Page 80 of Hidden Resolution

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 andget 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.