Page 8 of Hidden Resolution (Stonebrooke #2)

“ T he driver’s downstairs, Shonda. If you don’t hustle your ass, we’re going to miss our flight,” Mason called through the bathroom door.

“Coming! Hold your damn horses,” she hollered back.

The handle jiggled.

“Why is it locked?” he asked.

The confusion in his tone was warranted. They hadn’t bothered with privacy since spending the bulk of their days wrapped around each other. But today, right this minute, she needed to hide.

She splashed her face with cool water, patted it dry, and meticulously touched up her eyeliner and mascara, using waterproof the second go-around. Given her current emotional state, she wasn’t taking chances. Raccoon eyes were never en vogue.

“Shonda?”

After two fortifying breaths, she opened the door.

“What the hell? Are you okay?” Concern laced Mason’s voice, but she knew better than to mistake it for anything beyond basic human decency.

“I’m fine. Just bummed about leaving paradise and heading back to a hellish winter,” she lied smoothly.

“That’s it?” he asked skeptically.

“Mmm.” She forced a bright smile and breezed past him to drop her makeup case into her purse.

“Why do I get the feeling it’s something else?”

Because you’re a perceptive fucker.

“I have no idea. I can assure you it’s not.” She kept her gaze averted, scanning every drawer, peeking under the bed, and double-checking the bathroom one last time to ensure nothing was left behind. “I think that’s it. Javier can take the bags now.”

“Shonda—”

She met his gaze squarely, though her smile was tight and strained. “I’m fine. Swear. Please, let it go.”

“Are you upset we didn’t find the people responsible for breaking into your suite?”

Sure, it would’ve been convenient to grab hold of the excuse he offered, but she wasn’t about to add another lie to the growing pile. The break-ins were unsettling, sure, but she wouldn’t heap guilt on his shoulders because they’d come up empty-handed.

“No. Can you please drop it? I’m just tired and not looking forward to the long day of travel. The trip down scarred me for life.”

Her excuse appeared to be one Mason could get behind, and he flung an arm across her shoulders. “Fair enough. Let’s go.”

They didn’t speak much during the ride to the airport. There was nothing left to say. Everything meaningful and painful had been said that morning, when he’d calmly reminded her their affair would end the moment they returned to the real world. To his credit, he’d at least appeared remorseful.

Standing in line at bag check, Shonda could practically feel the distance stretching between them.

The closer they got to the counter, the more reserved and distant Mason became.

When it was finally his turn, he stepped forward, claimed his baggage tag, and, without so much as a goodbye, cast her one last indecipherable look before heading for security.

By the time she stepped up to the counter and handed over her passport, her hands were visibly shaking. Mason’s had to be the coldest goodbye in the history of all her relationships. Despite the brief length, it cut the deepest.

Through security, she found a seat near her gate and sank into the chair like an airless balloon. Mason lingered nearby, off to one side, leaning against a column with his nose buried in his phone. If he noticed her presence at all, he gave no indication.

Sadness settled over her like a heavy cloak.

Refusing to spiral, she pulled out her tablet and opened her social media accounts. A soft smile tugged at her lips when she saw Erica’s latest post on her wall: a lone “Hello?” followed by a frowning-face emoji.

Curiosity got the better of her, and against her better judgment, Shonda looked up Mason’s account.

No recent updates. Everything was business-focused and impersonal.

Unlike her, he clearly wasn’t a social media junkie.

For a brief second, she hovered over the “Add Friend” button, but the thought of him ignoring her request made her stomach clench.

In the end, she logged out and mindlessly scrolled through shopping sites’ daily deals. Retail therapy had its uses.

The boarding announcement called her back to the present.

She and Mason reached the same spot in the line simultaneously.

Awkward didn’t begin to cover it. Wordlessly, he gestured for her to go ahead, and she moved past him without comment.

Once on the plane, he helped her stow her bag in the overhead compartment, then slid into his own seat several rows behind her, offering nothing more than a distracted smile.

His dismissal couldn’t have been clearer.

And if her eyes burned with unshed tears, at least he couldn’t see them from where he sat.

After disembarking and making her way to the luggage carousel, Shonda stood off to the side to wait.

A sense of loss hit her squarely in the chest. Part of her wanted to curl into a ball and grieve.

Another part wanted to scream and send Mason detailed directions straight to hell.

But the biggest part of her, maybe the most harebrained, wanted to fight for what they’d found in St. Thomas.

Too bad he wouldn’t let her.

He’d already said his goodbyes. And now, directly across the conveyor from her, with his eyes glued to his phone, Mason looked every bit the man who’d moved on before she’d even taken off her damned seat belt.

How many messages could one guy have?

“Probably an inbox full of women telling him to suck it,” she muttered to herself.

Yeah, she was being petty. She hadn’t gone into their fling expecting forever, but she hadn’t counted on it hurting so much either. She’d invested more than time. She’d handed him her heart, unbelievably fast and foolhardily.

God, she should’ve known better at her age.

The carousel motor hummed to life, drawing her attention from her current obsession. Her black-and-white suitcase with its hot-pink ribbon tied to the handle was the first to appear. As she stepped forward to grab it, a kindly man next to her lifted it and set it at her feet.

“Thank you,” she said, mustering a warm smile.

She cast one last glance across the distance. Mason still hadn’t looked up.

Mentally flipping him the bird, she turned on her heel and headed toward the exit. From just outside the sliding doors, she tapped the remote starter to warm her car, then popped the trunk.

The sight of that gaping empty space stopped her cold.

There she was, thirty-three years old, standing in front of an open trunk, once again alone with no one to greet her with a smile or a kiss.

No partner. No children to read stories to and tuck in bed.

Nothing but a suitcase and an ache in her chest. She’d been so busy cultivating a career, she hadn’t taken time to create anything real.

The one true constant in her life was Erica.

That empty trunk was the perfect metaphor: sleek on the outside, hollow on the inside.

And she was pining after a man who was so far removed from wanting a relationship or family that he could be on another planet. Was it possible to reprogram her brain and heart to stop falling for emotionally unavailable bastards?

“God, I need a life,” she said morosely.

Seriously, it was time to get real. Time to find true fulfillment.

Firming her resolve, Shonda reached for the handle of her bag, then froze.

A buzz zipped along her spine, tickling her Spidey senses. Gaze scanning the parking lot, she found nothing out of the ordinary and put it down to her overactive imagination. She shook it off with a self-deprecating laugh and reached for the suitcase again.

And that’s when another sensation hit. The one that never lied. Her body’s instinctual response whenever Mason was near. That unmistakable awareness settled in her chest, and every nerve stood at attention.

Slowly, she turned.

One row over, he stood by his car, one arm braced against the doorframe, the other on the roof, his gaze locked on her like a missile sighting a target.

Their eyes collided, and her world narrowed.

His expression was pure passion-packed. Every come-hither inch of him radiated unspoken promise. And boy, did she want to come hither.

Her breath hitched.

What was she to think? For someone so hell-bent on walking away, he was throwing off seriously mixed signals. His stare alone nearly buckled her knees.

Then came the slow quirk of his mouth.

It started as a faint twitch, the suggestion of a smirk, then turned into a lazy, confident grin. The kind that made panties self-destruct and women kick caution out the bloody door, bolting it after.

The man was irresistible, and he fucking knew it.

Shonda blew out a breath, girded her loins, straightened her spine, and presented her back, steeling herself against his magnetic pull.

A car door slammed.

Her heart leapt.

She didn’t know if he was leaving or coming toward her, but the answer arrived in a wave of heat behind her. He was close. Oh, so close!

His warm breath brushed her ear, and his voice dropped to a husky whisper as he said, “I’ve changed my mind.”

Butterflies woke in her belly, her joy blooming before she could crush it.

He turned her gently and met her gaze with a slow, devastating smile. “I’m not ready to end it… yet. I’d like a few more days, if you’re willing.”

Her heart ceased its celebration. The happiness bursting to life withered. The hope she hadn’t wanted to admit to flared and fizzled in a three-second blip.

Shonda had a choice. Tell him to go pound salt, or create a few more memories for later. The aftermath would be a bitch, though. Only her brain opposed the second alternative. Her heart and body had already cast their votes.

Still, she managed a token protest. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea…”

He gently traced her lips with the pad of his thumb, spending an inordinately long time regarding his action. When he leveled his gaze on her, the raw longing in those blue eyes nearly unmade her.

“I want you, Shonda. To a degree I’ve never wanted another woman. For longer, too. Can’t we just leave it there and enjoy a few more days?”

She should say no. Hell, she knew better. But agreement fell from her lips anyway.

“Yes,” she whispered.

God, she was seriously going to regret her madness.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers with a quiet sigh of relief.

What the hell did his action mean? She refused to examine it too closely.

“I’ll follow you to your place,” he said, brushing a soft kiss over her mouth. “Drive carefully. The roads might be icy from the last snowfall.”

During the car ride home, she berated herself. Why had she relented so easily? What manner of sorcery did he possess to bend her to his will? No protests had been anywhere near falling out of her mouth. Where was her self-preservation?

Her brain suggested she beat her head against the steering wheel. It might be the only way to knock some damn sense into it.