Page 24 of Hidden Resolution (Stonebrooke #2)

A nother thirty minutes passed before Mason was given the okay to drive Shonda home.

He was highly impressed with how she’d stood beside him, uncomplaining, as she provided detailed information and unthought-of insight to the officers.

But she’d been swaying on her feet, and he had called it quits.

Odds were, if law enforcement didn’t have enough with the first three rounds of questioning, a fourth wouldn’t suddenly solve the crime and direct them to Christie’s whereabouts.

He pulled into her complex’s parking lot and cut the engine.

Mutually drained, they stared at her building in silence. Minutes ticked by before either found the energy to move.

“Come on,” he said, his voice raspy to his own ears. His damn throat ached like a bitch from the rush of smoke. “I’ll see you inside.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do,” he argued, shifting to meet her devastated eyes. “For my own peace of mind, Shonda, I really do.”

Once they were out of the vehicle, Mason reached for her hand, gripping it tightly as they made their way up three flights of stairs.

“I’ll go in and check everything out. You wait here, and please, keep your phone in hand,” he said.

“Do you really think Christie will be in my apartment?” she asked with a furrowed brow.

She was right to be skeptical, but Mason wasn’t fucking around with anyone else’s safety. Especially not hers.

“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted. “In addition to the mugging, your car being blown up, and your mother’s house fire, we’re dealing with a fucking mad cow.”

“Good point.” She tucked her hands in her coat pockets. “I’ll wait.”

After satisfying himself that no one was hiding in the apartment, he announced the all clear.

“Be sure to reset your alarm,” he reminded her.

“I’m not a child, Mason,” she snapped. Fatigue and grief drew her mouth down, but her eyes snapped with annoyance.

If he had the energy, he’d have grinned at her fire. She was beautiful despite the soot and filthy hair.

“I know you aren’t.” He hauled her close. “And I’m sorry about Erica, love. I know she was a sister to you.”

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” she choked out. “We rarely went a day without talking. To think that she…” The catch in her voice slayed him, and his heart ached for her. “And poor Jacob,” she whispered. “I don’t know how you’re upright.”

The dam burst, and sobs wracked her body.

Barely inside the doorway, Mason slid to the floor with Shonda cradled in his arms. Between hiccuping sobs and sniffles, she relayed another favorite story of her and Erica’s girlhood exploits.

She recapped their lives, recounting humorous and poignant moments.

Each telling of a poor rich girl’s loneliness.

Mason swiped at the dampness on his cheeks.

Two people near and dear to him had lost the people they loved most in the world. Fuck if he didn’t remember what the devastation felt like. He was only eighteen and hadn’t yet graduated from high school when he got the call about Melanie’s accident and resulting death. He’d been wrecked.

Looking back, it felt like another lifetime—as if the tragedy had happened to someone else.

Yet he continued to allow the past to dictate his future, didn’t he? And the reason why escaped him. The idea of gambling with his heart a second time made him queasy. Look how it had turned out for Zack. The Sharps had always been unlucky in love, and based on today’s events, they always would be.

Mason glanced down. Shonda’s head was cradled in the crook of his elbow, with her cheek pressed against his chest. The ghostly lines of her despair had left tracks in the ashy residue lingering on her cheeks. Pressure built in his chest, and his pulse hammered uncontrollably, giving him the shakes.

Leftover adrenaline or terror of the drowsy female in his arms?

Panic boiled up, cooking him inside out.

Because of his cursed inability to love, changes had to be made.

Shonda was right when she said they needed a clean break.

It crushed him to acknowledge it, but there would be no more coming back for another hot, steamy weekend.

It didn’t matter that sex with her was the best he’d ever experienced or that cuddling her made him feel more complete than he’d ever felt with anyone.

If he waited any longer to walk away, his ability to end things would be compromised.

And he’d be sure to drive home the point that any problem lay entirely at his door, not hers. Never hers.

Having determined the best course of action, Mason rose, hefted her up, and carried her into the bedroom.

One last time, he allowed himself to experience the guilty pleasure of undressing her, running a warm washcloth over her petal-soft skin, and tucking her into bed.

And because she was sleeping, no one called him out on his sentimentality.

He certainly wasn’t going to tell on himself. Hell, he could barely own it.

Dropping a quick kiss on her forehead, he shifted to leave. Her murmured protest created an unending ache.

“Mason?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you stay the night?” Her hopeful question unmanned him, and he closed his eyes against the sting of tears.

“No. I need to see how Zack is holding up.” Only a half lie, he told himself.

“Oh, okay.”

The instant understanding was another lash on his black soul. How was one woman so damn forgiving? Regardless of her humiliation at the coffee kiosk today—God, was it only today?—she sought his comfort.

“Shonda—”

“Don’t say it.” Her sigh was soul-weary. “Not tonight. Please.”

“How do you know what I was going to say?” he asked.

“It doesn’t take a genius. There’s goodbye in your voice.” A hiccup in her last word indicated her struggle to remain strong.

And coward that he was, he didn’t turn, too afraid to witness her pain.

“Goodbye, Mason.”

The finality had him spinning around.

Too late.

She’d already rolled over, presenting her back and shutting him out.

“Shonda—”

“If you’ll lock the door on your way out, I’d appreciate it.”

“I can stay,” he found himself offering.

“No, thank you. I’m not a fan of pity. And I’m sure it’s past time you left. You’ve got to be crawling out of your skin to be free right about now.”

“Sho—”

She hissed her rage as she sat up. “Have some goddamned decency and get the fuck out already! ”

He reeled in shock.

God! Why was he lingering?

If he didn’t leave, Shonda would lose it—worse than she already had.

Her breakdown over Erica and Jacob was justified. Who wouldn’t cry for a dead friend? But soon she would be a bigger mess. And all because she loved him. Mason, the King of Casual. A man who didn’t return her feelings.

Unrequited love was a kick in the teeth in the best circumstances, but the added embarrassment of crying in front of him, for him, was oh-so worse.

Breath suspended, she counted the seconds until he headed out of the bedroom. Her broken exhale was a mix of disappointment and heartache.

She’d survive this.

There was really no other choice, was there?

Her pain was too great, and she let the tide sweep her out to sea.

The bulk of her sobs were for Erica, with quite a few self-pitying ones thrown in for herself.

Her best friend in the world, the woman who knew her better than anyone and the only person who truly loved her, was gone. How was she expected to cope?

Abruptly, she sat up.

Erica’s parents!

She had yet to deliver the horrific news. And dear God, she didn’t know how to break it to them. The Suttons had doted on Erica. Detailing their daughter’s grisly murder by some psychotic bitch would kill all three of them.

Shonda crossed to the bathroom to splash water on her face. She refused to meet her ravaged gaze in the mirror.

Wasn’t it a damn good thing Mason had left?

Her resemblance to a misshapen gargoyle was revolting, resulting from her crying jag. Swollen eyes, red-tinged eyebrows, a nose to rival Rudolph’s… And currently, she was a full-blown mouth breather, thanks to her stuffy nose.

She winced when she finally caught sight of her reflection. Tossing down the hand towel, she grimaced. What the hell did any of it matter? Eva wasn’t here to scold her for not crying prettily enough.

Misery required a pint of sea salt caramel gelato, and she was certain she had one in the freezer. Junk food was the only way to truly drown her sorrows without taking a long walk off a short pier.

Of course, at some future date after gaining fifty pounds, she’d need to buy a gym membership, but maybe by then she’d be unrecognizable to Mason. For sure, he’d do his damndest to forget her existence.

Yeah, no gelato. She couldn’t risk the calories. Comfort could be found in booze instead. As far as she knew, vodka was low-cal.

Erica could have told her. She’d been the Research Queen.

A second round of grief blurred her vision as she blindly stumbled her way to the kitchen.

A dark figure by the island blocked her path.

With a bloodcurdling scream, she transformed into a ninja warrior, kicking and swinging, fully intending to gouge her intruder’s eyes out.

“Jesus, Shonda! It’s me!” Mason backed away, hands up in surrender.

“What the hell, dude? I thought you’d left,” she screeched. Grabbing her side, she bent to catch her breath. “Christ alive and his holy grail! What were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t leave you. Not like that.”

Fucking great. He felt sorry for her. Exactly what every girl wanted. Not.

“I absolve you of all guilt. I’m fine, and I want to be left alone.”

Uncomfortable under his watchful gaze, she averted her eyes and stormed to her liquor stash.

A minimum of two shots was imperative before making the dreaded phone call to the Suttons.

“Shonda—”

She rounded on him like the wounded, angry animal she was. “What do I have to say to get you to go? Leave! Get. The. Hell. Out!”

“No.”

He’d stated it so matter-of-factly, she wasn’t sure she heard properly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, no,” he replied succinctly. “I’m not leaving.”

“The fuck you aren’t!” she raged.

“You can be as mad as you want. It won’t change the fact I’m not leaving you at a time like this.”

“You are the most contrary sonofabitch I’ve ever met. Do you know that?” With jerky movements, she yanked open the cabinet, grabbed the vodka, and drank straight from the bottle. “Fucking arrogant asshole.”