Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

H e actually fucking left.

Vinnie paced the length of his apartment, staring at his cell phone. He’d been texting Mason all day, even tried calling a couple of times, but no response.

First, he thought he was just being dramatic. That he’d taken his suitcase and was staying in a hotel or something for the night, but when he hadn’t come back that morning, a bad feeling had crept over Vinnie. He’d finally given in and checked to see where his phone was and found that it was making the trek back to Michigan.

Without him.

Mason had stopped moving about an hour before at a place Vinnie knew was the Devil’s Hands motorcycle club’s clubhouse. He thought for sure he would finally get at least a perfunctory text letting him know he’d arrived in one piece. Maybe even letting Vinnie know that he’d call him in the morning. Something.

But still nothing.

Vinnie gripped the back of his neck and squeezed, hard. The pain that had been radiating from the base of his skull and into his shoulders for what felt like the entire twelve months they’d been in Atlanta was at an all-time high.

What the fuck was he doing?

What the fuck was Mason doing?

For over a decade, it had been the two of them against the world. Ollie sometimes called their relationship codependent and unhealthy, but they’d leaned on each other for so long he’d thought neither one of them knew how to stand on their own anymore.

Apparently, he’d been wrong.

Apparently, he was the only one who didn’t know how to stand on his own. Mason had been propping him up all these years.

Maybe this was for the best. Maybe they really were too codependent, and it was time they learned to be two separate people instead of the duo they’d been for so long.

He was just pouring himself an unhealthy amount of vodka into a glass with a few ice cubes when his phone started vibrating on the counter behind him. He nearly dropped his glass in his haste to grab it. Never in his life had he ever been disappointed to see Ollie’s name and face on the screen, his hundred-watt smile beaming up at him.

He took a deep breath and then tried to sound halfway normal. “Hey, Ol. How’s it going?”

“You tell me, Vin,” Ollie said, voice sharper than usual. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“That is the question of the hour,” Vinnie mumbled and took a deep drink, wincing at the burn of the freezing cold liquor.

“I’m being completely serious. You need to get your head out of your ass. You know I love you, but if half of what Mason told me is true?—”

“What? You’ll take his side in the divorce?” Vinnie cut in, his chest feeling like it was going to explode.

Of course Ollie would take Mason’s side. Their friend Penny would too. Mason was the more likable one. The sweet one. The nice one.

Vinnie had always been more serious. More cautious and stubborn. If Mason hadn’t been the bridge, he wasn’t sure he would have built friendships that would have lasted a quarter as long as his ones with Ollie and Penny had.

He just wasn’t built that way.

He wouldn’t be surprised, though, when he lost them like he was going to Mason. He even knew it was his fault. He wasn’t delusional. He knew he was being an asshole. That he was letting his own shit in his head build up until it was an orchestra of negativity and blame and jealousy. Making him lash out at the one person in his life who’d ever loved him unconditionally.

Because of what? Money?

God, what the hell was wrong with him? Maybe he deserved to be alone, abandoned all over again, just like when his parents found him and Mase half-naked on his bed a month before they finished high school.

He took another drink.

“I’m not choosing sides,” Ollie said, sounding exasperated.

There was music in the background—something with a heavy bass and fast pace—and the low hum of voices. It pissed him off, helping him shed some of his self-pity. Was Mason too busy partying it up with the bikers to return his texts and phone calls?

“I’m just trying to understand what’s going on,” Ollie continued, oblivious to the rising storm in Vinnie’s head. “The two of you are like conjoined twins, and yet half of you is camped out in the room next to mine, heartbroken, and the other half sounds like they’re getting drunk by themselves across the country.”

Vinnie swirled the ice cubes in his glass. Fucking Ollie. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, keeping his tone even. “It was just an argument. I’m sure we’ll work it out.”

Ollie snorted. “If I honestly thought you believed that, I’d fly down there and smack you upside the head myself. But we both know you don’t. So, I’m going to give you a little piece of advice.”

Jaw clenching, Vinnie set his glass down harder than he meant. “Relationship advice from Ollie? Wait while I grab a pen and paper.”

“Ha ha.”

“Okay, I’m ready. Go ahead and hit me.”

“Oh, I’ll hit you,” Ollie snapped at him. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on in that head of yours, but if you don’t figure out why you’re trying to ruin your own fucking life, fix it, and then get your ass up here and fix what you did to Mason, you’re going to regret it. He won’t wait for you forever.”

An ice pick to the fucking heart.

Ollie could be the fun-loving, never-serious friend more often than not, but when he felt like you were messing up and needed a talking-to, he was the first in line to give you a verbal smackdown.

The fact that he’d said Mason was heartbroken was tearing at his insides, leaving his organs bruised and bleeding. That was the last thing he wanted. He just… The way their relationship had changed the last few years, he couldn’t stop obsessing over the biting comments his parents had made to him before kicking him and Mase out and never speaking to them again.

Mostly, it had been outdated bullshit like telling him he’d die from AIDS, but more than once, his dad had said some nasty things about how Vinnie would basically end up as some rich guy’s dirty secret until getting kicked to the curb once he wasn’t young and attractive anymore.

He’d been able to bury it all down deep and rarely thought about it. He’d gotten his degree and started working at the hospital, bringing home good money with benefits and supporting Mason whenever he jumped to another short-term job. Mason hadn’t been able to settle on one thing and gave up on college after a couple of years, so money could be tight for him, but Vinnie hadn’t minded sometimes covering the majority of their bills.

But then Mason’s channel had taken off.

Almost overnight, he was making thousands of dollars a month, and their entire dynamic shifted. From one moment to the next, they’d gone from Vinnie needing to help keep Mason afloat from month to month to Mason bringing home just as much as him.

And then more.

And then double.

Not only had he grown in popularity online, but Mason had blossomed into a stable, self-confident person who didn’t need help from Vinnie anymore. He didn’t need anything from anybody. It was like a gaping hole in their relationship that had always been there had suddenly been exposed.

If Mason didn’t need him, then how long would it be before Mason left him?

Turned out—not nearly as long as he’d hoped.

“Did you hear me?” Ollie asked, still annoyed.

“I heard you,” Vinnie said, swallowing the last of his vodka and then pouring himself another. “He, uh, got there, okay?”

He hated that he had to beg for information from somebody else, making it clear that Mason wasn’t talking to him. That no matter what he said, Ollie was right. This wasn’t some ordinary argument where one of them just needed to blow off some steam before coming home.

There was a brief pause, like maybe he was surprised that Vinnie didn’t know, and then he said softly, “Yeah, he’s fine. I’ve got him all tucked in up in Tank and CJ’s old room. He was pretty tired, so he’s probably already asleep.”

Vinnie doubted it. Neither one of them slept well while apart, too many years of sharing a bed. First, they’d done it out of necessity when they could barely afford their studio apartment and then out of comfort and familiarity. They had grown so used to each other’s warmth and having another body in the bed next to them that they never bothered getting a two-bedroom, even after they could have easily afforded it.

“Thanks, Ollie. Talk later,” he mumbled and then hung up, all his anger from a few minutes before drained away.

For a long time, he stood at the counter in the kitchen of the apartment he’d lived in for a year but had never quite felt like home. No matter how hard he’d tried to ignore it, things had never been great in Atlanta. Mason had been miserable almost from the moment they’d left Michigan.

And now that half the closet was empty and all of Mason’s equipment was gone?

It felt like a tomb.

It was well past midnight before he dragged himself into the bedroom, stripped down, and crawled into bed. He buried his face in Mason’s pillow and inhaled. It smelled like his shampoo and conditioner, which Vinnie always teased him smelled like flowers, but Mason liked it, so he kept buying it.

He took another deep breath, pretending his whole body didn’t shudder with the effort of keeping his tears at bay. He didn’t deserve to cry. He was the one who’d made this mess. He had to live with the consequences.

More than anything in that moment—maybe even more than he wished for Mason to come back home—he wanted strong, reassuring arms to wrap around him. He wanted to be told that, yes, he’d messed up, but it wasn’t the end of the world, and that the owner of those arms would help him make it right.

But he knew that was a pipedream.

He’d given up on finding that perfect third for him and Mason a couple of years ago, though he’d let Mason believe he still had hope. After so many failed attempts, all his fantasies from when they were young and eagerly looking for a Dom who could give them both what they needed had dried up. Their desires were too different. They were too different.

He just hoped that when Mason found someone to give him all the things Vinnie couldn’t, he still got to be at least a small part of Mason’s life.

Six and a half days.

It took Mason six and a half days to text him back.

Vinnie had been in the middle of a shift from hell when it finally came through, and it was hours later before he had the chance to read it and respond.

Mase: Don’t forget to water the plants

That was it. That was the text message that Mason sent him after nearly a week of icing him out. When he finally clocked out and walked the few blocks to the building where his travel agency had set him up, he was fuming.

He threw himself down on the couch and called Mason via FaceTime. He had little hope that it would be answered. He was mentally preparing a sarcastic response to send back, maybe take a picture of one of the wilting plants and tell him that if he cared so much about his precious babies, he should have stayed.

But Mason answered.

He couldn’t see much of the room behind him, but it looked like the walls were bare. Could he still be in Tank and CJ’s old room? Vinnie wouldn’t have thought the MC would be okay with somebody crashing at their clubhouse who wasn’t a member—or at least dating one.

“After a week, that’s all you have to say to me?” Vinnie asked, his voice cold. After the fourth day, he’d moved past devastation and feelings of abandonment and had been simmering at a low anger ever since.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Mason said softly, a furrow between his brows.

His hair was still too long—well, longer than he liked it. Vinnie liked when he let it have a little curl. He liked tangling his fingers in it when they made out on the couch. Not that they had done that in quite a while. But considering Ollie was literally like twenty feet away, he’d assumed he’d have gotten a haircut as soon as possible.

“When are you coming back home? Why don’t we start there.”

“I am home, Vinnie. I guess the question is when are you coming home?”

He clenched his teeth and looked away. “I can’t just leave. I’m still under contract.”

Mason didn’t say anything for a long moment, and the strained silence between them dug at Vinnie’s insides like razor blades until he finally had to look. The disappointment on Mason’s face was just another cut.

“I know you are. I meant, are you going to sign another contract when this one is up?”

The paperwork for the new placement was still sitting on the coffee table. Exactly where he’d thrown the papers the night they’d gotten into their big fight. He hadn’t looked at or touched them since.

“I don’t know, Mase. Everything is just…” He shook his head.

“Fucked-up,” Mason answered.

“Yeah, that,” he said with a hollow laugh. “What are we doing?”

“Vinnie…”

“No, seriously. Since when are we the kind of people who take off after a fight and don’t come back?”

“Don’t. Don’t act like this was just like any other fight. You told me to go.”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“Yes, you did,” Mason said, speaking right over him. “You threw my suitcase on the bed, looked me in the eye, and you told me to leave.”

“Because you wanted to!” Vinnie exploded, jumping to his feet. “Because you’ve wanted to ever since we left. You think I didn’t know how much you hated this? How much you regretted coming with me? How much you resented me ?”

“I didn’t,” Mason said, getting softer in response to Vinnie’s anger, which only ever pissed him off more. He hated being the one who couldn’t hold it together.

“Yes, you did,” Vinnie said, bitterness dripping off his tongue. “Every day since the day we left, you have been miserable. It didn’t matter how many places we visited or how many restaurants we tried or how many plants I bought you. You made up your mind that you would hate being here, and you made sure I knew that nothing I did would make it better every single day.”

“Vinnie,” Mason gasped. “That’s not what… I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t mean for you to actually leave.”

They sat in silence for a minute, all the things that had happened between them in the last year—all the words that had been said and all the ones that had been left unsaid—filling the space. Crowding them out. Forcing them further apart.

“I don’t know what you want anymore,” Vinnie whispered, tilting his phone to hide most of his face, letting the screen only show part of his jaw, an ear, and his low fade.

“What do you mean?” Mason asked just as quietly. “I tried to talk to you about getting a house or?—”

“No. Not, like, where we want to live. I don’t know what you want from me . I don’t know what we are to each other.”

“We’re the same thing we’ve always been.”

“What’s that?” Vinnie asked, hating how broken his voice was but unable to stop. “Best friends? Boyfriends? Roommates? We’ve been moving forward together for so long, but I feel like we’ve lost track of what we’re actually moving toward . I don’t know where the finish line is anymore, Mase. I don’t even know if we have the same finish line anymore.”

“I guess I don’t either,” Mason agreed slowly. “Maybe that’s something we need to figure out while we’re apart.”

While we’re apart.

He hated those words, but he just nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“Will you let me know about your contract?” Mason asked, his voice so quiet Vinnie almost didn’t catch it.

He moved the phone so that he was looking right into it and saw that Mason’s eyes were wet, his cheeks a little red. “Mase…”

Instead of answering or waiting for Vinnie to say something more, he just shook his head and hung up. Vinnie kept staring at the screen, wondering if that call made anything better… or everything worse.

He wasn’t wrong though.

At least not about the fact that they seemed to be lost. Maybe they’d both thought the other one knew where they were going, but in reality, neither one had any idea.

When they were young, they used to talk about the future all the time. They’d share all the things they wanted and paint a beautiful picture of their life together with their mystery third.

Mason used to talk about how he wanted to get at least two dogs, maybe a cat too. And Vinnie liked to daydream about having a library like in Beauty and the Beast . A place where he could go and curl up with a good book anytime he wanted.

But they also used to talk about what they were looking for in their third. As much as they loved each other and wanted to spend their lives together, they’d always known they couldn’t give each other everything that they needed. They were both subs, and even though Vinnie could top every once in a while, they both preferred bottoming. But they’d always felt that they were each other’s soul mates.

That’s what Mason used to call him—his soul mate. He also used to say they were lucky because they got two soul mates each. They just had to find their second one.

For years, they’d done that. Except whenever they found someone who seemed like they’d fit within their relationship, they always failed to fulfill both Vinnie’s and Mason’s needs.

If they weren’t so different in what they desired, it would have been easier. There were several Doms over the years who’d claimed to like what both of them wanted, but they always ended up either preferring the sharp, nasty things that Vinnie craved or the soft reverence Mason absorbed like a thirsty little sponge.

Vinnie’s heart just… wasn’t in it anymore.

Mason had never given up, but he’d been able to tell that Vinnie was getting discouraged and so stopped talking about it as much. They stopped talking about their future at all.

And for a little while, Vinnie had liked it. He’d liked being able to live in the moment and not worry about trying to find some mythical person to fill the hole in their lives, but he’d been lying to himself as much as Mason.

Now, he was on the verge of losing him. His soulmate. The one person in the world who had always been there for him and loved him even when he was being an asshole.

Did he even deserve the chance to try to make things better between them? Maybe he should just let Mason go. Let him be happy. Break things off completely so he could move on from Vinnie and find someone to flog his ass and call him a good boy. Maybe Mason would be happier if he forgot all about their childish dreams of finding one man for the both of them.

His stomach soured. Maybe if he was a better person, he could do that. If he was a better person, he’d want to do that.

He looked at the unsigned contract, the papers clipped together but disheveled from his forceful toss the other night. Carefully, he picked them up and tapped them straight, adjusting the paperclip so it was perfectly parallel in the top left corner.

Then he stood, carried them into the kitchen, and threw them in the trash.

He didn’t know if he and Mason could get back on the same page—figure out what they wanted from each other, from life, from a potential third—but he did know he wasn’t going to figure it out by signing another twelve-month contract and going to Dallas.

As soon as he could, he was going to head back to Michigan and see if he could fix what he’d broken.