Page 18 of My Secret Santa Mason

“Why not?” My body was on fire, and I needed a release. I wanted him inside me.

He pursed his lips, let go of me, and tugged my shirt down.

“You’re trouble, Cami.”

His words stung. “Gee, thanks.” I pulled my coat shut around my body, feeling suddenly cold. “Can’t get involved with a problem like me, huh? Too many social media posts, is that it?” I was laying the sarcasm on thick, trying to hide the hurt beneath it.

“It’s not you, it’s—”

“If you say it’s me, I’m going to slap you,” I threatened.

Mason let out a breath and looked dejected before he turned and walked to the door with long strides. He opened it, and winter spilled in, adding to the cold that left me shivering.

And just like that, he was gone, into the night, leaving me confused, aching for a release, unsatiated and wishing he would come back so we could finish what we started.

Even if he was right and it was a bad idea.

The only thing he had wrong was that I wasn’t the one that was trouble. Because this was what he did, this was how he made me feel… the trouble was all him.

8

MASON

The woods were dead silent, the only sound coming from the crunch of snow under our boots. The cold bit at my face, the wind slipping through the gaps in my jacket like icy fingers. It was the kind of cold that made your breath hang in the air, visible like a puff of smoke before it vanished into the winter chill.

A thick blanket of snow covered everything around us, while the trees stood tall and dark, their bare branches stark against the bright, white landscape.

The contrast was sharp—black tree trunks rising like skeletons against the untouched snow that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Tanner was a few paces ahead of me, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he moved quietly through the woods. He was good at this—always had been. He moved like a warrior, a hunter. He’d lived in these woods with me for a long time before he’d settled down with Rae and little Hunter.

It had been a while since we’d done this together—lately, I did it all by myself since he was Mr. Family. But today, it was like old times.

We didn’t need to speak much when we hunted together. There was an understanding between us, a kind of unspoken language built over years of surviving in places most people wouldn’t dare venture into. We didn’t need words to communicate out here. The stillness of the forest was enough.

I gripped my own rifle, a well-worn Browning X-Bolt, chambered in .308. It had been with me through a lot—more than I liked to remember. The cold metal felt familiar in my hands, like an extension of myself. It was the kind of rifle you trusted, the kind you knew would do its job when the time came. Tanner carried a Remington 700, reliable and steady, just like him.

A man’s gun said a lot about him. Everyone had a different style, a different need, and the guns showed more than a psychologist would be able to drag out of ’em.

The snow was deep, slowing us down as we moved through the woods, but the quiet was comforting. There was no noise from town, no distractions—just the soft rustle of branches and the occasional snap of a twig beneath the weight of the snow.

I preferred being out here, where I didn’t have to think about how others would react to me, where I didn’t have to think about anything other than being at one with the landscape around me.

The forest felt endless, a never-ending stretch of white, broken only by the dark trunks of the trees. The sky was a dull gray, heavy with more snow that would fall soon enough.

We’d been out for hours, tracking a pair of deer. Their prints were faint in the snow, but they were enough for us to follow.

Tanner raised his hand, signaling for me to stop. I crouched low, following his gaze through the trees.

About 100 yards ahead, just on the edge of a clearing, I spotted them—a doe and a buck, grazing on the last remnants of underbrush sticking out from the snow. Their coats blended in almost perfectly with the surroundings, but the buck’s antlers gave him away.

Tanner glanced at me, and I nodded. I slowly raised my rifle, lining up the shot. My breath steadied as I focused, the world narrowing down to just me and the deer. The rifle’s weight was familiar, solid against my shoulder. I squeezed the trigger, the crack of the gunshot ringing through the silent woods. The gun kicked against me, but I let my body absorb the impact.

The buck dropped instantly. Tanner moved quickly, his own shot taking down the doe before she had a chance to run.

Fuck, every time I killed I hated it. I would nevernothate killing. But I had to eat, and this meat would get me through the rest of the winter before the snow started to melt and more animals returned to the forest.

We crept closer, making sure the kills were clean. The buck had dropped right where I’d aimed—a shot straight to the heart. Tanner grunted in approval, already pulling out the knives we would use to gut and skin the animals. It was messy work but necessary. The cold would preserve the meat while we worked.

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