Page 181 of Mason

Undeniable.

Unavoidable.

“I get it,” Mia says, her voice low, edged with just enough steel to make me flinch. She lifts one perfectly arched brow, a slow, deliberate move that balances somewhere between patient saint and full-blown storm. Her eyes—icy, unblinking, the kind of blue that belongs in cracked glass—lock onto mine and don’t let go. They don’t just look at me; theycut throughme, like she already knows every excuse I’ve rehearsed and she’s not interested in hearing a single one.

Then, she tilts her head, a smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth—mocking, maybe, or just disappointed.

“You gonna invite me in,” she says, voice sharp enough to draw blood, “or do I need to kick this damn door down?”

I tighten my grip on the edge of the door. She’s certainly worn the correct shoes to do the kicking. My fingers tremble. The wood feels cold under my skin, or maybe I’m just that numb again.

I don’t want this.

Not her pity, nor her fire. Not the way her eyes shine like she’s already seen the ghost of me I’ve been pretending not to be.

I don’t want to hear Mason’s name.

Don’t want to imagine what I left behind.

But this is Mia.

And I have no doubt that she will kick the door in if I shut her out, because Mia is not the sort of person you say no to. Not even when your heart’s bleeding through the floorboards.

With a quiet sigh, I step back.

She walks in like a storm in heels. Controlled chaos.

I barely have time to close the door before her voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“He’s tearing himself apart, Shelby.”

I flinch.

I turn away. The hallway feels too narrow. My apartment too small for this conversation. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the worn-out floorboards like they’ll tell me what to say.

“So am I, Mia,” I whisper.

Mia’s behind me now. I feel her frustration before I hear it—tight, sharp, born of love and fury.

“Then why did you leave?” she snaps. “Why did you destroy him this way?”

My throat closes up. My chest tightens. The truth is acid, burning its way to the surface.

“Because I’m not the same,” I say. “Because I’m… not whole anymore.”

She doesn’t answer right away.

When she speaks again, her voice is softer, more understanding.

“None of us are ever whole, Shelby. Not really.”

I shake my head, my nails digging into my arms.

“You don’t get it,” I say. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m back there. Under that bridge. On the ground. Cold. Bleeding. And Mason—he deserves someone who’s not stuck in that moment. Someone who doesn’t wake up screaming. Someone who can love him without flinching at every shadow.”

Mia doesn’t move, but she doesn’t let me hide, either.

Instead, she steps in front of me, into my space, and forces me to meet her eyes.

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