by Jamie Canosa
There was a pause—a moment of debilitating hope—where all she could hear was her own panicked pulse before he said, “I’m sorry, too.”
“No!” Mason jerked forward and slammed to a stop when the barrel of the gun pressed to her temple. “You don’t want to do this. You care about her. I know you do. You don’t want to hurt her.”
Cold steel slid across her cheek as Roger used the gun to brush away a stray lock of hair in an almost tender gesture. His eyes turned soft and for one moment she thought they’d reached him—the boy she knew, the one she remembered—but then his voice was just as soft when he said, “You’ve left me no other choice.”
The click of the hammer being cocked snapped Ashlyn’s brain into gear. Mason’s eyes went wild, his chest laboring under every shallow breath, his rigid body straining against an unseen barrier. The icy kiss of cold steel left her skin and Ashlyn brought her leg up, mule-kicking Roger in the crotch.
A roar filled the room as he righted the gun and took aim at Mason.
Ashlyn didn’t think. She didn’t stop to make a decision. Didn’t consider the consequences of her actions. She dove.
***
Her thoughts slowed to a crawl, oozing through her aching skull. Lights suddenly seemed too bright. Sounds too loud. Voices. There were voices. Someone shouting her name. He sounded like he was screaming directly into her brain and yet far away at the same time. Did that make sense? No. Nothing made sense. The gun was lying on the floor. So was Roger, blood flowing from his nose and a gash in his left cheek. Jay stood over him, shaking out his hand. Where the hell had Jay come from? Was she hallucinating? Because there was a lot better things to hallucinate than her best friend’s husband. She could think of a few right off the top of her head. Which felt like it had been lit on fire.
“Ashlyn?” That annoying voice was back. Hands tugging at her clothes. “Ashlyn.” They gripped her arms and the room spun as she was rolled onto her back. “Ash, are you okay? Look at me. Are you hurt?”
Mason’s worried face blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again. Ashlyn shook her head and flames raced over her scalp, but at least her vision cleared. Her thoughts sped up.
“I’m okay.” They were sprawled together on the floor, a tangle of bodies and limbs. A quick mental inventory double-checked her claim. Besides the pain in her head and a dull ache where her hip hit the floor she seemed to be fine. “Are you?”
Mason didn’t answer. He just stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Are you crazy? You could have died! You stupid,” tears rushed into his eyes and she felt an answering sting in her own, “reckless—”
“He was going to shoot you! I couldn’t let—”
Firm lips pressed against hers. Mason’s kiss wasn’t soft or sweet or gentle. It wasn’t any of the things she’d come to expect from him. It was hard and demanding . . . and maybe a touch angry. His fingers dug into her jaw, holding her in place, refusing to let her go. He tasted like coffee and the slight bitterness of fear. Their tongues tangled like they were at war. She hadn’t even realized her fingers were in his hair until she tugged, trying to get him even closer and he groaned into her mouth.
Holy hell. She’d kissed boys—more than a few—but never had she experienced anything like this. A small strangled sound escaped her throat, feeling as though she were coming apart at the seams.
“Never again.” Mason broke away panting as hard as she was. “Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”
His voice slammed into her, solid steel and powdered glass. Ashlyn nodded. She had no intention of being shot at again in this lifetime.
Dropping his forehead against hers, Mason breathed deep. Eyes shut, he held her close. Ashlyn’s hands slid down his chest and she took a moment to revel in the fact that she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her palm. He was alive. They both were. It made no sense, but they were. Nothing else mattered.
“I love you.”
Mason had to have felt the way Ashlyn stiffened, but he chose to ignore it, his fingers tracing a delicate path from the corner of her eye to her cheek and back again.
“I think I’ve always loved you. I was just too much of a chicken shit to—”
“Stop.” Ashlyn’s heart careened out of control, slamming up against her ribcage so loudly that the sound of sirens barely registered. It was too much. Roger, Mason, the gun, that kiss, now this? His words pressed against her soul, but she refused to let them in. He was saying things in the heat of the moment. Things he didn’t mean. Things that would destroy her when he took them back “You don’t mean that. You don’t have to—”
“I absolutely do.” Mason’s gaze drifted to where his finger prodded gently at her forehead. A sudden sharp pain caused Ashlyn to flinch and Mason winced in sympathy before moving his hand to her cheek again like he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching her. And that was alright with Ashlyn. “I almost lost you. Right here. Right now. And the thought of never getting the chance to tell you how I feel is unbearable.” Sharp eyes bored into hers, making her mind swim. Or maybe that was the head injury. “I. Love. You, Ashlyn.”
Feet thundered up the front steps. “Police! Let’s see your hands!”
Chapter Thirty-six
Mason
More bodies came pouring through the front door. More guns. Mason tugged Ashlyn up off the floor and tucked her behind him. There’d been enough damn guns pointed at his girl tonight.
A man in a gray uniform shirt with a radio clipped to his shoulder knelt over Roger and Ashlyn’s fingers twisted in the material of Mason’s shirt as they watched him work. Whatever damage Jay had done was minimal. Pity. He was conscious and on his feet in no time.
“Ashlyn!” An officer pinned him to the wall as another pulled his hands together in front of him and slapped on the cuffs. “Ashlyn, I love you. Don’t you see that?”
Mason’s hands fisted with the urge to pop him in the mouth one more time. Jay was the only one who got the satisfaction and that just didn’t seem right.
“I did it all for you. Ashlyn!”
A hard shudder rocked her and Mason swore under his breath.
“I got you.” He pulled Ashlyn out of the way—doing his best to shield her with his body—as two officers escorted Roger from the house. “It’s over now.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. Another to her cheek. The corner of her mouth. Trying—and failing—to distract her because he was wrong. It wasn’t over.
“Gun!” Voices shouted outside. People screamed.
Roger didn’t look dangerous. He looked like a nerd. Like someone who would spend his life behind a computer screen. Like the kid in the front row of science class with his hand in the air. Even after all that he’d done it was still hard not to picture him that way. The police underestimated him the same way Ashlyn had. Something went wrong. Someone screwed up. And Roger disarmed one of the men arresting him.
A woman in uniform shouted at them to get down as she sprinted out of the house. Jay crouched behind the couch. Mason’s arm went around Ashlyn’s waist, twisting to take the brunt of the impact himself, but before they hit the floor for the second time it was already over. He saw it happen through the open door. He saw Roger lift his stolen gun. Saw him press the barrel to his own head. Saw him pull the trigger. The splash of blood and brain matter looked like one of those abstract art pieces his parents loved.
When Ashlyn cried out, he knew that she’d seen, too.
Pushing into a sitting position, Mason pulled her into his lap and tucked her face against his shoulder. She let him. Neighbors who had come out to investigate were ushered back into their homes. The door was shut over—hanging in the busted frame—blocking out the scene, but Mason couldn’t erase it as easily from his mind.
He was shaken. He didn’t want to be. He wanted to hate the bastard that had pointed a gun at Ashlyn and tried to shoot him. He wanted to be glad that he was dead. But he couldn’t. Roger had issues and he’d never gotten
the help he needed. Someone had failed him. Just like so many people had failed Lucy. Just like they’d failed Ashlyn. No more.
Ashlyn staggered slightly as she got to her feet and Mason steadied her. The raw gash on her forehead was bleeding again; a gut-wrenching reminder of just how close she’d gotten to Roger’s bullet. A bullet meant for him. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. It took Ashlyn forty-five minutes to decide what flavor wings she wanted to order, but this—to risk her life for his—she’d chosen in an instant. No hesitation. She may not have realized what that meant, but he did. And he was willing to wait forever if that’s what it took for her to figure it out.
“Excuse me, Miss.” A young officer with a shiny new badge cleared his throat. “Are there any other weapons in the house? Anything dangerous we should know about?”
Mason was about to mention the knife block on the kitchen counter in case that qualified when Ashlyn stiffened.
“Tank!”
Tank was there?
She broke from his arms and darted down the hallway. Mason followed only to be brought up short by the sight of dark fur heaped on the floor at the foot of his bed.
Ashlyn was on her knees beside him. “Tank?”
She ran her hands over his furry coat and touched his head, pulling away bloody fingers. It was a relief to see his side rise and fall with each deep breath.
“Tank, c’mon boy.” Ashlyn rubbed his side and one paw twitched.
“Uh, Miss . . .” The rookie hovered in the doorway. “Maybe you should leash him before you do that?”
Mason grinned. Scary dog. Good dog. Tank had been hurt protecting Ashlyn, but he was going to be alright. Mason would make damn sure of it. And then spoil him rotten for the rest of his canine life.
“I already put in a call to animal control,” the officer informed them.
“No.” Ashlyn shot him a disgusted look. “No strangers.”
“Miss, they’ll just take him to the vet. Get him checked out. He’ll be fine—”
She scooted forward, putting herself between Tank and the rest of the room. Mama bear protecting one of her own. The same way she’d protected him. Mason’s heart squeezed. He’d thought it was impossible to love her any more than he already did. She had no idea what she did to him.
“I understand how you feel. I have pets, myself.” The officer whipped out his textbook negotiation tactics.
Mason smothered a laugh. Good luck, buddy.
Jay joined them as the officer failed miserably to change Ashlyn’s mind. “What’s going on?”
Whether or not they could force her to stay on scene Mason wasn’t sure, but if he had to guess he’d say yes. It was her property and there was a dead body in the front yard. He made a mental note once Tank was taken care of to put in a call to his family’s lawyer. Just in case.
“She can’t go with Tank and I can’t leave her.”
“Then, I’ll take him.” Ashlyn and the officer quit bickering and looked at Jay. “I’ve already shared everything I know. I’ll take the dog to the vet and come by the precinct tomorrow if there are any follow up questions.”
Mason knew damn well that Jay’s offer had more to do with getting back to Em as quickly as possible than rescuing Tank, but Ashlyn’s glare practically dared the young officer to refuse.
***
Mason’s car was parked at the curb; both front doors still open wide, emitting a quiet dinging sound. Behind it, the ambulance cast flashes of light across the yard.
“It’s a waste of time arguing with her,” Mason warned the flustered EMT. Ashlyn sat perched on the edge of a stretcher, hands on her hips, while he tried to convince her to go to the hospital to get checked out. “You’ll never win.”
A patch of dark, damp grass marred the lawn, but Roger’s body had been removed. The driveway also sat empty. Most of the police cruisers had moved on to other calls and Jay had braved Ashlyn’s bucket of bolts to take Tank to the animal clinic.
“Well,” Ashlyn huffed, “at least we know you don’t have brain damage.”
Mason shook his head. For the first time what felt like lifetimes the tightness in his chest and shoulders eased. If she was teasing him then she was going to be alright. And things between them were still okay.
He’d made the idiotic mistake of blurting out his feelings for her, but he couldn’t have stopped himself at the time if he’d tried. She held his heart. He hadn’t given it to her, not intentionally. No, Ashlyn Mills had reached straight into his chest and stolen it. Either way it was hers, and if something had happened to her . . . Sweat broke out on Mason’s palms and he swallowed the idea.
“What’s the prognosis, Doc? She gonna make it?”
The EMT frowned. “I’m not a doctor. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell your friend here. She needs to—”
“Mason . . .” Ashlyn threw as much whine into his name as humanly possible. “Get me outta here.”
He sighed. A good friend would argue. A good friend would insist she go see a real doctor just to be safe. But this was Ashlyn. Confusing as hell. She was one extreme or another, either incapable of making a decision or stubborn as a mule. Would she change her mind if Mason told her to? Maybe. He’d even put money on probably. But did he have the right to take her choice from her? No. No one had that right. It was a fine line. There was no swaying Ashlyn’s decisions; it was either let her make them or make them for her. It was something she needed to work on and maybe she’d let him help, but for now . . .
“What does she need to sign for you to let her go?”
The EMT pulled out a clipboard and pen. He carefully explained the risks she was taking by refusing treatment and showed her where to sign. Ashlyn paid zero attention. The moment the pen left the paper, she hopped off the stretcher and headed inside.
Mason stuck around, listening carefully as he explained what Ashlyn should and shouldn’t do. She needed to rest. No driving, no aspirin, no physical activity. And Mason needed to keep an eye on her. Any vomiting, dizziness, seizures, confusion, or bizarre behavior—because that would be easy to identify in Ashlyn— he needed to get her to a hospital.
Just as the ambulance pulled away, a car swerved up to the curb and a woman jumped out. Christ, this night was never going to end.
“Ashlyn!” Meredith Mills trotted across the front yard as quickly as her shiny black heels would allow. Her husband followed.
Shit. If the senator was there, it was only a matter of time until the whole damn place turned into a media circus. Mason was familiar with the scene. A few years earlier his father had a minor heart attack. Nothing a change in diet and exercise couldn’t prevent from happening again, but the reporters had descended like vultures. News vans had lined the street. Microphones and cameras shoved in their faces every time anyone left the house for weeks. The stress alone had nearly caused his father to relapse.
That wasn’t going to happen to Ashlyn.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Ashlyn
Ashlyn sat on the couch and stared at the water ring on her coffee table. She, truthfully, had no idea if it was Mason who’d violated her expensive furniture, but she’d been blaming him for it for over a year and he’d long since stopped arguing with her about it. The two remaining police officers chatting in her kitchen may have disagreed, but that made him guilty in her opinion.
Roger was dead. She blew out a hard breath. Barely twenty-three, and he was dead. He’d tormented and tried to kill them, but that somehow paled in comparison to the fact that an entire life was wiped out, a person ceased to exist, right there in her front yard. One minute he had thoughts, feelings, ideas, and the next . . . nothing.
He’d never ask her to dance again.
Ashlyn barked a laugh that lacked any humor. He’d held a gun to her head and that’s what she couldn’t stop thinking. He’d never ask her to dance again. She was as crazy as he was.
“Ashlyn?”
“Mom?” She tried to stand, but decided against it wh
en a wave of dizziness hit.
“Oh, darling, are you okay?”
“Uh . . . yeah.” She gently touched the patch of gauze taped to her forehead. If she’d taken a bullet to the head and suffered nothing more than a deep, throbbing headache she really couldn’t complain. “I’m fine.”
“Thank goodness.” Her father leaned over the back of the couch and gave her a tight squeeze. Ashlyn’s arms hung idly at her sides, shocked into paralysis. She couldn’t remember the last time either of her parents had hugged her. And wasn’t that sad.
“Go on, then. Pack a bag,” her mother instructed. “Your father will put it in the car.”
Meredith pulled out her phone and started tapping away at the screen. She paused when it made a quiet beep, scrolled, and then she tapped some more.
“Wait.” Ashlyn pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to think through the pain in her head. “What do you mean pack?”
“Well, you can’t stay here.” Her mother said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which Ashlyn guessed it probably should have been.
Her house was now a crime scene. Again. But Roger was dead. He couldn’t hurt anyone any more. Would they let her stay? Did she even want to? No, not tonight. But . . . “Where am I going?”
The front door stood open—so many people in and out. Mason materialized from the darkness beyond the glow of the porch light. He did a quick scan of the house and was beside her so fast it literally made her head spin. “We should go.”
“So I’ve been told. But I don’t know—”
Meredith sighed. “Get your things. You’re coming home with us. I’ve already got someone from the best nursing service in the state waiting at the house. She’ll stay with you tonight.”
Ashlyn blinked and for the first time, she noticed what her parents were wearing. Mom in a long silver dress with a black shawl and heels. Dad in his tux. She’d obviously interrupted their plans for the evening. Plans they had every intention of continuing with the moment things were sorted out. This was just a pit stop to clean up another of Ashlyn’s messes.
