by Jamie Canosa
“And the future, I hope.” Dean’s eyes remained glued to his girlfriend as he idly twisted the gold band on his finger.
Not his girlfriend. His wife. They were married, too. Jeez. Polishing off his bottle, Mason set it aside and reminded himself that he was only twenty-two. There was no rush to tie the knot. Sure, Jay was a year younger and if he had to guess, he’d say Dean and Allie were about the same. And Em was only nineteen, for chrissakes, but that wasn’t normal.
Another slow song came on and Ashlyn trotted over to shove Jay back out on the floor to his bride. Greg spun his wife and her laughter filled the room. Beside them, Allie had her hands on her hips and Dean slid off his stool with a laugh.
Mason watched the two younger couples as they danced. It made sense for Em and Jay to marry young. He didn’t know much about Dean and Allie, but from the way he held her—like he wanted to shelter her from everything—Mason assumed their story was just as complicated. When you lived in that kind of world and you find something good, something that makes you happy, it made sense to hang on to it.
Mason didn’t live in their world, he hadn’t experienced the nightmares and hardships they’d had to endure, but that desperation—the desire to protect regardless the cost—that he understood.
Wandering over to where Ashlyn was standing, he took her cup and set it aside. “Water?”
She shrugged. “I’m driving.”
That’s right. Because she was afraid of getting close to him. Well, that ended now. “Dance with me?”
“I . . .” She glanced at her cup sitting on the table and back at him. “I don’t think—”
“Dance with me.” If she wasn’t going to give him the answer he wanted, he wasn’t going to ask.
Taking her hand, he drew her out onto the dancefloor and pulled her into his arms. Christ, she fit so perfectly there. Almost as though she was made for him. The sweet scent of her shampoo tickled his nose and Mason shut his eyes. He missed this. Missed her.
As the song wound down, Sam tapped his fork against the side of his glass and Jay bent to take Em’s mouth. Everyone cheered, Mason included, but something inside felt hollow as Ashlyn pulled free of his embrace.
Chapter Twenty-six
Ashlyn
The orangey glow of sunset lit the windows when Sam, Greg, and Carol said their goodbyes. By the time darkness fell, Allie and Dean were preparing to leave, as well. Em made a valiant effort to help clean up, but Ashlyn all but man-handled the newlyweds out the door right behind their guests, insisting they had ‘better things to do tonight’.
The whole day had gone well and she was glad to see her friends so happy, but the moment they were out of sight she slumped against the bar. Long nights with no sleep were starting to take their toll. A wobbly stool provided questionable support as she kicked off the glittery black heels she loved and loathed in equal measure, ignoring the yuck factor from the way the soles of her feet stuck to the floors in favor of the soothing coolness the hardwood provided.
“Why don’t you get out of here?” Mason paused his sweeping to lean on the broomstick. “The car won’t be here to pick me up for another half hour. I can have all of this done by then.”
Ashlyn’s gaze drifted to the front door. How nice would it be to get home and change into some cozy pajamas and soft socks and crawl into bed? Her longing for a hot shower was so strong she nearly sighed. But no, her stupid conscience insisted it wasn’t fair to leave clean up to Mason alone.
“It’s okay.” Stacking plastic cups precariously on top of paper plates, she moved from one table to the next collecting trash. “I can help.”
“Ashlyn.” A solid grip braceleted her wrist as she reached for a crumpled napkin. “Go home. I got this.”
Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t pull away or knee him in the groin, though both options flashed through her mind. Instead she tipped her head back to look him in the eye. Something she’d been actively avoiding all evening. “Are you sure?”
He sounded sure, and getting out of there—away from him—should have been her first priority. Who cared if he thought she was selfish? She was. But standing there, breathing in his woodsy scent, feeling the heat of his touch sweeping up her arm . . . leaving felt all wrong.
Soft eyes narrowed on her face. “Have you been getting any sleep at all?”
She could ask him the same question. Dark circles and deeper lines were new additions to his appearance. But her guilt already weighed heavily enough. “I’m fine.”
“Ashlyn . . .” Leaning the broom against the table, Mason reached for her face, but before he could make contact and eviscerate whatever sanity she had left she twisted out of his grasp.
“Thank you, Mas.” Stopping to cram her feet into her shoes, she clacked across the floor to the bar where she retrieved her I-pod and purse.
The bitter night air was like a slap in the face and other uncovered body parts. Earlier when the sun had been shining, taking a jacket along had felt like a hassle. Now she was regretting that shortsightedness. Harrison’s heater was questionable on a good day and even then it took at least ten minutes to get cranking. Usually about the time she pulled into her driveway.
“Okay, let’s get out of here.” The overhead light provided a yellowish glow as she rooted through her bag for the keys, but when she turned them in the ignition the car made some godawful grinding noise. “No, no, no. Come on, baby.”
She gave the keys another twist and this time all she got were a series of clicks. And then . . . nothing.
“No!” Her palm slapped the cracked plastic on the steering wheel followed quickly by her forehead. “One thing. Why is it so damn hard for just one thing to go right?”
Why did everything have to be such a mess all the time? Couldn’t anything just be easy? The way her throat swelled told her she was beyond exhausted. It was hardly the first time something like this had happened. It was nothing to cry about.
Popping the hood, Ashlyn climbed back out of the car and propped the creaky thing open. Why? Because that’s what people did when they had car trouble. They opened the hood and stared at what was inside like some magical grease fairy might appear and point out the problem and supply step-by-step ‘for dummies’ instructions on how to easily solve it. No such luck.
Ashlyn didn’t know the difference between motor and a muffler. Every other time this happened she’d just call a tow truck and take a cab home, let someone who knew what they were doing deal with it. But, now, a tow truck and a cab cost money she didn’t have to spare.
Tension crept up Ashlyn’s spine to settle at the back of her neck. Her temples throbbed with every beat of her pulse. Her toes felt like they were being gnawed on by a pair of rabid squirrels, and a film of ice coated her bare skin.
“Stupid, useless, piece of crap . . .” Why hadn’t she sold it for scrap when her mother told her to? Why hadn’t she listened in the first place when her mother had warned her to buy a newer car? Something under warranty? This was what happened when she tried to—
A flash of light swept across the sidewalk and Mason shoved his way outside, carrying two trash bags. When he spotted her standing there, he set them down. “What happened?”
Ashlyn sighed. “It won’t start.”
She shut her eyes and braced for his reaction. No doubt he’d laugh at her or lecture her about needing a more reliable car. Nothing she hadn’t already told herself, but all she could do was stand there and take it. What she wasn’t prepared for was the loud bang of her hood slamming shut.
Ashlyn jumped and her eyes sprang open. “What are you doing?”
An eerie creak spilled into the darkened lot when he yanked her door open and leaned into the car.
“Getting your stuff.” Mason dropped her keys into her bag and handed it over. “The car will be here any minute. You ride home with me and we . . . you can deal with this in the morning.”
Because there was no ‘we’ anymore. And that had been her decision. So then why the h
ell did it cut so deeply?
Slapping a second set of keys into her hand, Mason told her to lock up while he finished tossing out the trash. She tried, but she was shivering so hard she couldn’t get the stupid key in the hole. It just kept stabbing wildly at the gold plated lock.
“You’re cold.” Mason reached over her shoulder to steady her hand.
Ashlyn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s cold out so . . .”
The key slid home, but Mason kept hold of her hand. Ashlyn told herself to let go, that the warmth of his body pressed against her back shouldn’t have felt as good as it did.
“Come here.” Before she had a chance to react, he spun her around and tugged her into his arms.
She collided with his chest, both hands finding their way to his shoulders to steady herself. “What are you doing?”
“Warming you up, ice cube.” His hands rubbed briskly over her frigid arms and fire raced along her skin, melting away the ice.
That was the problem with Mason. He melted the ice. He scaled the walls, drained the moats, dodged the cannons, and shattered her armor. Being with him made her feel vulnerable, defenseless, and strangely safe all at the same time. It was a perplexing and terrifying combination.
“Enough.” Her hands slid down his chest. She knew she should push him away, but she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it again. He made her want things she shouldn’t want. Things she couldn’t have.
“Ash . . .” Mason leaned closer and she struggled to swallow, but her mouth had gone bone-dry. “I can’t—”
Whatever he’d been about to say was cut short when headlights swung across the darkened lot, bathing them both in a harsh glare.
Not one more word was spoken the entire drive home. Ashlyn sat quietly beside Mason with only the occasional pained hiss as she plucked the infinite amount of pins from her hair and dropped them in her purse. She probably looked like Bride of Frankenstein, but her tingling scalp thanked her.
Mason hummed quietly to the song playing on the radio.
When the car pulled to a stop on the street outside her house, Ashlyn slid out as he tipped the driver. What now? Would he want to come in? Finish whatever he had to say? She was too tired for that tonight. But, maybe, if she could make it inside before he—
Ashlyn stumbled to a halt at the end of her driveway.
“What’s wr—” Slowly she dragged her gaze from the shocking scene to find Mason at her side. Even in the pale glow of moonlight she could see the blood drain from his face. “Are those . . . bullet holes?”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Mason
“Holy tailgate, Batman.”
“Are you for real?” Mason’s head was spinning. His truck was shot up and she was quoting ludicrous movie lines?
“I’m sorry,” Ashlyn snipped, cautiously prodding one of the holes riddled in his rear bumper. “Excuse me if I don’t know the appropriate reaction t-to . . . this.”
She was about a decibel short of screeching and her curious fingers began to tremble. Mason cursed himself for being an idiot. She wasn’t trying to be flippant. She was trying to cover the fact that she was scared to death.
“Hey.” Snatching her shaking hands away from his violated vehicle, Mason tugged her into his arms, grateful and a little concerned when she didn’t put up any resistance. “It’s okay.”
He held her tight, feeling the tremors affecting more than just her extremities.
“No, Mason. This is not—not okay.”
Again, idiot. “No, you’re right. It’s not. But we gotta go.”
His gaze tracked down the sidewalk and through the neighbor’s yards, looking for any sign of anything. Their driver for the evening had already left and who knew if his truck would start. Mason wasn’t sure it was a good idea to even try. Admittedly, he didn’t know much about cars or guns, but gas tanks and firepower didn’t sound like a great combination.
A deep growl rolled like thunder through the dark house. Tank barreled into the entryway and immediately lowered his head in apology when he saw who it was he was growling at. Ashlyn dropped to her knees in front of the dog and shocked Mason by throwing her arms around him.
“Tank!” Gripping handfuls of his scruff, she clung to the animal as she buried her face in his thick neck. “You’re okay. It’s okay, boy. Everything’s okay.”
Mason was having a hard time wrapping his head around everything. His truck been shot up. Just his truck. What did that mean? Was this threat meant for him alone? But it had happened here the one night he’d parked in her driveway. Why?
Giving Tank a quick scratch behind the ears, Mason helped Ashlyn to her feet. She moved through the kitchen, hallway, and living room turning on lights, while Mason pulled out his phone to dial the police. Something that was becoming far too common. Tank followed, not content to let his humans out of his sight. When she flipped the switch on the living room wall, her sharp gasp had Mason turning so fast he felt his head spin.
A sickening sense of dread roiled in the pit of his stomach at the sight of a small hole burrowed into the drywall. He searched and spotted a matching hole in the front window. Christ, a stray bullet had found its way inside. What is she’d been home? If something happened to her . . .
Mason found himself standing beside Ashlyn with no memory of getting there. She peered up at him and he pressed his forehead to hers. Closing his eyes, he breathed her in. Warm vanilla. Ashlyn was going to withdraw from the trial. He’d been the one to convince her not to. And now there were bullets being fired at her home.
“I’m sorry. I never should have—”
The silent press of her soft lips against his was as unexpected as her quiet sigh that sent fire racing through his veins. Mason slid his arms around her back, teasing her lips with soft sucks and gentle nibbles, never asking from anything more. Fear and her need for comfort had overrun her pride for a few minutes, but he felt her senses return in the way her body stiffened.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . . I shouldn’t . . .” She struggled to free herself, but Mason wasn’t letting her go. Not this time. They’d taken a step forward, finally, and it had taken bullets to get them there. No way in hell was he letting her reclaim that distance now.
“Stop.” His firm command had her freezing in place. “Enough, Ash. You can’t keep pushing everyone away.”
“I’m not—”
“I get that it feels safer back there, behind those walls of yours, but sometimes . . .” He nestled closer, tucking away a wild curl. “Sometimes it’s safer with a little backup.”
Ashlyn stared up at him, looking more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. She was open, wide open, and right in front of him. Somehow it broke his heart and mended it at the same time.
“I . . .” Her lips pressed together and she drew a quick breath. “I’m scared.”
“I know you are.” Mason’s heart thundered inside his chest. “I am, too. You’re afraid to let me in. And I’m terrified that you won’t.”
Tears pricked her eyes and one slid down her cheek. Mason caught it with his thumb. He could see her struggling, her instincts telling her to run and hide, to protect herself. Her desires telling her something entirely different. She didn’t want to be alone anymore, but trust was something she was altogether unfamiliar with. She didn’t even trust herself.
***
The room smelled like lemon and fabric softener. All it had taken was a couple phone calls while the police went about their business and now Ashlyn and Mason stood in a suite at The Sanctum, an upscale, pricey hotel where his parents held a majority of their business functions.
“It’s nice.” Ashlyn had changed into leggings, a baggy sweater, and a pair of sneakers back at the house before packing the rolling bag sitting just inside the door. “Your parents didn’t have to—”
“They wanted to. Drop it.” The room was being charged to a corporate card as per his father’s instructions. Mason knew it couldn’t last forever, but he had eve
ry intention of keeping her away from that house for as long as possible.
“Well . . .” She tugged at the cable knitting of her sweater. “. . . thank them for me.”
“I will.”
Mason examined the room. To the left of the door was a galley-style kitchen with dark granite countertops and built in appliances. A microwave and a coffee pot sat on a free standing island. All the Ashlyn essentials. Straight ahead was a sitting area with a small sofa, arm chair and flat screen television.
A glass sliding door behind the couch drew Ashlyn deeper into the room past the separate doorway that led to the bedroom with the king-sized bed. The balcony was barely visible, but her gaze centered on the city lights glistening in the distance.
She pressed her hand to the cool glass. “Beautiful.”
Mason agreed, but it wasn’t the lights he was looking at. “Why don’t you sit? Relax. It’s been a long night.”
Trailing her fingers across the back, Ashlyn rounded the couch and sank into the cushions. They seemed to swallow her up.
“Okay.” Mason frowned. She was safe on the fifteenth floor. The hotel had a doorman, security, surveillance cameras, keycards . . . No one could reach her here. Still, leaving her felt like peeling away his own skin. “I guess I should—”
“Wait.” Small fingers curled around his wrist.
“What is it?” Dark lashes lifted, revealing crystalline blue eyes that had the ability to take his breath away every damn time, but not even her fancy makeup could cover the turmoil brewing in them. “What do you want, Ash?”
“I . . .” Voices in the hallway drew her attention to the door. A small child squealed with delight and a man’s laughter boomed. Ashlyn sighed. “I don’t know.”
Mason called bullshit.
“I think you do.” She just didn’t know how to ask for it.
Black nails stood in stark contrast to her pale skin as she dragged a hand down her face. “I don’t know if it’s right to want what I want. If it’s fair. To you.”