Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

MISCOMMUNICATION – The least popular of all rom-com tropes, perhaps because it’s the most true to life, and it sucks—in fiction and in reality.

T he weeks following the fight with Sawyer were some of the longest Mason had ever experienced. He was equal parts looking forward to Diagnostics resuming—if only for the distraction—and dreading it. It was bittersweet. The set and crew had been his home for nearly six years, but he was ready for something new, even with the uncertainty of what “new” would look like.

The writers had sent over a few script amendments earlier that day, a new B plot for him worked into the first few episodes that would inevitably lead up to his character’s departure from the show. When he arrived at the studio offices for the season six table read, the entire room quieted as he entered. He froze for a moment before heading over to craft services and grabbing a muffin he had no intention of eating.

A hand at his elbow had him turning.

“Proud of you,” Kara murmured.

Meeting her gaze, he knew she meant it. Because she was his on-screen girlfriend, the last-minute changes they’d made to the script had primarily included his scenes with her. “Thanks,” he said genuinely.

“It feels right that we’re going out together,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why I’m whispering.” She laughed, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “But I like the new direction.”

He nodded. He did, too. It was ironic that all it took was them leaving for their characters to get the most screen time they’d had since getting together two seasons ago. The original version of this season’s script had their characters headed for yet another breakup. The new version had Nurse Lia being courted by another hospital, and while they didn’t have all the episodes yet, Mason was willing to bet Dr. Santiago was going to follow Nurse Lia off into the happily ever after sunset.

“Maybe I’m a sap—okay, I know I’m a sap,” he laughed under his breath. “But I’m genuinely happy our characters are going to stay together.”

“Me, too,” she said, stirring a splash of milk into her coffee. “So, how’s Sawyer? Are we there yet? Asking about the new loves?”

His chest constricted. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We broke up. Or, rather, we were never really together. I don’t know. I’m not actually sure.”

Kara furrowed her brow. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

He sighed. “I know. I tried doing the casual thing, but I’m not very good at it.”

Kara shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “That’s not what I meant. I mean—yes, you? Casual?” She laughed softly. “Not your style. But you’re just giving up? I mean, I literally had to break up with you twice.”

He smiled. “Sawyer…” He didn’t really want to talk about this. He’d already spilled his guts to Luis and Alissa—the latter feeling responsible for their breakup. Alissa’s offer might have been the spark, but Mason was convinced Sawyer’s fuse had been waiting to be lit. “She—” He wasn’t sure how to summarize how it imploded so quickly. “I rushed, and I don’t know how I can fix it—if I can fix it. Showing up at her door might do more harm than good, but doing nothing…” He shook his head. Weeks, and he still had no idea what to do.

Kara frowned, brushing her long hair over her shoulder. It was only then that Mason noticed the lack of ring on her left hand. Catching the way his eyes followed her empty ring finger, she nodded. “I don’t want to talk about it—not here, anyway—but trust me when I say I wish someone would show up at my door.”

He frowned, staring at the wall without really seeing it.

Their director called for them to take their seats, and Mason fell into step behind Kara, their characters always seated next to each other. As everyone settled in, Richard remained standing, clasping his hands in front of him as he eyed Mason and Kara with paternal fondness. As if he weren’t the blueprint for everything Mason was going to do differently at Guiding Light.

As Richard spoke, announcing the departure of both Mason and Kara from the show, Kara placed her hand atop his and squeezed. He was barely paying attention to what Richard said, noting the bags under Kara’s eyes that she’d covered with makeup, the way her shoulders were slightly curved inward, so unlike her normally immaculate posture.

If Mason showed up at Sawyer’s door, would she look similar? Was she hurting as much as he was? Worse, if he showed up, and she looked perfect as ever… he’d have to accept it was really over, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to do that.

Mason wished someone would show up at his door for once. That he wouldn’t always be the one crawling on his knees behind them as they walked away. But what if Kara was right? What if all the while Mason was waiting for Sawyer to knock on his door, Sawyer was waiting for him? Where was the line between respecting her wishes and being too late?

He was so distracted, thinking himself in circles, that he missed his cue for his lines more than once. Thankfully, it was only a table read, and no one said anything when they congregated in the hall afterward, everyone “so upset” he was leaving. He noticed no one seemed equally as distraught that Kara was leaving. He couldn’t help but think it was because they bought the narrative Richard touted that she was “difficult to work with,” when all she’d wanted was for him to stop maligning her character. He suddenly felt less inclined to humor everyone in the room with anecdotes of what he planned on doing after, or whatever the fuck it was they were mindlessly chatting about, and excused himself.

He drove home on autopilot. He wanted to believe Kara was right so badly, that all he had to do was show up at Sawyer’s door and they’d talk things out. He knew he had things to apologize for, but he wasn’t sure how to do that without disrespecting her request to let her go.

He’d tried. He’d tried being mad at her, hating her, but he couldn’t. She was right. He’d rushed into things again, even when he hadn’t meant to. But he’d learned a long time ago, you don’t get to choose how you make other people feel. He hated that she thought he’d fallen for her simply because she was there . He wasn’t okay with that, but he wasn’t sure how to fix it either.

He was so lost in his head that he didn’t hear the doorman calling his name.

“Sorry, Luther,” he said.

“No worries, Mr. West. I just wanted to return your lady’s book,” he said, hurrying around his desk and producing a small paperback. When had Sawyer loaned him a book?

Mason furrowed his brow, taking it from him and thanking him. It was an author he didn’t recognize, but the swooning heroine on the front cover made his heart pang uncomfortably. The memory of Sawyer doing that exact pose at the tree farm flashed before his eyes. It felt like yesterday and years ago all at once.

“Have you read it?” Luther asked.

“No,” Mason answered, flipping the book over to read the back.

Luther put his hand over the back cover, blocking the summary. “Don’t spoil it for yourself,” he said conspiratorially. “I prefer to go in blind. But I will say, that letter at the end…” He shook his head, staring off into the distance. “People don’t talk like that anymore, but they should.”

Mason grinned. “You write a lot of love letters back in the day, Luther?”

Luther’s ruddy skin flushed. “Of course I did. I had to let my Rose know how I felt, to wait for me.”

Standing up straighter, Mason tilted his head to the side curiously. “And what if you’re the one waiting?”

Luther smacked his lips thoughtfully. “It’s the same, really. Let them know how you feel. Keep the faith that if it’s meant to be, they will find a way back to you. And stay busy—be someone worth coming back for.” Luther smiled softly, his gaze far off. “My Rose was… well, I may not seem it now, but I was once a looker, like you. I had other options, but once I met Rose, she was the only option.”

Mason knew the feeling. He thought he’d been heartbroken before, but he now knew it was the sting of loneliness. He was lonely now, yes, but it was different. Sawyer had wormed her way into his life like no one else. It wasn’t only her presence that he missed—their schedules had made time together harder and harder to come by, but that hadn’t bothered him. He missed talking to her, even if it was brief, hearing how her day had been or being able to tell her about his, unfiltered. It was something he hadn’t known he’d needed until he had it. She’d become his best friend, and it was a loss like he’d never known before.

“Thank you, Luther,” Mason said suddenly, shaking himself from his thoughts. “I’d love to hear more about Rose sometime, but right now, I—” He grinned, clearheaded for the first time in weeks. “I’ve got a letter to write.”

Turning on his heel, he headed for the elevator, his mind made up. If this wasn’t a sign, he wasn’t sure what was. It didn’t matter if Sawyer didn’t believe in signs or grand gestures or happily ever afters. He did , and he believed with every corner of his hopelessly romantic heart that his and Sawyer’s story wasn’t over yet.

He barely even registered the elevator ride or the bumpy way it came to a stop on his floor, his mind spinning a million miles an hour. He wasn’t a writer, so he wasn’t sure how he was going to put everything he felt into a letter.

Thumbing through the back half of the book Sawyer had loaned Luther, he found the letter Luther mentioned. Even without the context of the rest of the book, it tugged at Mason’s heartstrings, because he knew that desperate feeling.

How? How could he manage to convey to Sawyer that from now on, to him, every romance he ever watched or read would be about her? And at the same time, every single one of them would pale in comparison to his favorite love story: theirs.