Page 17 of Hidden Resolution (Stonebrooke #2)

A parade of days marched by. Shonda kept things between them playful and light, as if suppressing her emotions would miraculously shield her from the eventual fallout.

Their non-relationship was “Casual” by Mason’s definition.

The terms of their arrangement remained clear, and she never mentioned the word love .

While she understood they couldn’t continue indefinitely, she was content to enjoy whatever stolen time he allowed. Being with him felt better than being without. Regardless of the hardass line in the sand, he was honest about intentions and, as far as she knew, they were mutually exclusive.

He hadn’t invited her to his place, and she told herself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

A lot.

If she had any foresight, she’d never have let him cross the threshold of her apartment. His stamp was everywhere, and one day, probably soon, she’d pay for letting him stake a claim.

Their minor arguments had faded as they found a working rhythm. He’d begun texting and calling, which felt monumental in their own right. Yet she never initiated contact. Pushing would send him running.

On the nights he didn’t come by, Shonda flatly refused to sit in a quiet void and absorb the sting.

She made plans. Friends. Dinner. Erica. Anyone who could serve as a distraction from the hollow ache in her chest. And she damned well never let herself fall apart.

Because what she wouldn’t do was chase him.

She wasn’t that woman, and never would be.

Her happy bomber had gone silent. No fresh threats lurking under the hood of her new car, painstakingly parked in a gated garage under lights and cameras.

Sure, she wasn’t naive enough to believe it was over.

Neither was Mason. But every now and again, she was able to clear her head of the nagging worry.

One of the sweetest things he’d done was arrange for patrol cars to swing by her place when he was absent. And he’d gone to the extent of securing routine patrols for her mom’s and dad’s places, too.

If leaving her place, Mason used back roads, checking mirrors so frequently it boggled her brain.

Simple trips to the grocery store turned into a cloak-and-dagger event. They always used his car, rigged with a sensitive alarm able to detect the brush of a leaf on its way to the ground.

Tonight, he circled the block twice before pulling into the parking lot.

“I feel like we’re in a spy movie,” she quipped, bracing as he executed another evasive maneuver.

He didn’t crack a smile. “Better safe than sorry.”

His terse response set her nerves on edge. He didn’t appear angry per se, but tension coiled around him like a taut wire ready to snap. Every inquiry about work, his day, or anything hinting at a personal share was met with a blank stare or a grunt.

When he reached for the door handle, she caught his arm.

“Mason, what’s wrong? Are you mad at me for some reason?”

“No.”

He tried to pull away, but she held firm.

Leaning forward to meet his eyes, she asked, “Is it impossible for you to have a real conversation with me? Anything more meaningful than what we plan to eat for dinner or what movie we want to watch would do.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Here we go.” He slumped back with an exasperated huff. “This is where you encourage me to share my feelings, right? To commit to calling you my girlfriend?” His cold gaze locked on her face. “It’s not happening, Shonda. Give it rest.”

The disdainful attitude stung harder than any slap. He’d twisted a vulnerable moment into a needy demand she didn’t make. For a split second, she wished he had hit her. At least then she could label it for what it was. Abuse. A perfect reason to walk away.

Her therapist would say her inability to quit him went back to childhood and her feelings of being unlovable. Perhaps it did, but she wanted more from life and the people in her world.

She sat motionless, staring at his gloved hands clenched around the steering wheel. Her shell cracked open, revealing the sobbing inner child, the one deserving of attention and caring.

“I’m done.”

Her statement was toneless and final, but once out, the oppressive weight lifted from her shoulders. Before he could react, she flung her door open and stepped out, hustling in the opposite direction from the store.

“Shonda, get back here,” he snapped, voice fury-laced.

She didn’t break stride. Each step cemented her decision to be done with the self-torment. Done with longing for things she couldn’t have. Done with the best sex of her existence.

Her last thought almost paused her flight, but she was nothing if not dogged.

“I’m not fooling around,” he called after her. “Get back here. It’s not safe for you to walk home in the dark.”

No, it wasn’t. But it was safer than being near him, where she might fold and pretend she didn’t crave or need more.

His muttered “goddammit” echoed in the quiet night. The snow made everything sound sharper but less personal.

A minute into her hike home, and she was cursing her stupidity. She should’ve worn a heavier jacket. The full thirty-minute walk wouldn’t kill her, but by the time she arrived, she’d be a fucking Popsicle.

A car door slammed behind her.

Mason would either chase her down or leave her there to stew in it. When no footsteps followed, her stomach sank and her romantic fantasies fled. Stewing it was.

No matter how many times she told herself she wouldn’t cry, her body refused to behave. Scalding tears spilled over her chilled cheeks, and she angrily swiped them away. No way was the bastard going to be the reason she turned into a red-nosed, puffy-eyed mess. Not if anyone was around to see.

But of course, someone was.

From nowhere, a rock-solid body collided with hers, knocking her to the ground.

Her purse vanished from her shoulder, ripped away as her body hit the pavement.

Her right arm took the brunt of the fall, and pain shot through it as she scrambled to her feet.

With a battle cry, she gave chase, but her boots skidded across the icy sidewalk, sending her sprawling again.

Tires squealed.

An instant later, Mason’s car screeched to a hard stop beside her.

He jumped out, wild-eyed. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, ignoring the burn in her shoulder, and waved him off.

“Go get that rat bastard and run him over, will ya?” she ordered.

His grin was sharp and deadly. Diving back into the car, he peeled off in pursuit.

As soon as he was gone, she berated herself for sending him after the thief. Her hip throbbed like hell, and a single step toward the store was a reminder of how hard the fucking ground had been. She was brutally cold, bruised, and emotionally wrecked. The perfect trifecta of miserable.

Ten more steps reminded her she didn’t have a wallet to cover the cost of a ride. The five after brought frustrated tears to her eyes again. Six additional steps, and she was thoroughly pissed, prepared to murder whoever was making her life a living hell.

At last, the store came into view.

She was roughly twelve feet from the doors when Mason pulled up beside her, a lingering fury in his gaze.

“The guy must’ve had a car waiting,” he said with an annoyed shake of his head. “I’ve called the police, and they should be here soon. Come get warm.”

The thought of those heated leather seats wrapped around her was tempting and caused her to waver.

But if she got in his car, she’d be unable to sever the tie.

“Thanks, but I’ll wait inside.”

He scoffed and held the door open. “Don’t be ridiculous, Shonda. Get in the car.”

His assumed compliance triggered her.

“Ridiculous? Ridiculous? ”

So what if her screeching portrayed her as mentally unstable? She had every right to be angry.

“You know what’s ridiculous , Mason? You, treating women like they have cooties if you spend more than twenty-four consecutive hours together. Another ridiculous thing might be your gamophobia.”

“What the hell is gamophobia?” he snapped as if she’d accused him of murder.

“Look it up, asshole.”

She stormed inside and made a beeline for the service desk.

“Shonda Grant, right?” the man behind the counter asked, circling around to her side.

Recognition hit as she registered the sandy-brown hair, azure eyes, and a ready smile.

“Tommy McAdams?” What were the chances of seeing her childhood friend when she needed a kind face the most? “Wow! It’s been forever! How are you?”

She lurched forward and hugged him, the years falling away. He was her first unrequited love at age eight. But of course, young love never stood a chance.

“Look at you,” she said. “All grown up and a heartbreaker.”

His laugh was pure sunshine, and it tugged a smile from her.

“You look…” He paused, frowning as he took in her tear-streaked face, ripped jeans, and wild hair.

“Like a hot mess?” she offered with a watery grin, recalling her predicament.

“I was going to say beautiful, but I doubt you’d believe it, seeing as how you’re a little worse for wear at the moment.”

The kindness went a long way in soothing her emotional hurts.

“Thank you.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“Would you believe I was mugged?”

“In Stonebrooke?” The disbelief in his voice was understandable. Nothing ever happened in their sleepy little town.

“I know, right?”

“God, are you okay? Do I need to call the police? What can I do?”

“I’ve got it covered, cuz. They’re on their way,” Mason’s voice answered from directly behind her, smooth and deep. He startled a squeak from her.

She had to be in bad shape if he failed to trigger her body’s early warning system.

“Mason. Hey, man. Were you outside when it happened?” Tommy asked, eyes wide.

“You could say that.” His tone was dry, and the silence afterward was weighted and strange.

Shonda jumped into the verbal gap. “The phone, Tommy?”

“Oh, yeah, come on back.”

“No need,” Mason forestalled them. His voice was clipped but fully loaded when he added, “I brought you here. I’ll damn well take you home.”

“I’ll call Eva, but thanks.” Pride kept her spine stiff, even as her bones ached to curl into his warmth. Accepting his help meant surrendering and pretending what had happened in the car didn’t make her bleed. She couldn’t go back to their unsuitable arrangement.

“You’re being a stubborn fool,” he ground out, closing the distance between them.

She backed until her shoulders hit solid muscle. Tommy’s arm caught her, supportive and keeping her upright. The gesture drew Mason’s cold stare straight to the contact point. He lifted his withering glare to his cousin’s face, as if sizing up a threat.

Tommy’s chest vibrated with his low chuckle. “That’s not going to work with me, cuz. The McAdams clan is made of sterner stuff.”

“How about if I threaten to break your fucking arm off?” Mason growled, dead serious.

“Ah, it’s like that, is it?”

Tommy couldn’t have come up with anything better to get Mason to back off. The hostility dissipated, leaving indifference in its wake.

“Not at all. Knock yourself out.” Mason spun on his heel, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be outside, giving my statement to the police. Text me if you want to have a beer sometime, Tommy.”

Ice settled around Shonda’s heart, numbing the ache. It allowed her to remain unaffected and casual when she faced her new champion.

“Let me know if you need a ride,” he said gently, full of the easy kindness he’d always possessed.

“I’d take you up on it, but Eva has the spare set of keys to my place.” She offered a small smile. “Thanks, though.”

“So, you and Mason, huh? It’s hard to believe.”

Her brows drew tight. “Why?”

“You’ve always been a nice girl, and they’re not really his thing.”

His innocent comment was like a dagger dipped in acid, then plunged straight into her fucking chest. She managed a sickly smile and reached for the phone receiver on the wall.