Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (15 page)

She chuckles a bit and
smiles, saying, “I’m aware.”

Chapter
Fourteen

The Return of May Weese

Ash

“How are you feeling?” I
ask Mason as he looks out the window of the car. “Are you still up for this?”

“Yeah,” he says blankly.

Things have been good
since we talked, but I’m not convinced he’s quite ready for this. It’s not my
call, though.

Over the years, it seems,
Mason’s brother had cultivated quite the professional relationship with his
lawyer. As a result of this, Chris can have visitors, at least until he’s
arraigned next week.

I didn’t ask how he’d
gotten anyone to agree to that.

“What do you think he’s
going to say?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Why?”
Mason answers.

I shrug. “It just seems
like it might be good to be prepared, you know.”

“I guess,” he says.

“Do you want to go home?”
I ask. “We don’t have to do this today if you’re not up for it.”

“I’m not going to be any
more up for it tomorrow than I will be today,” he says. “May as well just get
it over with so I don’t have to listen to him complain about how I never went
and saw him in the joint. Right now, I think the best I can do is just try to
minimize whatever damage he tries to cause today. Are you still all right going
in there with me?” he asks.

“Of course,” I tell him,
“whatever you need.”

I’ve never had to visit a
family member in jail, but that’s because they let wealthy people to get away
with anything. I almost told Mason a couple of times, but it just never feels
like the right time.

Equating what Chris has
done with what my parents still actively do is easy enough. The consequences,
though, are a much different thing. I don’t know how he’d react.

There’s not much I know
how to say on the rest of the drive to the county jail where Chris awaits whatever’s
to come. When we get there, I just park and we both get out without a word.

As we’re walking up to the
door, I grab his hand and hold it. He doesn’t pull away, but I can feel the
tension in him.

“I’ll be right here the
whole time,” I tell him quietly, just before we get to the door.

“Yeah,” he says in a near
whisper.

We enter the jail and
remove our keys, wallets and cellphones, placing them in the plastic trays to
be scanned. He goes through the metal detector, then I get beeped back out of
it.

He just stands there with
crossed arms and a distant look while I go through all of my pockets until I
realize my underwire bra is the culprit. They spare me the humiliation of
removing it and use the wand instead while Mason stands unflinching on the
other side of the metal detector.

I finally get through and
we follow the sign to the visiting area. It hadn’t really occurred to me that
there would be much waiting, but minute after minute ticks away on the old
clock on the wall.

Mason is quiet. I don’t
know that talking would even help, but I feel so helpless sitting here.

Finally, Chris comes into
view of the booth where we’re sitting and he takes a seat on the other side of
the glass. I’m busy looking for a phone when Chris starts talking, the sound traveling
easily through the tiny holes in the glass.

“I know it’s not my best
look, but I think I’m pulling off the whole incarcerated thing,” Chris says. “I
haven’t shaved for a couple of days. That’s key.”

I don’t want to talk
before Mason’s had a chance, but the silence stretches from a few seconds to
half a minute. Finally, it’s too awkward and I break the seal, saying, “How are
you doing?”

“I’m all right, I guess,”
he says. “People aren’t as touchy-feely here as the movies make out.”

“That’s got to be a
relief,” I chuckle nervously.

“It is,” he says,
“definitely. Still, I’m so insecure, I can’t stop thinking maybe it’s me. Am I
really that unattractive?” he asks. “You’d think I’d get at least a gentleman’s
look in the shower.”

The fact that I’m trying
to not laugh is making it that much more difficult to contain it. Mason’s
clearly upset, more upset than I’ve seen him since that fight, though it’s
coming out in a very different way. I don’t want to make light of things, but
Chris really is kind of charming in a sleazy,
I’d-never-leave-him-alone-in-a-room-with-my-purse kind of way.

“Have you worked out a
deal yet?” Mason asks.

“Whoa, hey bro,” Chris
teases. “When’d you get here?”

“Whatever,” Mason says.
“I just need to know whether you’ll be out in time to pick up the stuff you
left at my house, or if I’m better off donating it.”

“My little brother,
always the bucket of sunshine,” Chris says, looking to me with a quick flash of
the eyes.

The guilt I’m feeling
tells me he’s looking for some kind of lifeline, some sort of validation,
something. Being human and being here at the same time, I can’t help but want
to offer him some sort of reassurance, but that’s not why I’m here.

I’m here to help Mason
get through this.

Chris looks back to his
little brother, letting me off the hook, but Mason just sits there, shaking his
head.

“Listen, I know there’s
nothing I can say right now that you’re going to believe,” Chris says.

“I believe
that
,” Mason says.

Chris sits up a little
straighter and smiles. “See? I knew you still had a sense of humor.”

“Could you answer my
question?” Mason asks.

“What question was that?”
Chris returns.

“Have you conned the
prosecutor into some kind of deal yet or are you waiting until after your
arraignment to see if you can sweet talk the judge into throwing the case out?”
Mason asks.

“I don’t seem to remember
hearing that particular question,” Chris says, but finally drops the forced
levity. “My lawyer’s talking to him. There’s nothing concrete yet, but my guy
says the prosecutor’s starting to come around.”

“Congratulations,” Mason
says. “When you get out, I want a phone call so we can set up a time for
someone to pick up your things. I don’t want you at my house for a while.”

“I screwed up. I screw up
a lot. I always have,” Chris says. “I’m not an idiot. I know you’re not gonna
trust me for a while, and I get that you want someone else to come by for my stuff,
but we’re family, bro,” Chris says, adding a tinge of frat boy to an otherwise
decent appeal. “You can’t cut me out of your life forever.”

“Why do you think I’m so
pissed off?” Mason asks. “When they took you away, I told myself that I could
cut you out. I thought that I could finally stop caring so much about how long
it’s going to be before you get your life worked out, but that theory kind of
got blown all to hell.”

Chris looks to me and
then back at Mason. “What does that mean?” he asks.

“That means,” Mason says,
“after you’ve shown me some decent evidence that you’ve gotten past all this
crap that put you in here, we can talk about being brothers again. This doesn’t
change the fact that I’ve never trusted you any less in my life than I do right
now looking at you in that jumpsuit. Do you know how many times I’ve imagined
this conversation?”

Chris looks back to me
with that same wide-eyed flash of the eyes, but if it is help that he’s seeking
with that look, I’m not the one that can help him.

“They only give us a few
minutes,” Chris says, his voice

“I’ll make this quick
then,” Mason says. “I’ve imagined this conversation so many times I even came
here knowing exactly what I wanted to say. If this had happened a year ago or
ten years ago, I would have had the same thoughts going through my mind. The
words have changed a little over the years, but now that we’re sitting here,
none of it is anything that I want to say to you.”

“I don’t know if ya know
this or not, big guy,” Chris says, “but I’ve thought about this day, too. You
know me, I’ve always told myself it wasn’t going to happen to me, but here I am
in a jumpsuit. Or are these overalls? I never really knew the difference.”

“Did you have a point?”
Mason asks.

“I’ve imagined this going
every way possible,” Chris says. “I could sit here and tell you that I’ve seen
the error of my ways or whatever, but you’re never going to believe it and I’m
not sure I’d still mean that if they let me out tomorrow. My point is that
there’s nothing either of us can do or say that’s going to make this any worse.
I guess I’d just like to know that there’s some chance that maybe down the
road, we can talk about getting past it.”

“I don’t know,” Mason
says. “I already told you I can’t ignore that you’re always going to matter to
me. That doesn’t mean that I’m happy about it or even that I’m ever going to be
happy about it. I don’t know if I’m going to want to welcome you with open arms
when you get out of here or whether I’m going to want to punch you repeatedly
in the face, but I do know I’m not going to respect you if you just con your
way out of taking responsibility for this just like you’ve been conning your
way out of responsibility your whole life. Everything else out the window, I
came here today to tell you that if you really want to know how to start
rebuilding trust, you can start today. Call your lawyer and tell him that
whatever voodoo bullshit you’ve got him doing to get you off with a slap on the
wrist, it’s over. You don’t want any special treatment. You are going to avail
yourself of the criminal justice system.”

“They’re trying to
railroad me, Mase,” Chris says.

“Don’t call me that,”
Mason responds.

“You’re telling me to
call my lawyer and just tell him to go with whatever they’re offering?” Chris
asks. “They don’t make good offers to guys like me. They make examples of guys
like me.”

“I know,” Mason says. “I
can’t tell you what to do. All I can do is tell you what I’m going to do. The
rest,” Mason concludes, “that’s your call.”

With that, Mason gets up
from the fixed, metal stool and leaves the visiting area.

For a moment, I just
watch, not sure whether to give him a minute or whether I should get out there
and talk to him. It’s not until Chris clears his throat that it becomes clear
what I have to do.

“I’ve got to go, Chris,”
I tell my boyfriend’s brother. “I really hope this all works out for the best.”

“Any chance you’d happen
to know that that is?” Chris asks. “I’m open to advice.”

I think for a moment, but
end up just shaking my head. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “If I were in your shoes,
I’d love to say that I’d do what Mason told you to do. The reality of it,
though… I guess you’re going to have to decide which is more important: an
early release, or a better shot at a relationship with your brother—Chris,” I
tell him, “I’ve got to go.”

“Okay,” he says. As I’m
walking away, I can hear him behind me saying, “Thank you.”

I make my way out of the
jail and find Mason already sitting in the passenger’s seat of the car. To be honest,
I didn’t know it was unlocked.

Mason’s quiet as I get
in, but that was expected. What I’m not expecting is the bluetooth notification
on my dashboard telling me that my mother is calling.

“Call from May… Weese,”
the automated voice announces.

I never programmed her
into my phone as Mom. She wouldn’t be offended, though. She always felt the
word “mom” just made her sound old.

“You can answer it if you
want,” Mason says. “I don’t think I’m going to be much for talking right now
anyway.”

I don’t have to think
about it, but I pretend like I’m weighing my options before saying, “Reject.”
Glancing over at Mason, I pass it off as just having other things on my mind
right now, but the truth is that I know what the call is going to be about.

Traditionally, there are
two occasions on which I’ll receive an unsolicited phone call from my mom.
First, she always used to call when dad’s net worth topped another million
dollars, but she stopped making those calls a while ago. She was calling so
often, it was starting to feel like we actually had a normal relationship in
which we wanted to keep in close contact with one another.

Neither of us was
comfortable with that.

The other reason she’d
call without warning, and what I’m almost certain is the reason for today’s call,
is to give me a heads up when someone filed a new investigation into one or
both of them. This generally happens at least once a year, though that
frequency has been increasing slowly, but steadily over the last few years.

The reason she’s so
consistent about calling me when one of them is in trouble is that she is
compelled beyond reason and sanity to make sure I don’t do or say anything
that’s going to hurt the public’s perception of them. “The difference between
jail time and an apology is how much people think of you,” she says.

I’ve never caused
problems for my parents or for anyone, and frankly, I don’t want to have to
deal with it right now.