by Jamie Canosa
“Yes. Yes. Yes. And I think so . . . Maybe? I d-don’t know.” Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear her over the whoosh of his wiper blades. Convulsive swallowing traveled down the line and she took a shaky breath.
“Stay with me, Ash. I’m on my way.” His fingers clenched around the steering wheel. It was a battle to keep his impatience buried.
“What if my mother was right? What if I should have dropped out of the trial? I told you, Mason. I make bad decisions. What if I made another one? What if someone gets hurt because I—”
“Whoa. Take a breath with me, okay?” He waited and heard her do as he asked.
Do not screw this up. Mason’s mouth ran dry. He felt trapped. Helpless. His sweaty palms slid down the wheel. One wrong word and he could shake the narrow ledge of control she teetered on.
“It’s gonna be alright. No one’s getting hurt.” Christ. Mason shut his eyes and breathed deep, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. “No one can predict the future, Ashlyn. We all take a risk every time we make a choice. Sometimes we’re right. Other times we’re wrong. We’re human. We all make mistakes. The best any of us can do is decide what we believe is right . . . and do it. No one can decide that for you. And I can’t promise it’ll always work out the way you want it to. But I can promise that you won’t have to face it alone.” His voice was thick and he knew she could hear it, but he didn’t care. “I will be there with you, no matter what.”
A car horn blared behind him again and Mason jerked his head up to examine a bleary view of the open road ahead. The water must have been cleared and traffic was on the move.
“Mason?” Ashlyn’s voice sounded much sturdier.
He hit the gas. “Yeah?”
“Can you pick up a pizza?”
Mason smiled to himself. Crisis averted. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”
***
The pizza was hot. Hot, hot, hot. Burning his hands through the flimsy cardboard box. Mason shut the door and stopped to kick off his sneakers, precariously balancing the pie and the two liter in one hand. A trick he’d mastered working at the Pizza Palace. But the Pizza Palace didn’t have entryways that felt like a freaking ice rink. His foot shot out from under him and the pizza box skidded across the slippery hardwood. The soda erupted like Mount Saint Helens, spraying the walls and entry floor where Mason lay sprawled on his back.
Ashlyn appeared and he could see her straining to fight back a smile even as her hands went to her hips. She scanned the wreckage and rolled her eyes. “That happened.”
Without bothering to ask if he was alright or offer him a hand, she scooped up the pizza and retreated into the living room, leaving Mason lying there . . . grinning like an idiot.
How long had it been since he’d laid eyes on her? Two weeks? Three? Harrison had kept his shit together so she hadn’t needed to make use of his personal taxi service and with finals coming up, all of Mason’s spare time was spent going over notes and analyzing flow charts. One late night rolled into the next early morning, hours piled on top of one another until too many had passed without him even noticing. Sure they’d texted, but, damn, he’d missed seeing her face.
After using half a roll of paper towels to sop up the mess, he stripped out of his jacket and hung it on a peg inside the door, rubbing a sore spot on his lower spine.
“I’m fine in case you were wonder—” Goosebumps sprouted up and a chill swept through him. Scrubbing his hands up and down his arms, Mason frowned. He was sorely tempted to reclaim his coat. “Did you forget to mention you adopted a penguin?”
Ashlyn smirked. “Stop being a baby. It’s not that cold.”
Her argument might have held more merit, however, if she hadn’t issued it from beneath a blanket fort on the couch.
Bloodshot eyes and a blotchy rose color in her cheeks were the only signs of the raw emotions he’d heard from her not twenty minutes earlier. She’d dug a hole and buried them deep again and Mason was willing to let it go. She’d done an incredible job managing them and he was proud of her. But he couldn’t dismiss what had caused them to come to the surface in the first place.
“Where is it?”
Ashlyn set her paper plate aside, having only taken a single bite of her pizza.
“I . . . um . . .” Scrape, scrape, scrape. Her fingernails bore the sole focus of all of her concentration. “I dropped it.”
Mason settled on the couch and tucked his fingers into his palms to keep from reaching for hers.
“It said . . .” The scraping ceased. “Mason, it was . . .”
“What?” She was afraid to tell him and that sent fear slithering deep in his gut. “What was it, Ash?”
“That.” Chipped purple nail polish flicked across the coffee table as she pointed to a piece of paper discarded on the floor.
Mason kept an eye on Ashlyn as he moved to retrieve it. It didn’t take long to figure out what had her so upset.
“Christ.”
Individual letters cut from magazine clippings, like something from an old horror movie, spelled out a macabre poem:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
He’ll die first,
Then it’s me and you.
“Sick. Twisted. Bastard.” The page crumpled in his fist before dropping to the floor.
Too pissed to keep still, Mason paced across the living room. He could feel Ashlyn watching him, but couldn’t bring himself to stop until he noticed the way she’d pulled her feet up onto the couch and wrapped her arms around her knees, making herself as small as possible.
“Hey.” Taking a knee on the floor beside her, he folded her hands in his. “Don’t you let this asshole scare you.”
“He threatened you, Mas.” She blinked hard.
“He’s nothing but a bully and a coward. He can’t hurt anyone. Not me. Not you.” Her fingers tightened around his and he moved one hand to cup her cheek. “I will not let him hurt you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mason
“Mind if I grab a drink?” Mason shut the lid on the barely touched pizza and stacked Ashlyn’s greasy plate on top of his own. Neither of them had had much of an appetite.
“There’s water in the sink,” Ashlyn called over her shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen and Mason had to shut his eyes to keep from rolling them at her.
Turned out she wasn’t being a smartass. The fridge contained zero beverages, but it did have . . . Mason shook his head and crouched to examine the contents more closely. Ketchup, mustard, mayo, sandwich meat, jelly, and a shelf lined entirely with soup cans. The girl kept canned soup in her fridge. Did she even know how to make soup?
The cabinet over the microwave held a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread where her snack supply usually reigned supreme. The change in temperature, change in diet . . . Mason turned, paying closer attention to the stack of mail on the counter. Envelopes stamped with ‘Overdue’ and ‘Final notice’ piled on top of one another.
Opening someone else’s mail was a federal offense, but that didn’t stop him from sliding his finger under the flap of the first envelope and slipping out the folded paper inside. Gas bill, a month overdue. And where her father’s name usually appeared, he read Ashlyn Mills.
“What are you doing?” Ashlyn stood near the sink, hands planted on her hips. She was wearing a hoodie over another shirt and from what he could tell at least two pairs of leggings under her sweats.
Yeah, sure, not that cold at all. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? I said the water’s in the sink, not the mail.”
Any embarrassment he might have felt at being caught snooping was outweighed by concern when he took a closer look and realized her face looked thinner. If she hadn’t been wearing so many clothes, he might have noticed the weight loss sooner.
“Have you been eating?”
Ashlyn folded her arms, creating a barrier between them, and her eyes became shuttered
. Something he’d seen her do around other people plenty of times, but not him. Not for years. “What?”
“Food, Ash.” Irritation spiked. She could try and distance herself as much as she wanted. He wasn’t fooling around about this. “Have you been eating?”
“Of course I’ve been eating.” She dismissed his concern with an exasperated huff which only served to piss him off further.
“Canned soup and sandwiches?”
The shield slipped and Ashlyn’s eyes sparked. “Again . . . the water is in the sink, Mason.”
“Cut the crap, Ash. What’s with the temperature control? Why are your bills piling up?” He stomped on the foot pedal for the garbage can and dumped the paper plates inside. “Why is your trash not overflowing with takeout containers?”
“Wow.” Ashlyn took a step back and if looks could kill . . . “Way to overstay a welcome. Thanks for the pizza. Now get out.”
“No.” Mason widened his stance. She couldn’t forcibly remove him and he wasn’t leaving any other way. Not until he got some answers.
“You can’t say no, this is my house.”
“Watch me.” He paused and then slowly mouthed the word ‘no’.
Thunder cracked and a flash of lightening brightened the kitchen window. The lights flickered. In the living room the TV cut to static, but they both ignored it.
“Mason, get the hell out of my house right now before I—”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No. Christ.” Snapping the page from his fingers she threw it down on the counter. “I’m sure your ego could use a good coating of armor, but I’m not some damsel in distress needing you to ride in to her rescue. I can handle my own shit.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “What shit?”
“Mason,” Ashlyn roared, slamming her hands down on the countertop.
“You want me gone? Then tell me what shit you’ve gotten yourself into.” He wasn’t stubborn by nature, but he’d learned that with Ashlyn sometimes it was the only thing that worked. “I’m not leaving until you do, so you might as well start talking.”
Her outburst seemed to drain the last of her energy. Ashlyn’s shoulder slumped, her chin dropped, and she sighed. She looked flat-out exhausted. Mason’s frustration took a back seat as he closed the distance between them.
“Ash . . .” Her shoulder felt small beneath his hand. “Talk to me.”
She gnawed on her lower lip while he waited patiently.
“My mom called a few weeks ago.” She spoke directly to her fuzzy snowman socks. “She found out I didn’t withdraw from the trial.”
They both knew it was only a matter of time and yet Mason’s heart still sank. “What did she say?”
Ashlyn’s eyes went unfocused and a barrage of emotions played across her face as she undoubtedly relived the conversation. “She . . . she cut me off.”
“Cut you off?”
Her head snapped up. “You think I can afford this place on my own? The mortgage? The bills? I can hardly keep up with the repairs on that stupid car.”
“ . . . Shit.” There really was no other response.
“Yeah.” Her gaze darted around the room as though she was searching for a hidden answer within the walls. When she didn’t find one, she turned to him. “What am I gonna do? I can’t stay here. I can’t go home. I have nowhere else—”
“Hold on.” The wheels in Mason’s head were turning, rooting out potential problems with the most obvious solution. There were a few, but the benefits outweighed them so heavily, it was a no-brainer. “Why don’t I just move in here?”
“I—” She choked on her own words and then gaped at him. “What?”
“It makes sense. You need a roommate to cut expenses and I’ve been saving up to move out only I can’t afford anything on my own.”
“This isn’t some pity party.” She knocked his hand away from her shoulder. “I’m not a goddamn charity case and I sure as hell don’t need your money.”
Frustration swelled. “What part of that sounded like pity or charity? We can help each other out.”
“Right. You just happened to be planning to move out right when my mother decides to cut me off financially. How convenient.”
The girl was impossible. “I’ve been planning to move out ever since I found that threat in my driveway. My parent’s driveway, Ash. That asshole may not have gotten as close to me as he did to you, but he got too damn close to my family. They have nothing to do with this. If something happened . . .” He swallowed the thought. Hard. “I’m not letting them get dragged into this.”
Sharp blue eyes narrowed on his face, searching for any hint of deceit. Mason had nothing to hide.
“You want to move out to keep your parents safe?” It was a question she already knew the answer to.
“Yes. And I’d like to do it sooner than later, but I make about as much as you working at the Pizza Palace and as you’ve already pointed out, it’s not enough to pay for shit.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Her hands flipped over, baring her palms. “You could have stayed here. I have an extra room.”
A single brow crept up Mason’s forehead. “Who’s the charity case now?”
She got that obstinate look in her eye Mason knew all too well. “It’s not the same thing.”
“The hell it’s not. You want to help me, I want to help you. So what’s the problem?”
Ashlyn always got this little line right above her nose whenever she concentrated. It was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen. The tip of her pink tongue darted out, wetting her lower lip. “Let’s do it. You keep your family out of the way, we’ll watch each other’s backs—just in case—and we’ll split the costs fifty-fifty. Deal?”
Mason had to work hard to lock down the triumphant grin threatening to break free. Pressing his lips into a firm line, he nodded. “Deal.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ashlyn
Ashlyn pulled the band from her hair and lifted a piece to sniff. Gross, it smelled like greasy meat. Sighing she scraped at the flaking ketchup stain on her pants. There was no denying that her job sucked. Big time. Long hours, obnoxious customers, slightly creepy boss . . . At some point she was going to have to get her shit together and figure out what came next and it was becoming abundantly clear that that time was fast approaching.
“The things I do for you.” Ashlyn patted the steering wheel and reached for the keys. She had to jiggle them to get them free of the ignition, but it was just one of the many quirks that gave Harrison personality. He was special and no one could tell her otherwise.
Wrapping her coat more tightly around herself, Ashlyn hustled toward the house. The sun was shining, but the temperature had taken yet another dip. It was about time Mother Nature put her foot down and told Old Man Winter to get the hell over it. He’d had his turn. It was supposed to be spring.
She hadn’t even made it to the front steps when the door opened and an enormous, hairy beast came loping towards her. Terror stuck in her throat, eliminating her ability to scream, so she did the only rational thing she could. She ducked and covered, bracing herself for impact.
She waited one breath. Then another. Nothing happened. No bone-jarring collision. No tearing of flesh from bone. No growling, snarling, or howling. Just the booming sound of roaring laughter.
Daring a peek between her elbows, Ashlyn spotted the four-legged fiend sitting a foot away, oversized tail thumping on the frozen ground like a club.
“What.” Her heart hammered away inside her chest as she slowly lowered her arms. “The hell.” Still in a crouch, she scooted away from the animal before standing. “Is that?”
“C’mon, Ash.” Mason leaned against the column at the top of the stairs, arms folded across his chest, not even trying to conceal his grin. “I know it’s been a few years since you’ve seen the inside of a classroom, but most people learn ‘Dog’ in kindergarten.”
; “Mason, I swear to god—”
“It’s a German Shepard.” Taking the stairs two at a time, he strode across the yard toward them. “And he’s not going to hurt you.”
She eyed the dog who had laid down and was pawing at a clump of grass while he sniffed the air. “Care to explain what it’s doing in my yard?”
Mason bent over to scrub the dogs head, making its ears flop around. Dark eyes lifted and she could have sworn the thing actually smiled, but all Ashlyn saw were the razor sharp fangs it had the nerve to call teeth. “He needed a home.”
“Please. For your sake.” And the sake of keeping her free from prison. “Do not tell me this is his home.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you. But you’re smart enough. I’m sure you’ll figure it out in three or four days.”
Fresh out of appropriate wordage, Ashlyn gaped at Mason.
His lips didn’t move, but the crease in his cheek told her he was fighting back a smile. “Don’t tell me you’re not a dog person.”
“Look around my house, Mas. I’m not a plant person. Plastic lifeforms wither and die in my care.” Being responsible for keeping herself alive was more than enough.
“Well, it’s a good thing Fred will be in my care then.”
“Fred?” She stared him dead in the eye. “You named it Fred?”
“Him. I named him Fred.” The attention grubbing mongrel whined and it was clear that not even he appreciated Mason’s choice. “Like Fred Flintstone?”
“Fred Flint—?” She shook her head. “You’ve got problems.”
“What do you think we should call him?”
“Homeless.” The cold was getting under her skin. She turned to move into the house, but Mason blocked her path.
“Ash, look at him.”
The animal watched her with two big, black eyes . . . which may have been more chocolate brown than black. And his ears drooped on either side of his head making him look sad and pathetic . . . and maybe the tiniest bit cute.