by Ophelia Bell
The transformation on Mason’s face is almost instantaneous. He swings his fist at Barnaby’s face.
30
Mason
Something comes over me at hearing the bastard’s name. All I’m aware of is the driving need to protect, and the frustration over not being able to do what I need to for two of the most important people in my life: my mother and my daughter. I can’t help the two of them right now, but I can do something for Callie.
The fact that he physically comes between us triggers me even more than hearing his name. Before I know it, I’m on him, barely aware of the pain lancing through my already bruised fist when it connects with his face.
“You don’t deserve her, you lying, cheating piece of shit. You don’t even have the right to speak her name,” I say as I grab him, spin him around, and press his white-coated, arrogant face against a wall. There’s a shriek of alarm from a nearby nurse, and it takes several tries before Callie’s voice yelling my name finally sinks in.
“Jesus, Mason! Let him go!”
I blink and shake my head, coming to my senses just long enough to slacken my grip. Barnaby spins on me and pushes me hard enough that I lose my balance, thrown off-kilter by the realization that I’ve been that guy in front of Callie yet again. A brutal, violent beast who isn’t worthy of the love of a woman like her. That’s twice in one day that I’ve channeled my dad, that I’ve used my fists to draw blood.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Call security!” Barnaby yells shrilly, swiping a finger beneath his bloody nose and staring at the streak of red before lunging at me again. “You broke my fucking nose, you son of a bitch!”
The shame is so acute I don’t even fight when he shoves with all his strength, and my back slams hard into a cart filled with medical supplies parked against the wall. I grimace at the spike of pain that shoots through my upper torso and falter, just barely reacting in time to dodge the clumsy punch he swings at me.
Fucking hell, what was I thinking?
Callie darts in and grabs his sleeve, blurting repeated objections as he tries to take another swing. He’s a wiry ginger with a short beard, and I dimly wonder whether it was the beard she liked all along, because he’s kind of a wimpy fuck.
She manages to grab hold of his wrist before he can land a real punch and he whirls, flinging his arm out as he moves. The back of his hand connects with Callie’s jaw and she reels, stunned.
I don’t give a shit that he looks surprised, or even a little bit sorry for accidentally striking her. I dive for him again and tackle him to the floor with a roar. I’d love to pound his face into a pulp, but her voice echoes inside my head, so I manage to rein in my rage just enough for her sake. Instead I press my forearm to his throat as I bend down close and growl my warning right into his ear.
“You don’t deserve to kiss the goddamn soles of her shoes, asshole.”
He only blinks up at me in utter shock and doesn’t move until I stand, at which point he crab walks away before scrambling to his feet and darting toward the exit.
Just as he reaches the doors, two uniformed security guards enter. Seeing them, Barnaby finds the courage to look pissed for the first time and crosses his arms. “Get him the fuck out of here,” he demands.
Both security guards eye him, then look at Callie, who is still cradling her bruised cheek. Fresh rage threatens to bubble up at the blood smeared at one corner of her mouth. “Is everything okay, ma’am?” one asks as the other narrows his eyes at me and sizes me up suspiciously.
“I’m fine,” Callie says.
“He attacked me unprovoked!” Barnaby insists, pointing at me. To my surprise, Callie’s the one who answers.
“Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing and why, Barnaby. You know you deserved it.”
Barnaby’s eyes widen in shock. “I deserved it? You were the one who just got caught cheating on me with that asshole!”
I clench my fists so hard my knuckles crack and take a step forward, ready to go through the two burly guards to get to the motherfucker. Callie closes the distance before I can move, jabbing her index finger at him.
“You are the cheater, and you know it. Who the fuck were you meeting in Aspen last week, Barnaby? Huh? I broke up with you when I found out, or were you too dense to grasp what ‘it’s over’ means?”
“Your objections to our arrangement don’t carry a lot of weight when I catch you with another man.”
“Oh my god!” Callie exclaims. “Will you listen to yourself? We never had an arrangement! You cheated. I dumped you. End of fucking story. Or did you assume that just because I was a thousand miles away that gave you the freedom to fuck around?”
She waves her hand at him and looks at one of the guards, who still seems undecided about how to proceed. “Go ahead. Ask him if he was fucking someone else while engaged to me.”
The guard she spoke to crosses his arms and lifts an eyebrow at Barnaby. The other one purses his lips, clearly not as interested in drawing out the scene any longer.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. The two of you are being disruptive, and we have patients to consider. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He turns to Barnaby. “You too, Dr. Chapman. If you have business on this floor, perhaps come back a little later.”
Barnaby directs a glare at Callie. “I want the ring back.”
“You want what?” she asks.
“The engagement ring I gave you. I want it back.”
I nearly laugh, recalling the cheap little object I came across in her purse. Callie just huffs and turns, stomping back to Wyatt’s room while I stare down the three men. She returns a second later and shoves my coat at me, then fishes into her purse and flings something at Barnaby. The shining silver object smacks against his bloody chin before pinging onto the floor.
“There’s your fucking ring, asshole.”
Then she turns and heads the other direction toward the exit sign over one of the stairwells. I follow a second later, giving an apologetic shrug to Nina and Booth through the door of his room as I pass by. Both of them wave, though it’s clear they’re more amused by the drama than disappointed in our departure.
When I catch up to Callie, she’s almost at the ground floor and barely acknowledges me as she pushes through the door out into the chilly winter evening. She stalks to a bench near the hospital entrance and parks herself there, staring down at her phone, breath coming out in little white puffs.
“That was pretty epic,” I say, huddling into my coat with my hands stuffed into my pockets. When she just scowls at me, I reevaluate the mood, then replay the entire scenario and conclude that celebration is probably not in order.
My own behavior catches up to me again after the rush of victory over seeing her stand up for herself against her asshole ex, and I sigh as I sit down beside her. “I’m really sorry about that. Not sorry for wanting to punch the bastard, but sorry I actually did.”
She doesn’t respond, and the longer the silence between us stretches, the worse I feel.
Our ride arrives and we climb into the back seat without a word. I can’t even look at her, I’m so goddamn ashamed of myself, and it’s no wonder she’s refusing to look at me, much less speak to me.
When we reach her apartment door and she steps inside, I pause at the threshold. Hands braced on either side of the doorjamb, I stare in after her, anguish climbing its way up my chest with razor sharp claws.
“I should just get my things and go back to the hotel.”
She’s hanging up her coat when she turns to me, eyes wide with surprise. The look is confusing because for the last twenty minutes, I’ve been ninety percent certain she hates me for turning into a violent asshole.
“Why? It’s my last night in Denver.” Her voice is tremulous, and I want to go to her, but don’t dare reach out and touch her. Instead I just stand with my fingers digging into the frame of the door, wishing I’d done things differently.
“Because I ruined things by punching your ex.”
> “Mason, no. Oh god, no, you didn’t ruin things. You just frightened me, that’s all. Do you have any idea how scary you get when you’re mad?”
I feel sick, and a chill washes over me as the blood drains from my face. I swallow, then dip my head and nod. “Yeah, actually. I have a pretty good idea. I am my father’s son.”
It’s not difficult to picture Dad at his worst and remember how my brothers and I used to shit our pants in fear of him winding up in that state around us. But I don’t know how to explain to Callie that my worst fear is becoming that man when it’s already clear that it’s already happened.
Her expression softens, and she reaches out and takes my hand, tugging me inside. She closes the door behind me, but I remain statue-stiff, afraid of my own reactions and hating myself for every urge I have to reach out and touch her.
“Talk to me,” she says, unbuttoning my coat and helping me out of it like I’m a child. She stands there, looking into my eyes and holding my hands until I can’t take it any longer.
I clench my eyes shut and shake my head. “I wanted to see that bastard suffer for what he did to you. It was all I could do to hold back.”
“But you did, didn’t you? You did hold back. I could tell.”
“Not enough. I made him bleed, Callie. Why the fuck did you let me come home with you after that? I’m dangerous. I’m a fucking monster.” I hold a hand up, thumb and index finger poised with a small gap between them. “Did you know I came this close to committing murder just before leaving LA? How the fuck do I deserve to be a father after that? How do I deserve you any more than the son of a bitch you dumped?”
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “First, it’s my decision who does or doesn’t deserve my attention. I chose you, in case it’s escaped your notice. And so far, you haven’t done anything less than I’d expect of a red-blooded man who deeply, passionately cares about people. You protected me earlier today when men started shooting at us in the park. Did you consider that maybe your reaction to Barnaby was a holdover from that confrontation?”
“Does it fucking matter?” I bark. “How long until I lose my shit even worse? What if I do it to you? Or to Zoe? How fucking crazy do you have to be to stick around?”
Her eyes flash with anger and she takes a step back. “No. You do not get to blame me for falling in love with you. And you don’t get to blame your mother for staying with your asshole of a father, either. You are not him, Mason. It’s as clear as day to me and I wish you could see it, because it breaks my heart that you would even compare yourself to him.”
Her voice starts to shake and a single tear breaks free and trickles down along the side of her nose. Inside my chest, something cracks, but I can’t just let it go.
“You don’t know me, Callie. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“I know you’re capable of caring about the women in your life more than most men. Enough to risk your life. Was it your dad you almost killed?” When I don’t answer, she nods. “It was, wasn’t it? But I also have a feeling you knew how to do it, that it’s something you’re trained for, isn’t it? Yet you didn’t follow through despite that training and despite knowing full well the relief his absence would cause so many people. I, for one, would not mourn that man’s death.”
I shake my head and look away, spy the bottle of whiskey resting on the kitchen island, and frown at the urge to drink, something my dad fell back on far too often when things didn’t go his way.
“I should’ve fucking died that day. Everything would be different. Rafael and Emilia would be alive. You wouldn’t be risking your life by being with me. Zoe wouldn’t even exist . . .” My voice cracks, and I can’t conceal the regret I feel over speaking it. How can I regret my own existence, but not hers?
“Mason . . .” She closes the distance between us again, but I don’t meet her eyes until she places a gentle hand against my cheek and forces me to turn my head. Her pale blue eyes are anguished but knowing as she meets my gaze.
“As far as I’m concerned, J.J. Santos died three years ago. You are not him. You’re a man who deserves love, not in spite of who he is, but because of who he is. A protector, a brother, a father. Don’t let what happened today influence your opinion of yourself. If you keep doing that, I’m going to get insulted.”
I give her an incredulous look. “Why?”
“Because I have decided that I want more with you. So if you continue to claim you’re worthless, then that calls my own choices into question, and we all know I make perfect choices.”
Her self-righteous tone makes me snort. “You realize this isn’t helping make your case.”
“No? Well, maybe I’ve learned from past mistakes. You went as far as becoming a different man to atone for yours, so I’ll let you weigh the two against each other to decide who’s willing to go to greater lengths to avoid repeating history.”
She’s so earnest I can’t help but give in. I’m overcome with tenderness and affection, and I step close, cupping her jaw with both hands as I stare into her eyes.
“I never want to give you a reason to be scared of me. I need to know I can manage that anger. If I can’t, then I can’t trust myself around my daughter.”
“I believe you can. But if you’re that worried, then there are ways you can overcome it. You can get help.”
I heave a breath and nod because I know she’s right, and when she closes the distance and slips her arms around me, I feel like everything is right.
“God, I never fucking want to let go of you,” I murmur into her ear.
“Then don’t.”
31
Mason
I hold her as tight as I dare through the kiss, then lift her into my arms and carry her up the stairs. She combs her fingers through my hair, trailing them down the sides of my neck and staring into my eyes the entire way.
I didn’t miss the little thing she let slip during her impassioned speech, but I’m afraid of drawing attention to it, afraid she’ll deny she said it. But the words echo inside my head all the way to her bedroom until I can’t stand it anymore. When I lay her down on the bed and she moves to start stripping my shirt off, I stop her with a hand around her wrist.
“Callie, I need to say one more thing first, because I have no idea what happens after tonight.”
She withdraws her hand and leans back on her elbows, staring up at me with those big blue eyes and a half smile curving her mouth. “I’m listening.”
It’s impossible to keep my voice from cracking. My chest feels like it’s coming open with the confession, that my heart is being bared to her entirely. “I’m in love with you too. I think I have been this entire weekend. This isn’t something I admit to easily, but I needed you to know I felt the same . . .”
She surges up and flings her arms around me, kissing me so fast and hard I lose my breath.
I curl my arms around her with a groan, sinking into the kiss and easing her back down to the bed. My bruised torso protests the strain, an uncomfortable twinge spiking through me from one of the myriad minor injuries I’ve sustained today, but her fingers are back at the hem of my pullover, sliding beneath to my belly, and I no longer care about anything but being naked with her.
She pushes my shirt over my head, and I peel it the rest of the way off, then take my time with her. I hold her gaze in between removing each garment, trailing slow kisses over each section of skin revealed. I don’t take off my pants until she’s fully naked, staring up at me with wide, adoring eyes and parted lips. I’m already half-hard and stroke myself to full-mast before settling between her legs again.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” I murmur, sliding both hands down her soft belly, then parting her folds and stroking two fingers through her wet heat.
“Mason, I need you,” she says, reaching for me. I lower myself over her, supporting my body on one hand while I guide myself into her depths. She lets out a sigh of pure pleasure and wraps her arms and legs around me, tilting her hips up to
meet the first slow thrust. The tight friction sends a rush straight to my head, and I savor it, desperate to hold onto this feeling for as long as possible.
I brush my lips over her bicep, drifting my mouth across her collarbone, then her jaw before finding her lips. I draw the kiss out, enjoying the slide of her lithe legs across my hips and the way her heels dig into my ass, urging me with a slow rhythm as we fuck.
When I pull back to look into her eyes, they’re glassy and she’s smiling. She raises a hand to brush fingers over my cheek, her nails rasping against my stubble.
“God, I never knew it could be this good,” she breathes.
I smile back. “So good. Fuck, I’m going to miss you.”
She curls her fingers at my nape, pulling me down until our foreheads are pressed together. With a pained look, she shakes her head. “Don’t think about it now. Just make love to me.”
“My pleasure.”
I ignore another twinge in my back as I lower myself and twist my hips in a way that makes her moan my name right into my ear. The sound drives me onward until her cries get louder.
She’s still far more subdued than usual. We both are, and I think—no, I know—it’s because neither of us knows whether this will be the last time for us, or if we’ll get another chance.
My legs start to quiver from the strain, which is odd, but it’s been a long, harrowing day. I curl my arms beneath her back and roll, enjoying the small gasp of surprise that fades into another moan of pleasure when she sinks down onto me.
She takes over, back arching as she rides my cock and I gaze up at her, enraptured. It’s fully dark but the lights that illuminate the snowy park outside cast her in a silver glow, her fair skin luminescent and her light hair a pale cascade around her shoulders.
“You’re a fucking goddess, you know that?”
She bites her lip and rocks her hips a little faster. I attempt to bend my knees and brace my heels for better leverage, but lack the energy, so I just enjoy the view instead. I lazily slip my hand between her legs to feel where we’re joined and tease around her stretched opening and up to where her swollen bud protrudes, just begging for attention. I press my thumb against it and stroke in gentle circles, my focus sharpening when her mouth falls open and she moans.
