Forever Mason, page 34
“Hi, Katelyn,” he says as he tips his hat. I push the screen door open and look out into the driveway for Mason’s truck. It’s not there. I try to keep the feeling of dread from creeping in, but it’s there. Something’s wrong.
“I need to take you down to Beaumont General.”
“What for?” I don’t give Paul a chance to even tell me why before I’m asking.
Paul takes off his hat. His eyes are red, showing evidence that he’s been crying. “Mason’s been in an accident. You need to come to the hospital.”
My knees buckle. Paul catches me before I hit the ground. “I got you. Come on, Katelyn,” he says as he rights me. “Call Josie, tell her to come and sit with the girls. They’ll be okay until she gets here. Roberta will sit outside. We gotta go.”
I nod and walk on shaky legs to the phone. It takes me four times to get her number right. The phone rings and goes to voicemail. I hang up and try again. “Hello?”
“Josie, I need you to come watch the girls. Mason . . . he’s had an accident and I need to go. Paul’s here.”
“Okay I’ll be over.” Josie hangs up, but I stay on the phone listening to the buzzing sound. Mason’s been in an accident. An accident. The word plays over and over again in my head, but I’m not grasping the meaning. What kind of accident? Paul’s hand presses down on my shoulder and the other takes the phone from my hand. He sets it down so gently I barely hear it click.
“Come, Katelyn, we need to go.”
“Is Mason alive?”
Paul doesn’t say anything as he guides me out of the house. He shuts the door behind me and pushes me toward his car, the blue lights blinding me the closer I get.
“The girls—”
“They’ll be fine. Roberta is right there, see?” I follow the direction he’s pointing and see another police car sitting in front of my house. My neighbors are standing on our property line in their robes and slippers, holding hands. I don’t want to know what they’re thinking when Paul helps me into the front seat and pulls out of the driveway.
We drive through the empty streets, and even though he’s speeding, it feels like the fifteen-minute drive is taking an hour. My hands are wringing in my lap. My stomach turns and threatens to empty itself all over the floorboard that my feet rest on. Paul turns into the almost empty parking lot and right up to the emergency room entrance. I look out the window at the sliding glass doors and see a few people walking around. Everything seems calm inside, yet everything inside of me is burning and on edge.
Paul opens my door and holds my hand until I’m standing. Everything is moving in slow motion. I hesitate at the door, afraid to cross the threshold. Something tells me that I’m leaving here by myself. He nudges me, his hand guiding my back as we walk through the quiet halls. A door clicks and we are in the center of the action.
“Mrs. Powell.” I look at the doctor standing in front of me. His blue scrubs appear to be clean, fresh out of the laundry. I nod, unable to find my voice. Paul motions for us to sit down. I can’t move. I shake my head. I need to know what’s going on.
“Where’s Mason?”
By the expression on the doctor’s face I know. He doesn’t need to say the words. My hand covers my mouth and my head starts to shake back and forth. Paul’s arm comes to rest on my waist, holding me up.
“Mrs. Powell, if you’d like to see your husband I can take you to him. He doesn’t have much time left. I’m sorry. We’ve cleaned him up and he looks like he’s sleeping. The machines are keeping him breathing, but he can’t breathe on his own and he has very little brain activity.”
“He’s alive?”
“At the moment, yes.”
The doctor turns and I follow with Paul beside me. He pauses at the door separating me from my husband.
“What happened?”
Paul clears his throat. “He was sitting at the bottom of the hill, waiting for the light to change when an eighteen wheeler came behind him. The truck’s brakes gave out at the top of the hill and he couldn’t slow down. The driver said the light changed, but by then he was already too close and hit Mason. He says he honked, but you and I both know Mason most likely had the radio turned up, so he probably didn’t hear him.”
Paul takes a deep breath. “As soon as he hit, Mason lost control. He hit the wall before jumping the guardrail and hitting a tree.”
I don’t acknowledge Paul or the doctor. I push the door open. My hand covers my mouth as a sob takes over my body. My husband . . . my school sweetheart lays before me with a white sheet covering his body. His arms are down at his side. His face . . . his beautiful face is bruised and covered in cuts. I can’t tell if this is my husband or not. I take tentative steps to his bedside and run my fingers up his arm. I bend slightly and look at his shoulder. Unable to control myself, I lay on top of him and cry. This beat up man is my husband and he’s dying.
“Mason,” I say over and over again, waiting for a sign or some type of response to show me that the doctor is wrong. My husband is strong. He can pull through this. He just needs to know that I’m here and that I love him. I cup his face, lean in, and kiss his lips. They’re cold and uninviting. I run my hand over his hair. He has an appointment tomorrow morning so he can get a trim. Every six weeks like clockwork.
“Mason, baby, please wake up,” I plead with him. “Open your beautiful eyes for me.” I lay my head on his chest to feel his heart, but it’s so faint.
“Katie?”
My head pops up and I see Mr. Powell standing at the end of the bed. I forgot to call him. He looks at me with such sorrow in his eyes. He comes to me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders. He holds me while I cry. I scream loudly, but don’t know the words that are coming out of my mouth. His body shakes with mine as we battle the pain that is ripping through our bodies. Our world is leaving us and we are powerless to stop him from going.
“We have to say good-bye.”
I shake my head. “No, he’s strong, he’ll pull through.”
“I know, Katie.” He sighs, holding me tighter. The machine beeps. We break apart. I hold Mason’s hand while his father holds his other. My fingers twist his wedding band back and forth while my other hand strokes his cheek. I lean forward, setting my lips by his ear.
“I love you, Mason Powell. You’re the best husband and father. Our daughters love you. If you can hear me, fight, baby. Fight so damn hard because we need you. I need you. I don’t know how to live without you.” My tears wet the side of his face. I hear his dad take in a deep breath. I can’t even begin to imagine how he’s doing this. We were in this same hospital not a year ago saying good-bye to his wife.
Mason’s body shudders. The beeping stops. I try to choke back a sob, but it wracks through my body. I cry for the loss of my husband and best friend. I cry for my daughters and the father they’ve lost.
I cry because I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. How does one move on from this?
Thank you for reading FOREVER MASON! If you’d like to chat about Mason, join the Beaumont reader group on Facebook or sign up for my newsletter!
Are you new to the Beaumont Series? Continue reading with Forever My Girl and then be there when Katelyn finds love again in My Unexpected Forever.
Forever My Girl
Chapter One - Liam
A light snore reminds me that I’m not alone. The heaviness of a body sprawled out, sets me off immediately. The stale smell of day old perfume lingers in the air and on my sheets.
The curtains are pulled back, the sun shining through the large window which affords me the best view and privacy.
Rolling over, there’s a face I don’t remember. A face that holds no name in my recollection or any vivid memory of how she ended up in my hotel room let alone my bed.
The bed part I can probably figure out.
The blonde hair tells me that I didn’t bother to get her name or ask her what her favorite drink was. Guaranteed our conversation was eyes, hands, and lips only. There is only one hair color that can make my heart beat and blonde isn’t it.
Neither is red.
Eyes too.
Never blue.
They have to be brown or green, never blue.
This isn’t a downward spiral or some drug-induced moment. I don’t do drugs, never have, but I may drink excessively on occasions like last night. This is me coping with my mistakes and failures. I may be successful when I’m on stage, but at night I’m alone.
And so freaking scared of dying alone.
I reach for my phone to check the time. Instead, I pull up the gallery that holds her image, my thumb hovering over her face. I’ll see her when I go home and I don’t know what I’ll say.
I know she hates me.
I hate me.
I ruined her life. That is what her voice message said. The one I’ve saved for the past ten years. The one I’ve transferred from phone to phone just so I could hear her voice when I’m at my lowest. I can recite every hateful word she said to me when I was too busy to answer and never found the time to call her back.
Never found one second to call and explain to her what I had done to us. She was my best friend and I let her slip through my fingers just to save myself from the heartache of hearing she didn’t want me anymore.
I had dreams, too.
And my dreams included her, but she would never have gone for it. I’m not living her American Dream. I’m living my own.
My decision destroyed everything.
My nameless bed cohabitant reaches out and strokes my arm. I move away quickly. Now that I’m sober, I have no desire to be anything to this person.
“Liam,” she says through her seductive tone that sounds like a baby. It makes my skin crawl when women talk like this. Don’t they see that it makes them sound ridiculous? No man worth his nuts likes this sort of thing. It’s not sexy.
Wrapping the sheet around my waist, I sit up and swing my legs over the edge, away from her and her wandering hand. My back tenses when I feel the bed shift. Standing, I pull the sheet tighter to keep myself somewhat covered. I shouldn’t care, but I do. She’s seen me in the dark, but I’m not affording her or her camera another look.
“I’m busy.” My voice is strict, a well-practiced monotone. “Jorge, the concierge, will make sure you get a cab home.”
I sleep purposefully facing the bathroom so I never have to look at them when I tell them to leave. It’s easier that way, no emotions. I don’t have to look at their faces and see the hope fade. Each one hopes they will be the one to tame me, to make me commit.
I haven’t had a steady girlfriend since I entered the industry, and a one-night stand isn’t about to change that. These girls don’t mean anything and never will. I could change. I could settle down and marry.
Have a kid or two.
But why?
My manager, Sam, would love it, especially if it was her. She’s my only repeat lay. The first time was an error in judgment, a lonely night on the road mistake. Now she wants more. I don’t.
When she told me she was pregnant I wanted to jump off a cliff. I didn’t want kids, at least not with her. When I think about having a wife, she’s tall and brunette. She’s toned from years of cheerleading and her daily five-mile run. She’s not a power hungry executive in the music industry who spoke of hiring nannies before a doctor could confirm her pregnancy.
She suggested marriage; I freaked and flew to Australia to learn to surf.
She miscarried two months in. I made a vow that we’d keep things professional from that point on, and that is when I started my one-night stand routine. Despite everything, she still loves me, and is waiting for me to change my mind.
“You know,” the barfly from last night starts to say in between shuffling and her huffed breathing as she puts on her clothes, “I heard you were a dick, but I didn’t believe it. I thought we had something special.”
I laugh, shaking my head. I’ve heard it all, each one thinks we have something special because of the most amazing night they’ve ever had.
“I didn’t pick you for your brains.” I walk into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it for good measure.
Leaning against the door, I bang my head against the solid wood. Each time I tell myself I’m going to stop, and I think I have until something makes me want to forget. My hands rake over my face in pure frustration.
I’m not looking forward to going home.
The reason for returning is staring at me from my bathroom counter. The page-long article on the guy I used to call my best friend. Picking up the paper, I read over the words that I have memorized.
Mason Powell, father of two, was killed tragically when the car he was driving was rear-ended by an eighteen wheeler.
Dead.
Gone.
And I wasn’t there.
I left like a coward when I didn’t say goodbye.
I changed my cell phone number because she wouldn’t stop calling. I needed to make a clean break and Mason was part of that. She and Katelyn were best friends and he’d tell her where I was and what I was doing. It was better this way.
I was only meant to be gone a year. I told myself I’d return home after twelve months, make everything right, and show her that I wasn’t the same person she fell in love with. She’d see that and thank me, move on and marry a yuppie business man, one who wakes up every day and puts on a crisp dress shirt and pleated slacks that she’d iron in their Leave It to Beaver household.
Squeezing the paper in my hands, I think about everything I’ve missed. I don’t regret it, I can’t. I did this for me and did it the only way I knew how. I just didn’t think I’d care so much about missing everything.
I missed the day he asked Katelyn to marry him. Something I knew he wanted to do since we were sixteen.
I missed his wedding and the birth of his twins. He was a father and a husband. He had three people who depended on him and now he’s gone. He’ll never see his children grow up and do the things that we did when we were younger. All the things we said our kids would do together. I missed this because I had something to prove to myself. I gave up on their dream and the life we had all planned out.
And now I’m heading home to face the music.
About the Author
Heidi McLaughlin is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of The Beaumont Series, The Boys of Summer, and The Archers.
Originally, from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband, two daughters, and their three dogs.
In 2012, Heidi turned her passion for reading into a full-fledged literary career, writing over twenty novels, including the acclaimed Forever My Girl.
Heidi’s first novel, Forever My Girl, has been adapted into a motion picture with LD Entertainment and Roadside Attractions, starring Alex Roe and Jessica Rothe, and opened in theaters on January 19, 2018.
Don’t miss more books by Heidi McLaughlin! Sign up for her newsletter, or join the fun in her fan group!
Connect with Heidi!
www.heidimclaughlin.com
Also by Heidi McLaughlin
THE BEAUMONT SERIES
Forever My Girl
My Everything
My Unexpected Forever
Finding My Forever
Finding My Way
12 Days of Forever
My Kind of Forever
Forever Our Boys
Forever Mason
* * *
The Beaumont Boxed Set - #1
* * *
THE BEAUMONT SERIES: NEXT GENERATION
Holding Onto Forever
My Unexpected Love
Chasing My Forever
Peyton & Noah
Fighting For Our Forever
* * *
A Beaumont Family Christmas
* * *
THE PORTLAND PIONEERS:
A BEAUMONT SERIES NEXT GENERATION
SPIN-OFF
Fourth Down
Fair Catch
False Start
* * *
CAPE HARBOR SERIES
After All
Until Then
* * *
THE ARCHER BROTHERS
Here with Me
Choose Me
Save Me
* * *
LOST IN YOU SERIES
Lost in You
Lost in Us
* * *
THE BOYS OF SUMMER
Third Base
Home Run
Grand Slam
Hawk
* * *
THE REALITY DUET
Blind Reality
Twisted Reality
* * *
SOCIETY X
Dark Room
Viewing Room
Play Room
* * *
THE CLUTCH SERIES
Roman
* * *
STANDALONE NOVELS
Stripped Bare
Blow
Sexcation
* * *
HOLIDAY NOVELS
Santa’s Secret
It’s a Wonderful Holiday
* * *
THE DATING SERIES
A Date for Midnight
A Date with an Admirer
A Date for Good Luck
A Date for the Hunt
A Date for the Derby
A Date to Play Fore
A Date with a Foodie
A Date for the Fair
