by Jamie Canosa
“Okay.” Ashlyn wasn’t really grasping the problem. Who cared where they held the trial? A blind man could see he was guilty.
Mary Lou sighed. “The justice system isn’t cheap, Ashlyn. Trials cost money. Jailing someone . . . Who do you think pays for all of that? I agree that the man’s actions were reprehensible, but most occurred a very long time ago. The statute of limitations has already expired on some of it.”
“I thought that once the charges were filed, the statute didn’t apply anymore.”
“It doesn’t. But the defense is arguing that he’s a changed man. That he’s gotten help and reformed himself and shouldn’t be punished now for crimes from another lifetime.”
“That’s bullshit. He just came after Jay and Em—”
“Which is why your testimony is so important to this case. It blows their defense away. But it won’t do us any good if it doesn’t get heard.”
Ashlyn rubbed her forehead, attempting to keep up. “Why wouldn’t it get heard?”
“If your mother keeps speaking out about the case and the defense wins their petition, it could cause significant delays to the trial. That’s a cost that the state can’t afford to pay. They’ll be much more inclined to consider a plea deal.”
“What kind of deal?” Her stomach clenched as the floor wavered beneath her feet.
“Given how long ago the majority of the charges took place . . . there’s a reasonable chance that he could get off with no jail time.”
Pain radiated up Ashlyn’s arms from where her elbows collided with the countertop.
“You see why it’s important you speak with your mother about this as soon as possible?” The D.A.’s voice grew distant and tinny.
“She . . .” Deep breaths did nothing to help when there was no oxygen left in the room. “She won’t listen to me. Can’t you—”
“I’ve attempted to speak with her on multiple occasions. She never returns my calls. You’re the only one who can reach her.”
Crap. Not good. How the hell was she supposed to fix this?
“Do you understand how important this is?”
Ashlyn’s entire body rocked with impatience, but her fingers curled around the edge of the counter, anchoring her.
“Miss Mills? Are you—?”
“Yes.” Stop talking. Just stop talking. “I understand.”
“Very well.”
The line went dead and the phone dropped to the floor. Tank sniffed at it and let out a high-pitched whine. His ears flopped as he cocked his head at her. On the outside she must have looked ridiculous, hunched over, clinging to a counter when there was nothing physically wrong with her. But inside . . . she was swept up in a battlefield, fighting hard to deny what her subconscious insisted she needed. Fear, guilt, regret were building up. She felt like a balloon being pumped too full. If she couldn’t release some of the pressure . . . she’d pop.
The sound of the front door opening and closing was nearly drowned out by the harsh breaths sawing in and out of her lungs.
“Shit.” Keys hit the counter and then two thick arms wrapped around her waist from behind. “I’m here. I got you.”
Ashlyn pried her aching fingers from the countertop and latched onto Mason’s arms. He’d hold her together. She had to believe that.
“Talk to me, Ash.” Warm breath brushed the side of her neck. “What’s going on?”
“I c-can’t.” She couldn’t go there. She was trying very, very hard not to go there. Because she knew exactly where going there would lead her. Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach and she shook with the force of will it cost her to simply stand still.
“Okay. Come here.” Ashlyn’s feet stumbled over each other as Mason turned her around and gathered her close.
She laid her head against his chest and let the fresh scents of spring rain fabric softener and the woodsy scent that was all Mason sooth her.
“Look at me.” He nudged her chin upward. “Pretty girl, eyes up here.”
They connected with his and for one moment she found steady ground.
“There she is.” Long fingers brushed her hair back over her shoulder and cupped her cheek. Warmth soaked into her skin from the palm of his hand. “You with me?”
Ashlyn nodded. For the moment the battle had stilled. “Yeah. I’m with you.”
“Good.” His thumb stroked over her temple. “That’s good. Now tell me what happened.”
“The D.A. called . . .” She leaned into him, letting his strength support her as she explained what was happening and what she needed to do next. “She wants me to call my mom. Get her to stop making statements about the case.”
“Okay.” Mason took her by the upper arms, making certain that she was steady on her own two feet before crouching to retrieve her phone. Tank head-butted him in the shoulder and he paused to rub the dog’s head before gently wrapping her fingers around the device. “Then you call.”
Ashlyn felt the room begin to tilt. “I don’t think—”
“Who’s in this room?”
“Wh—“ Her attention snapped away from the phone to gape at Mason. “What?”
“This room, right here, Ash. Who’s in it?”
Obviously he knew the answer to that question, but she couldn’t figure out why he’d asked it so she played along. “You and me. And Tank.”
“Right this moment, who can reach out and touch you in any way?”
“You or Tank?” It wasn’t a question, but once again she found herself at a loss.
“That’s right. And do you think either me or Tank would ever hurt you?”
“Mason, where is this going?”
“Answer me.” Mason stood before her, looking like a force to be reckoned with. Solid, steady, immovable. Unavoidable. “Would anyone in this room ever hurt you?”
Ashlyn eyed the dog and sighed. “No.”
“Right again.” He stepped closer, his hand wrapping around the nape of her neck to hold her attention. “You’re in no danger. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just us . . . and a phone call.”
“But she’s not going to listen—”
“You won’t know that until you try. Dial.”
Safe. She was safe. No danger. Just her mother’s wrath. And the probability of failure. And the consequences of such a failure. And—
Before she could psych herself out again, Ashlyn scrolled through her missed calls and tapped her mother’s name. Mason’s gaze bored into hers at it rang and Mark’s voice reached her from the other end of the line.
“Ashlyn? Your mother’s busy. If you can call back—”
“I need to speak with her. Now.” Before she lost her nerve. People didn’t tell Meredith Mills what to do. Not unless they were Mark Gregory, one of the nation’s leading campaign managers. Even then it was met with about a fifty percent success rate.
“Hold on.”
Mason’s eyes tightened slightly at the corners.
“Ashlyn? I’m dealing with a situation right now. Preston Harding has been in a horrific accident. They’re saying he’s lucky to be alive. The senator is beside himself. Impossible to reach. I may have just lost my chance at earning his support. What could possibly be so important that you had to—”
“You have to stop commenting on the trial.”
Preston was hurt? The thought that he deserved it felt cold even for her.
“What?” The senator’s tone could have cut through solid steel.
“The D.A. called and she said—”
“The D.A. is a nosey—”
“She said your statements are endangering the trial. The defense wants—”
“The defense wants . . . The D.A. wants . . . The only thing you don’t seem to care about is what your mother wants. I asked you to remove yourself from this media circus, but you refused. I warned you that your involvement would cause problems. All anyone wants to hear about anymore is this damn trial. No one’s paying attention to my platform. No one cares that the crime rate is down fo
r the first time in decades, or that I’ve had a hand in creating more new jobs than this state has seen in the past twenty years. It’s all you, you, you. The reporters ask the questions, Ashlyn. What am I supposed to do, ignore them?”
“No.” Her gaze dropped to Mason’s chest and his hand closed around her elbow. “I just—”
“You dug this hole, Ashlyn. I’m just trying to climb out of it. Whatever happens . . . that’s on you. I can’t always be responsible for cleaning up your messes.”
The words echoed in her mind.
Mason caught her chin and tipped it upward. Her eyes riveted to his lips as they formed the words, “Can’t. Hurt. You.”
But he was wrong. Words could hurt. They cut deep and festered. They infected your soul and tore open old wounds.
The road blurred and swayed. Screeching tires. The acrid scent of burning rubber. The world dropped away and a steel cage enclosed around her. Screaming . . . Crying . . . The salty sweet mix of blood and tears.
“Ash!” A rough shake jolted her back to the present.
“M-mason?” The phone was gone and he was barely holding her up.
She wasn’t going to do it. Her mother wasn’t going to stop. And how could Ashlyn blame her? She’d created this mess. She’d dug the hole. If the defense won their petition, if the trial got delayed . . . who would end up buried at the bottom of it? Jay? Em? Mason?
“Are you okay?” He held her at arm’s length. “You went catatonic.”
“Get off.” The pressure was too much. Her skin too tight. She could feel it boiling inside. Too much in too little space. Explosion was imminent.
Ashlyn wrenched herself free and raced for the hallway, but Mason cut her off.
Chapter Nineteen
Mason
“Get out of my way, Mason.”
“No.” He could see it happening. He could see her unraveling right before his eyes. That thread of control she clung so tightly to, slipping away. “You don’t have to—”
“Move.” The shove was so unexpected that he stumbled over backwards.
The backs of his legs slammed into Tank and down he went in a tangled heap with the furry body. Tank yipped and Mason scrambled to free himself, but it was already too late. A veil of blonde hair whipped behind the bathroom door just as it slammed shut.
“Ash, don’t!” Shoving the dog off his leg, Mason jumped to his feet.
The sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor beat him to the doorknob. It turned when he grabbed it, but the door refused to budge. No. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was standing right there. How could he let this happen?
“Ashlyn, please. I’m here, Ash!” His fist pounded uselessly against the solid wood. “We can figure this out. You don’t have to do this!”
The sound of her sobs in between bouts of gagging made him physically ill.
“Ashlyn, you don’t have to—” Too late. His knees turned to jelly and he sank to the floor. “Ash . . .”
Leaning against the door for support, he let his head drop to the hard surface and waited. The gagging stopped, but her sobs continued. Muffled like she was trying to hide them. Trying to hide from him. He was losing her. Something inside of him withered and Mason shut his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He’d failed. Again someone he cared about had needed him and he’d failed.
Tank head-butted his shoulder and Mason pushed him away.
“Please . . .” He tried to imagine reaching through the barriers that stood between them, both physical and emotional, and touching her. Really touching her. “Say something.”
Sobs gave way to harsh breaths and he could imagine her struggling to lock it all away. “Go away, Mason.”
“No.” This couldn’t be the end of it. It wasn’t. It was just a setback. Something they could work through. Together. It couldn’t end this way. “You have to let it out, Ash. You can’t keep bottling everything up. That’s why this happens.” His aching knees forced him to shift into a squat. She didn’t answer—didn’t make a sound—but it was quiet in there, so he knew she could hear him. So, he kept talking. “You’re upset. You have every right to be upset. Everyone gets upset. Cry about it. You’re angry. Scream about it. You’re afraid . . . let me hold you.”
Mason swallowed hard, shaking with how badly he needed her in his arms.
“Relying on someone else doesn’t have to mean giving up control. It’s not about control. It’s about trust.” Tightness threatened to crush his chest. “Trust me. Please.”
Chapter Twenty
Ashlyn
“Trust me.” Mason’s voice was quiet, but she could tell he was close. Probably right on the other side of the door. “Please.”
Christ, she was a horrible human being. Mason had already been through too much bullshit with messed up friends. He was a good guy. A white knight in shining armor who wanted to go around saving everyone. But, the truth was, some people were just too broken to fix.
He already shouldered the guilt of what happened to his friend in high school. He’d carry this, too. The weight of her failures. How much more could he take before it broke him?
“You have to go.” Ashlyn’s heart ached. She couldn’t save herself. She wanted to. She wanted to let Mason come in and make everything better. Make her normal again. But it didn’t work that way. She wasn’t strong enough. For either of them. Weakness infused her bones, making even her head too heavy to hold up.
Rustling sounded outside the door. “I’m not going to leave you.”
A soft thud sounded and she pictured him leaning on the door. Her fingers strained upward, moving soundlessly to press against the wood on her side. All she could do now was make sure she didn’t drag him down with her. “Get out.”
“Ash . . .”
Ashlyn pressed her head back against the wall beside the sink hard enough that her skull ached.
“Get out!” Her throat burned as badly as her eyes. “Get out right now. Go!”
She was a curse. A plague on everyone she touched. Her family. Her friends. They all suffered just for knowing her. Ashlyn thrashed, self-hatred burning a hole through her chest. Why did she have to be this way? Why couldn’t she ever do anything right?
“Get away from me! Get out!”
A ceramic soap dispenser smashed against the side of the tub leaving tiny green shards all over the bathmat.
“Okay. Alright.” More rustling. Mason sounded worried and that only made her feel worse. He shouldn’t worry. He shouldn’t care about her at all. No one should. “I’ll get out of your way. I’ll give you space if that’s what you need, but—”
“Get out of my house.”
The rustling stopped. “What?”
“You heard me. Get out.” The words clogged her throat, causing an unbearable ache. It hurt just to speak them. “And don’t come back.”
“Ashlyn, don’t do this. Don’t push me—”
“You have five minutes to get your shit and get out. Or I’ll call the police.” Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes hard enough to make them ache held the tears in check.
“Ashlyn . . .”
“No rental agreement.” Her voice sounded flat . . . broken. Just like her. “You’re trespassing.”
He got up without a word and she heard him move into his room. Minutes later the front door opened and closed. The weight of what she’d done settled over her like a cold, wet blanket. It suffocated.
She sat there for a long time. Until the light from the small window over the toilet faded away to darkness. Still she sat. Something about getting up, moving on . . . it all felt like too much. Maybe she could just sit there forever and never move again. Never think. Never feel. That didn’t sound so terrible.
It was the sound of whining that finally forced her to her feet and gave her the strength to slide the linen cabinet away from the door. Tank lay at the end of the hall, staring at the front door.
“You hungry?” Ashlyn shuffled into the kitchen w
ith one goal in mind: feed the dog. If she took the rest of her life that way—one thing at a time—she might just make it through.
The clatter of kibble filling the metal bowl couldn’t draw Tank’s attention from the door. Sad eyes watched diligently and he whimpered; a sad, pathetic sound that pissed Ashlyn off.
“Get over it.” She dropped the bowl to the floor with a loud crash. “He’s gone and he’s not coming back.”
Grief welled so fast she choked on it.
“He’s gone.” No amount of will power could stop the tears from falling. They spilled down her cheeks in scorching paths and she dropped to her knees beside the dog bowl. “He’s n-not coming . . . b-back.”
A heavy body leaned against her and she folded into herself, forehead to knees, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, trying desperately to hold herself together. A cold nose prodded the side of her face a few times before she heard crunching.
Not alone. She wasn’t alone. Mason may have left, but he hadn’t left her alone.
Straightening, she looked at the dog with tears in her eyes. Tank stopped eating and came to her.
“I’m sorry.” She stroked a hand down his thick neck. “It’s my fault he left. You lost him, too, and . . . it’s my fault.”
In a moment of pure weakness—or maybe it was insanity—she threw her arms around the giant beast’s neck and buried her face in his scruff. Ashlyn shook from head to toe, but Tank didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t whine or complain that she was keeping him from his dinner. He didn’t blame her for sending Mason away. Didn’t abandon her. He just sat there and let her cling to him for as long as she needed. No one had ever done that for her before. But maybe that was her fault. Maybe she’d never trusted anyone enough to give them the chance.
Chapter Twenty-one
Mason
The roads were abandoned, but that made sense seeing as the clock on the dashboard read 1:47AM. Mason rolled down Main Street and turned right onto Ashlyn’s block. He’d tried to stay away—give her the space he promised—but he couldn’t do it. Not when there was some faceless threat out there. He’d tossed and turned for hours before getting out of bed at his parent’s house, pulling on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, and hopping in his truck. If he wasn’t going to sleep, anyway, at least he could make himself useful.