Broken Heart

by Laura Browning

  “What the hell happened?”

  Jace turned his head away, but not before Justin saw the tear trickling from the corner of his eye. “I found Stacey on her boat.”

  Everything stopped. Justin wasn’t even sure he drew a breath. When his heart started beating once more, he whispered, “What happened, Jason?”

  “I tried to convince her we could work things out.”

  Justin brushed a fingertip over the bruise. “Was that guy there? Mason Hatch?”

  “No,” Jace mumbled, “just Stacey.”

  Holy shit. As gently as he could, Justin turned Jace so he would have to look at him. “What did you do, Jace?”

  “I wanted to show her I could be who she wanted, that we could make it work.”

  That hurt because what Stacey wanted didn’t include him. She’d made her feelings plain. Justin took a slow, steadying breath.

  He made himself bring a mental image to mind of the Justin he remembered from two years ago. The man expertly landing a trout, then laughing as he took the fly from its mouth and gently released the big fish back into the river. There was almost no resemblance to the man who lay next to him now. This man was conflicted, depressed. He needed help, and Justin feared things had gone way too far for both of them, if what he suspected had indeed happened.

  He would deal with those complications later. Right now, he was going to get Jace cleaned and sobered up. Then they were going to sit and talk.

  * * * *

  The next few hours passed in a blur of examinations, x-rays and questions. The hospital staff was amazing, but Stacey wasn’t in the mindset to appreciate it. She wanted it to be over with. She wanted Mason with her. And somehow, she would figure out a way to explain to him what had happened, not just to her, but to them.

  A nurse helped her shower then dress once they were through collecting evidence, filling out questionnaires. Her ribs were badly bruised, and her other injuries were superficial enough she would recover quickly, at least physically. They wheeled her out to the waiting area. Mason rose to his feet, brushing his hands along his jean-clad thighs. Concern mixed with uncertainty on his lean face.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  From over her shoulder, the orderly pushing her wheelchair said, “If you’ll bring your car to the entrance, I’ll wheel her out.”

  Stacey waited until they were in the car, then, fingers picking at an imaginary piece of lint on her slacks, she stated, “I can’t go back to the boat, Mason. I don’t ever want to get back on it again. I don’t even want to see it. Could you…would you take me to your house?”

  His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Jesus, Stacey,” he ground out. “You don’t have to ask. Of course I’ll take you there. Are you ready to talk to any of your family or do you need more time?”

  The thought of ever telling her parents made her cringe. “Not today or tonight. Tomorrow. I need time to think.” She glanced at him. “Did you mean what you said on the boat?”

  “That I’ll keep him away? Keep you safe? Yeah, honey. Every word.”

  “Good, because I’m going to hold you to it.” She would ask him later about moving in with him. Not now. She couldn’t do anything now. All she wanted was somewhere safe to hide. “They gave me some pain medicine prescriptions.”

  He glanced over at her. “We’ll get them filled on the way. Stacey, I’ve already taken a call from Lucy wondering where you are. Can I at least tell them you’re staying at my house and will talk to them tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I want Seth and Brandon there, but mostly…I need Phillip.”

  Mason looked at her from the corner of his eye. Her youngest brother practiced law and already had a reputation as a litigator. “You’re considering legal action then?”

  Stacey closed her eyes. “I want to explore my options. Mason, am I strange for feeling so rational about this? Is there something wrong with me? I mean, he attacked me, tried to rape me. I should be falling to pieces, but I don’t feel that way.”

  He pulled into the parking lot of the CVS and cut the engine. “Your feelings are yours alone. So whatever you feel right now, nothing’s wrong with it, nothing’s wrong with you. I think you’re one hell of a woman, and whatever you decide to do, I’ll help any way I can. If you want me to go kill the motherfucker, I’d even do that. In fact, I wish you would tell me to do it.” Mason leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes. “I’d do anything never to see such an injured look on your face again.”

  Stacey’s throat tightened with tears, but she wasn’t ready to shed any more. She had to hold it together, not for her family, not for appearances, not even for Mason. She had to do it for herself. She clasped his hand and held onto it. Mason moved it to his knee, his thumb slowly stroking her fingers. His movements stopped and he went still.

  “Your rings…”

  “I won’t wear something that never meant anything to begin with.”

  Mason nodded. “Give me your prescriptions. I’ll get them handled.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to keep her mind blank while he was gone. Plenty of things needed to be done, to be figured out and strategized, but for now she wanted to back away from it and catch hold of the strength she knew was somewhere inside her. She needed it right now, and it had to come from her. Yes, she wanted Mason’s help and his support, but ultimately she needed to dig deep. She’d seen Seth and Brandon do it, and God knew her sister, Anna, had been forced to do it after having a baby without the father there to support her. Now it was her turn.

  Maybe that was the secret she hadn’t known until now. They had all been tested in some way. She had thought simply always doing what she was asked had been the right road. As long as she towed the line, her life would be perfect, or so it had seemed. She had begun to doubt it when the pictures of her and Mason had arrived on the scene. Now she understood. It appeared the only way anyone in their family could find any measurable degree of happiness was by going through utter hell to get there. And right now, she could identify with the hellish part of the journey.

  When Mason returned with a couple of bags, she glanced from them to him. “I grabbed a few snacks. We’ll get food delivered today, and figure out tomorrow when we get there.”

  “I like you, Mason. I wish I’d told you a long time ago.”

  “I like you too, Stacey, and don’t worry. You’re telling me now.”

  She leaned her head back, closed her eyes and smiled slightly. She would be all right, maybe not right now, not today or even tomorrow, but eventually she would be.

  Chapter 7

  His house didn’t have that closed up feeling a lot of oceanfront properties seemed to have. Mason used it nearly every weekend. Sometimes more often. With it being just south of Annapolis, the house was an easy drive from Washington, and being there eased his tension. When they pulled into the drive, he glanced over at Stacey. She was looking at the house, and it seemed to him she relaxed for the first time since he’d found her.

  “It’s beautiful, Mason. So quiet. You must love it here.”

  “I do. I hope you will too. You can stay as long as you like.” He opened his door and glanced back at her. “Can you walk or would you like me to carry you?”

  Her hands knotted in her lap. “I’ll walk.”

  Slowing his pace, Mason cupped her elbow and steadied her. When they entered the airy great room, he said, “Make yourself comfortable, honey. I’ll get you a glass of water so you can take your meds, then get a room ready…”

  She looked at him. “Can’t I… Please, I don’t want to be by myself, Mason.”

  He sucked in a breath. “All right. I’ll put your things in the master suite.”

  He jogged down the stairs and back out to the car, collecting the shopping bags, her duffel bag and purse before heading back in. Mason kept glancing from the kitchen into the great room as he got out the meds–an antibiotic and some Percocet–and poured a glass of water. Worry swirled through him that she was wa
y too calm. Stacey was burying a whole lot that would have to come out at some point. He hoped he would be able to help her put the pieces back together again after the explosion occurred because he was terribly afraid if she continued to exercise such tight control over her emotions, when she did finally crumble, it would be utter destruction.

  “Here you go.” He held out the glass and pills, ignoring the way she’d jumped a bit when he spoke. She had a right to be scared. After taking the meds, she handed the glass back to him. “If you’d like to lie down, I can get you a blanket…”

  She shook her head. “Not right now. I’d like to go outside. Just sit. Would you mind getting hold of my brothers? But, Mason?” She touched his hand and he paused. “Don’t let them come over now.”

  He smiled. “I’ll block the door with my body as long as you’ll nurse me after they beat me black and blue.”

  Relief flowed through him when she smiled slightly. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Phillip, but Seth and Brandon… You’re on your own there. Stopping them is like trying to hold back a tidal wave.”

  “There are soft drinks in the fridge, and I left the snacks I bought on the counter.” He couldn’t help himself, he caressed her cheek with his hand. When all she did was turn her golden gaze to him, he smiled. “Treat this place as yours, honey.”

  He watched as she grabbed a bottle of sparkling water and made her way out onto the deck off the kitchen. Only when the door had shut did Mason pull out his BlackBerry. He had Brandon’s cell in his speed dial. Seth and Phillip were another matter. He took a deep breath. These weren’t going to be easy conversations. He’d already experienced firsthand how intense Brandon was when it concerned people he loved, but it was him he would call first. He needed numbers to reach Seth and Phillip.

  The phone rang several times before Brandon finally answered. “I’ve brought your artist home safe and sound from her honeymoon. Jeez, man, what are you, like a watch dog?”

  “Bran…”

  There was a pause on the other end, as though Stacey’s brother heard something in Mason’s tone. “What’s up?”

  “Stacey’s here at the bay house with me. Winchester…” Mason paused. There wasn’t an easy way to break this. “Shit, man, he beat her, tried to rape her.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “No! Wait! She’s…she’s all right. I found her this morning on her boat and took her to the hospital. Brandon, she doesn’t want to see anyone today. She wants some time to pull herself together.”

  “So she’s with you? I thought you had the hate-hate thing going.”

  Mason swallowed. “It’s never been hate on my part. Listen, man, there’s been some real messed up shit going on at her place, but I’m not going to discuss it without her permission. I need a number to reach Seth…also one for Phillip.”

  “Phillip?” He heard Brandon release a long breath. “She’s going to go after Winchester? Stacey?”

  Mason raked a hand through his hair. “She’s going to do something. She also doesn’t want to be anywhere near her boat again. I don’t want to leave her alone. You think you and Lucy could get the rest of her stuff out of it and bring it with you tomorrow?”

  “Sure. We’ll do it today and get the boat secured.”

  “One other thing… In case she does pursue legal action, leave everything alone like…like bed sheets or any…torn clothing.” Mason stopped, took a deep breath, then growled. “Damn. I want to go kill the motherfucker, Bran, just choke him with my bare hands.”

  “Easy, Mason. I’m right there with you, but either one of us getting tossed in jail is not going to do her any good.”

  He turned away from the window so Stacey couldn’t inadvertently see him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he grated out, “Be glad you didn’t see her.”

  “Mason–thanks for being there.”

  The breath he sucked in was almost a sob, and he felt embarrassed. “I’ll take care of her.”

  He got the phone numbers for Stacey’s remaining brothers, but he waited a couple of minutes to calm down before making the calls. When he explained the story to Seth, he was a bit more under control. He’d have sworn he felt his cell phone burn with the fury coming over the line from the eldest Barlow-Barrett sibling.

  “I’ll be there. You will take care of calling Phillip?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about our parents?”

  “She doesn’t want them to know anything right now, Seth. If it were my decision to make, the police would already be involved, but I’m letting her decide what she wants to do.”

  “That’s a tough one. My inclination is the same as yours, but I know you’re right. She needs to call the shots.” Seth sighed. “Call Phillip. He can offer the best advice.”

  By the time he got off the phone with the youngest Barlow-Barrett brother, Mason’s emotions had hit overload. After cramming his phone in his pocket, he went down the hall to the master bedroom and shut the door. He wanted to slam his fist into something, anything, but he couldn’t do that. Such a violent release of temper would only scare Stacey. He paced back and forth in the room, raking his hands through his hair before he finally stood at the bank of windows overlooking the bay. Tears rolled down his cheeks. As he brushed them away impatiently, he noticed he hadn’t even shaved.

  He felt so damn guilty. The three saddest words he knew went through his brain over and over–if only I. If only I hadn’t left her alone. If only I had gotten there earlier. If only I had tried harder to find her Friday morning.

  A knock on the door interrupted him.

  “Mason? Have you talked to them?”

  He cleared his throat and scrubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Yeah. I was going to grab a shower and shave. You need anything?”

  “No,” she said through the door. “I’m going to lie down on the couch for a few minutes. The painkillers are making me a little sleepy.”

  “Right. I’ll check on you when I get done.”

  * * * *

  Stacey stood at the door, her brow furrowed. Mason hadn’t sounded like his usual self, but then that had pretty much been the case since last night. She shook her head and walked slowly back to the living room with its oversized couches and chairs. She liked this house a lot. It seemed to be a reflection of the Mason she was beginning to know–casual and comfortable with a touch here and there of brightly colored art. Stacey sat carefully on the couch then stretched out. Even with the painkillers, she was still sore, and as much as the hospital had assured her that her injuries from Jason’s assault weren’t serious, she hurt like hell.

  Stacey stroked the smooth leather and smiled. This house opened a door on a Mason she didn’t much know–but would like to. She recalled the first time they’d met. She’d been going through a house with a client, deciding where they would place some of the artwork awaiting delivery that afternoon. Her client had needed to leave, so Stacey stayed behind to take delivery. Mason had arrived driving the truck, and since he was clothed in jeans and a polo shirt, she’d assumed he was the delivery guy.

  Finally fed up with her attitude, he’d whipped out his wallet and shoved his driver’s license under her nose. “What name do you see on there, Miss Barlow-Barrett?”

  Stacey had snatched the license then felt her heart sink as she read it. “Mason Hatch.” The owner of Mason’s, one of the most exclusive, sought-after galleries in the area. Knowing she’d had some serious backpedalling to do, she’d handed it back to him. “Please accept my apologies…”

  “For being an insufferably stuck-up bitch?” Mason’s eyes had narrowed into glittering slits. “I think what truly needs to happen here is you need to reexamine how you treat the people who work for you.”

  “I really don’t think…”

  “Shut up. It’s my turn. I’ve listened to you try to lord it over me for the past half hour and kept my mouth shut because, you know what? You are my client whether I like it or not. But what I learned is you seem
to have no regard for people you consider to be of a lesser social status than you. I don’t care for that. Now what you need to ask yourself is exactly how you’re going to do business without my gallery as part of the picture.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t do business with snobs. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am, and sure, not having you bring clients in might cost me for a month or so, but it will cost you in the long run. My gallery’s reputation is strong enough now to trump your Barlow-Barrett pedigree, so you can take that to the next DAR meeting with my blessings. While you’re stroking your pearls and congratulating yourself on not mucking up your bloodlines, I’ll be counting the cash from the clients who are still coming to me…just not to you.”

  “You insufferable bastard!” Stacey had hissed. “You have no right to speak to me in such a way.”

  “You’re in our nation’s capital, honey. We’re in the land of free speech and equality. Just because my mother was a hooker and my father’s unknown doesn’t make you any better than me. So fuck you. Have fun explaining why I’m driving away with the rest of your client’s shit.” He’d shoved his wallet back in his pocket and spun on his heel.

  “Wait!” Stacey had called after him, catching him at the door by the arm. As soon as she’d touched him, heat flooded her, desire flared and all she could do was gape at him.

  His expression had been one of impatience. “Yes?”

  Stacey had released him and taken a deep breath. “Could we start again? Look, I’ve been running late and haven’t had a chance to grab lunch. Can I take you to the deli on the corner and bribe you with food?”

  “I’d rather have sex.”

  Stacey had stared at him. Jumping his bones had already occurred to her, maybe it was part of the reason she had been so bitchy. He was right. She was a snob. She licked her lips nervously and inquired in a voice reduced to nearly a squeak, “Right here?”

  Mason had arched a brow and smirked, challenge lighting his eyes. He’d stepped closer to her, crowding her back toward the doorway behind her. “No, the dining room table would be better.”