. Besides tea is comforting, okay? Don’t judge.”

“Oh, I’m not judging,” he said looking downcast, but it didn't last. When he raised his head to look at me, his grin had widened. “I’m just saying, if tea ever goes out of style, you’re going to have a crisis.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto my face. “Well, lucky for me, tea isn’t going anywhere.”

He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. “Fair point.”

The lightness in his tone eased the tension in my chest, and for the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe a little easier.

“Okay, Mr. Know-It-All,” I said, setting my mug down. “If tea isn’t your answer to everything, what is?”

He pretended to think about it, his brow furrowing dramatically. “Pizza or your hot chocolate,” he said finally.

I snorted, shaking my head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he said, leaning forward like he was sharing a secret. “Bad day? Good day? Existential crisis? Either of the two, I can't seem to pick one. It used to be just Pizza but you spoilt me with hot chocolate, and I've been stuck.”

I laughed, the sound surprising me with how natural it felt. “You’re ridiculous. It's just once.”

“Ridiculously right,” he countered, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

I shook my head, but the smile stayed on my face. It felt good to laugh, to let some of the heaviness from earlier melt away, even if only for a little while.

“Okay, fine,” I said, raising my mug in a mock toast. “Here’s to tea, pizza, and hot chocolate solving all of life’s problems.”

He clinked his mug against mine, his smile softening into something more genuine. “I’ll drink to that.”

And for a little while, it was enough.