The Secret of Us

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The sun was high in the sky, beating down on Mason's bruised skin as he walked to Heyward's Fish Market. The fight with his father had taken everything left in him, and the pain was nearly unbearable. His hands were scraped and bruised, his face throbbing from the blows, and every step sent a shockwave of pain through his ribs. But he didn't have time to think about it. He'd lost everything—his life savings, the money he'd worked tirelessly to save for JJ's future. The future he'd dreamed about for his younger brother. He couldn't stop now, not when JJ was so close to graduation, so close to having an opportunity of leaving this place. If it meant JJ could have something better—something that he himself would never have—Mason was prepared to be left behind.

Heyward gave him a questioning look as Mason approached; his bruised face swollen. "What the hell happened to you?" Heyward asked, his voice laced with concern as he examined Mason, mentally noting the split lip and the bruises that had formed over his cheekbone.

Mason forced a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "I feel off a boat," he lied, attempting to sound casual and nonchalant. "Face-planted right onto the dock. Just me being clumsy, you know?"

Heyward raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he didn't push. He was aware of the Maybank brothers' tendency to be stubborn, always keeping their struggles close to the chest. He nodded and sighed; his face softening, he understood that Mason would come to him when the time was right. "All right, kid, but you're going to scare the customers looking like that. You know how the kooks are." he said, giving Mason a half-smile. "How about you take fish cleaning duty today?"

Mason nodded, thankful to have something to do that would keep him out of sight. With the harsh tang of saltwater and blood filling his senses, he spent the next few hours cleaning fish behind the shop. He was glad to have something to focus on besides the dull throb of his injuries or the sick feeling of having lost everything he had worked so hard for, and the repetitive task was almost soothing. He worked mechanically, each slice of the knife through the scales and flesh of the fish giving him a small, temporary pause from the heaviness in his chest.

The adrenaline was gone now, leaving him with nothing but exhaustion and an aching emptiness. His thoughts kept drifting to JJ, to Rafe, and to the fight that morning. All they extra shift he had picked up before had now been in vain. He was done with everything. With his father. With his dad. He was sick of it all.

When the hours blurred into the late afternoon, Mason needed a moment to clear his head. The sun was setting casting long shadows across the lot, the air a little cooler, offering some relief from the heat of the day. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and quickly lit it. He took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs, the burn of it a welcome distraction from the pain radiating through his body.

He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment as he exhaled the smoke, trying to let the tension ease out of his shoulders. But the brief moment of silence was short-lived. He was halfway through his smoke when he noticed Pope and JJ approaching him, both of them looking like they were barely holding it together. Pope's face was swollen, with bruising growing over his cheek and a split lip. With his hands clenched at his sides and his jaw set, JJ"s fac e was twisted in fury.

Mason felt his heart sink. He stubbed out his cigarette, his eyes widening as JJ's gaze locked onto him. When JJ saw Mason's appearance—the bruises, the fatigue carved into every line of his face—his eyes were filled with a mixture of disbelief and rage.

"What the fuck happened to you?" JJ demanded, his voice a mix of bewilderment and disbelief. He took a step closer, scanning the bruises painted on Mason's face and the way he was standing like every movement hurt.