Page 137 of Mason

And now she’s lying here, broken and bruised and still bleeding on the inside, telling me she thinks she loves me.

I scrub a hand down my face, the scrape of my stubble biting at my palm. The guilt sits in my chest like concrete, heavy and immovable. I should’ve protected her. I should’ve never let her get that close to this world.To me.

But the second she walked into my life, all quiet fire and fierce independence, I knew I was screwed.

She got under my skin before I even realized it.

And now?

Now I can’t look at her without feeling like I’ve been cracked wide open.

I glance over.

She’s curled on her side, face turned toward me, strands of hair stuck to her damp forehead. Her hand twitches beneath the blanket, like she’s reaching for something even in sleep.

Probably safety.

Probably something I can’t give her.

Not without destroying everything.

I lean back in the chair, spine aching from hours of sitting, but I don’t move. Not far, anyway. Just enough to rest my head against the wall behind me.

The room is dim. Cold.

Too quiet.

And in that silence, my mind does what it always does—it spirals.

What the fuck is this?

I care about her. That much I know.

It’s in the way I can’t sleep unless I know she’s okay.

In the way I nearly blacked out from rage when I found her—bloodied and barely breathing, strung up like some kind of fucking warning.

It’s in how I won’t think twice about putting a bullet in the skull of the bastard’s who did this to her.

But love? That’s a loaded word.

Love, to me, has always been a weakness. A liability. A leash someone could yank tight around your throat the second you start thinking with your heart instead of your head.

But looking at her now, so small and strong all at once, I don’t feel weak.

I just feel...fucking wrecked.

Because if I lose her, I won’t come back from it. That much I know.

I lean forward again, my eyes trained on her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. That’s all I care about right now. Just that.

One breath at a time.

One moment where I don’t have to wonder if she’s still with me.

And even though she’s asleep—maybe especially because she’s asleep—I find myself whispering into the darkness, words I’d never have the guts to say if she could hear them.

“I think I love you too.”

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