Page 31 of Hidden Resolution (Stonebrooke #2)

A s the moving van pulled up in front of the driveway to the home she’d leased, Shonda swallowed the impulse to tell them to turn around and head back to Stonebrooke.

She’d been gone for less than a week, and she missed her small hometown.

Although she’d settled on Thornton, a place thirty minutes from the bigger city of Denver, the population was larger than she was used to.

But it was a new life, right?

She must remember the transition was for the best.

Firming her resolve, she opened the garage door for the movers. When a car pulled up behind the truck and Mason unfolded his tall form from the driver’s side, she checked the desire to hit the button to lock him out. She was also reeling in shock.

But then her anger blazed.

What the hell was he doing here? And why now? How had he found her? Two people knew of her location, which meant either Erica or Dane was the rat fink. They’d have words later, when she was unpacked.

Across the distance, he met her furious gaze. He was damn lucky she didn’t have power tools, or even a single hammer, in her garage yet. The temptation to inflict bodily harm for disrupting her new life would be too hard to resist.

Breaking his hypnotic hold, she greeted the approaching driver and did her best to ignore Mason, who was stalking her way.

“Why did you leave Stonebrooke?” Mason demanded after the man went about his business of directing his team.

She stared at him, incredulous. “You traveled halfway across the country to ask me an asinine question?”

“Answer me, Shonda.”

Of all the fucking nerve!

“No. I don’t think I will.” She lifted her chin and pivoted to leave.

He caught her arm, his firm grip inescapable.

“Please,” he said, softer. His expression changed from autocratic to yielding, the steel in his gaze giving way to warmth.

Butterflies woke in her belly, and she wished they’d go right back to sleep. She had plenty of crap on her plate without fighting her body’s responses.

But really, why did he have to make her life difficult? Was his ego so fucking fragile that he needed to hunt her down and assure himself she was pining for him? Was it to completely crush her spirit in some twisted, sick game? She wished him to perdition.

“Mason, this is ridiculous and redundant. I don’t know why you’re here, and I’m past caring. Take a page from my book and move on.”

“No. No, I…” He trailed off, frustration vibrating off him as his protest dried up. “I was wrong.”

If she weren’t emotionally numb and immune to his bullshit, she might’ve been swayed into forgiving him. Or at least asking what he was wrong about. She suspected she knew, but she was over it. Something precious was broken beyond repair in his hospital room.

“People don’t change,” she said, throat aching with regret she refused to show. “I believed you were someone I could love. You weren’t.”

He swallowed hard. His sudden anguish surprised her. “Give me a second chance, love.”

“Second? Don’t you mean third? Fourth?” she countered harshly, looking away from his tortured, mesmerizing gaze. She focused all her attention on a frozen mountain peak in the distance, hoping to steal a bit of its icy reserve. Finding the strength to stand firm was an effort.

“I’m not doing this, Mason,” she said roughly. Her self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy were too much to bear on a good day. She certainly had no intention of living it on a daily basis. “Not now. Not ever. I owe myself more. I deserve better.”

“I need to make this right. What can I do?” The aching sweetness of his plea fell on deaf ears.

“Nothing. But what difference would it make if you could? You were perfectly clear—you don’t love me, nor do you want a long-term relationship. I get it. I’ve always gotten it. But your ugliness hammered it home at the same time it drew blood.”

In the face of his silent suffering, she sighed. “Quite honestly, I’m exhausted. I don’t have it in me to worry about how bad your family made you feel with their relentless badgering. That’s why you’re here, right? To once again apologize? Give it a goddamned rest already.”

He shook his head, emotions keeping his reply locked up tight.

She easily recognized what was happening to him because she’d gone through the same exact thing at their final parting—blatant disbelief at no longer being wanted.

And regardless of how caring he’d seemed, she was never anything other than a plaything to him.

The truth had been an iron fist to her solar plexus, the blow damaging in every conceivable way.

With careful precision, she’d switched off the caring centers in her brain and heart to survive the last few weeks.

If she let him back in, it would be beyond foolish.

“Please, go away. I have a lot to do today. This drama wasn’t on the schedule,” she said coldly, presenting her back to him.

He remained motionless, not objecting to her leaving.

If her heart spasmed, she ignored it. What girl didn’t want to be chased? But in the past, she’d danced too close to the flames and been barbecued. There wasn’t a chance in hell that she’d venture near the fire again.

Mason waited until the crew was preparing to leave before he next approached her. During the interim, he went shopping, buying two dozen long-stemmed crimson roses, with the hope she might soften her stance and hear him out.

“You can’t avoid me forever, love,” he said, dogging her steps up the walkway.

“I can, and I will,” she retorted, storming toward the front door.

Right when she would’ve slammed it in his face, he caught it, narrowly avoiding a smashed nose.

“Get out!” she demanded.

Her fury was justified, but it rattled him. If he could just get her to listen…

In the back of his mind, he recognized pushing was wrong.

He’d blown apart what they were building, multiple times, and respecting her boundaries was important.

But dammit, he had to try, right? What would life be without her in it?

An endless wasteland of minutes grouped together until death knocked.

“Shonda, I’m asking for five minutes, then I’ll leave.” He held out the flowers. “Please.”

Her eyes shifted to his gift, and satisfaction blossomed in his chest, giving him confidence. Hopefully, he scored major brownie points in the romance column.

“These are for you, love,” he said tenderly.

A soft smile curved her lips, and he liked to imagine she was recalling their delicious night of lovemaking on Valentine’s Day. She accepted the arrangement, careful to avoid his touch.

His confidence ebbed, and a strange uneasiness gripped him.

“Start talking,” she said, swinging the door wide. “You have your five minutes.” Purposefully avoiding his gaze, she rooted in a box until she pulled out a pair of scissors and a vase. With great precision, she unwrapped the bouquet and separated the roses.

His relief was all-consuming, followed by disbelief that she was actually giving him the opportunity to apologize for his past actions. He opened his mouth, prepared to wax poetic, but snapped it shut as soon her actions registered.

Disconcerted, he stared, mind blank.

There she was, happily decapitating the head of each rose and shoving the naked stems in the vase.

“What the hell are you doing? Do you know how much I paid for those fucking flowers?” He rushed to save the remaining buds, freezing when she waved the scissors in his face.

“They’re my flowers. I’ll damn well do what I want to them. Right now, mutilation makes me happy. And you’re down to three minutes.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Mason shivered.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Recovering himself, he pointed a finger at the mess, keeping it out of scissor range. “Certifiable,” he stressed.

“Then you should be ecstatic to be free of me,” she replied, giving a careless shrug.

“I should,” he agreed. He inhaled a fortifying breath. “But I’m not.”

She hesitated a heartbeat before snipping another bud.

“I love you, Shonda.” The rawness in his soul was laid bare. “You might think speaking those words isn’t worth much, coming from me, but the last time I said them was the night my girlfriend, Melanie, died.”

Her head whipped around, and her gaze bore into him.

Pity flashed in those expressive eyes, and he swallowed the ugly reactive response of wanting to erase it with a cutting remark.

The trigger was from childhood, when vulnerability was painful.

But opening up to ridicule or pity—two things he hated with a burning passion—would allow him to lay the past to rest and possibly have a better future.

As quickly as her sympathy appeared, it was gone, replaced by doubt.

“You’ve not told your mother, brothers, or nephew in all these years?” she asked.

Her skepticism was valid, and he didn’t fault her for asking.

“No,” he confessed. “Not really. Maybe Jacob. But with the others… it’s always been understood.”

And with his revelation, he saw what he’d been missing. What he’d been denying to those closest to him. How had an uncaring father and a cheating skank emotionally crippled him to this degree?

“I’m glad for your self-discoveries, Mason. Truly. But?—”

“Don’t,” he croaked, unable to bear being sent away. “Don’t say it doesn’t matter to you. Don’t say it’s too late.”

“Then tell me, what should I say? Should I forgive your treatment of me, as if it’s perfectly acceptable behavior?

Should I be okay with how you express love?

Sparingly, if at all, by the way.” She exhaled her exasperation.

“Because if what we’ve shared until now is an example of what I can expect if we start an actual relationship, I’ll politely decline. ”

Mason’s entire core froze under her arctic stare.

Where had her fire gone? The passion they’d shared? Had he destroyed the last kernel of her affection with his thoughtlessness? Stolen from her the same way Melanie and his father had from him?

In the face of Shonda’s rejection, he felt physically ill.

Denial rose up, fierce and overpowering. His involuntary step forward caused her to shift backward.

Her retreat saved her life.

The crack of the gunshot was unmistakable. The vase with the stems shattered into thousands of fragments, cutting where they landed.

“Get down!” Mason lunged at Shonda and covered her body with his. A hail of bullets pinged around the kitchen, splintering cabinets and denting appliances. The final one ricocheted off the granite counter, lodging in his abdomen.

He grunted.

“Fuck me. Not again!”