Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
To see what’s always been there,
And cherish those stars at night.
“Mason.”
He’s silent as he sits on the chair in the corner of the bedroom. It’s a reading chair that I bought a while back and tucked into the corner of the master when I moved in with Mason. He seems to prefer it now when he’s thinking about what to do. Or maybe it’s when life is breaking him down to the point where he can’t stand on his own any longer.
“Mason?” I call out his name, my voice soft and again he doesn’t seem to hear it. There’s a comfortable groove and warmth that surrounds me since I haven’t moved from my spot on the bed since we came back in here after he talked with his father. Silence sits between us, with both of us letting our thoughts run wild. His chin rests in his hand and his eyes are staring straight ahead at the armoire, unblinking.
Someone attempted to kill one of us. Or at the very least, inject whatever is in that syringe… Closing my eyes, I calmly breathe out, my fingers tightening on the blanket huddled in my lap.
“Mason, please talk to me,” I say, raising my voice even louder. I want to know what he knows. I can’t be left in the dark. This time his gray eyes look back at me, smoldering the moment he sees me. As if I’ve lit a fire, and the intensity of it stops me right where I am.
The only thing I can think in this moment is that he’s going to eliminate the distance between us, to push me back on the bed, to take me like he used to with that look. My breath halts and my body stays frozen, but not with fear or denial. This is lust. I want him to take me, to feel my body and for me to feel his. Right now I need to be held. Just like I did all those months ago when Mason first took me home.
I want to forget it all.
Mason doesn’t do any of that. The chair scoots back against the hardwood floor as he rises from the corner. He walks past me leaving a trail of coldness in his wake as he stands in front of his dresser, his back to me for a long moment.
Leaning back on the bed, I attempt to push down the wave of rejection that flows through every inch of my body. A hollowness presses against my chest. Does he no longer want me?
Isn’t this what I wanted not so long ago? Why does it hurt so much, why does it hurt even worse?
Mason drops to a crouch in front of the dresser, pulling out the third drawer down and not stopping until it’s completely removed from the dresser.
“What are you doing?”
“You need protection when I can’t be here.” It takes a moment to register what he said, but only until he reaches inside the dresser where the drawer was and pulls out a case. It’s thin and silver, obviously a gun case. My gaze never leaves the brushed satin metal as he carries it to the bed.
A numbness pricks its way to my fingers at the very thought of touching it. I’ve never shot a gun before. I haven’t ever even seen one in person until today. Until the sight of one was trained on me.
I scoot back slightly and keep my eyes on Mason, ridding myself of the thoughts of the gun that was here only hours ago.
“If someone ever comes in here again, you’re going to shoot them. Do you understand me?” Mason asks.
My heart races and my body heats with an anxiety that’s nearly paralyzing. I don’t know if I can kill someone.
“Who was that man?” I ask Mason rather than answer, but he merely flicks his eyes to mine before turning the case around and ignoring my question.
“The combination is my mother’s birthday: ten, fifteen, fifty-seven.” I blink up at him, waiting for more, but he simply pushes the box closer to me, rattling it to get my attention until my fingertips slide to the cold silver metal of the combination lock.
Ten. Fifteen. Fifty-seven. Click. The loud noise of the case opening doesn’t startle me as much as I thought it would; I’m still waiting to learn who the man was and why he was here. I need to know what he was searching for and what was in that syringe.
Mason swallows thickly, opening the case and revealing a shiny handgun.
“It’s a nine millimeter. It—”
“Mason,” I say, cutting him off, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. “Who was that?” I ask him when I have his full attention.
“I don’t know,” he answers lowly, holding my gaze.
“Why…” I can’t finish my sentence, my blood rushing in my ears and my body heating.