Page 14 of Word to the Wise

When we first started dating after meeting in Statistics in college, he made me feel like the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. His praise was unmatched.

I didn’t realize at the time that it was careful manipulation I didn’t see coming.

He would hyperfocus on specific details to train me to wear a certain amount of makeup and style my hair in a particular way. If I accidentally skipped a meal, he’d praise my body. I was only allowed curves if I maintained a thin waist.

His attention was a constant battle of satisfaction and starvation. I was desperate for anything he’d give.

Staring in the mirror now, I’m the opposite of everything Carter found beautiful about me. Not that it matters anymore.

Making my way down the hallway, I find Mason in the kitchen. He’s leaning forward on the kitchen island, skimming through his phone while he drinks his coffee. He’s in nothing more than a pair of gray sweatpants and a tight white T-shirt that shows off every ripple of tattooed muscle.

It’s not fair for someone to look like that. It’s been so long since I’ve appreciated a man physically, but I’d be blind not to notice Mason’s dark-blue gaze when it snaps to mine. He looks like he actually cares, and it isn’t just a front to make me feel better.

Mason stands to his full height, where he towers over a foot taller than me. He’s broad in all the ways that shouldbe threatening, considering Carter wasn’t anywhere near his size and still managed to toss me around like a ragdoll. But I’m not scared of Mason.

“You’re awake.” He doesn’t leave his spot in the kitchen. Like he thinks one wrong move and I’ll retreat to my bedroom. “How did you sleep?”

I wet my lips, not sure how to answer his question when the taste of blood is still fresh on my tongue. He doesn’t want to hear that I dreamt about Carter all night. How I dream about Cartereverynight because my body might be here, but in my mind, he hasn’t let go.

“Sorry, stupid question.” He shakes his head.

“It’s fine.” I make my way into the living room. “I slept okay.”

It’s not a lie when I’m still here.

I don’t think.

“Coffee?” Mason asks, holding the pot up.

“Yes, please.”

He pours my coffee into the same green mug I used the last time I was here, reminding me how strangely observant he is. Just because he doesn’t commit to women doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about anyone.

Mason walks over to the couch and hands me my cup, sitting on the opposite side.

I’m used to people avoiding my gaze if they catch a bruise I haven’t covered properly. It’s easier for them to pretend they didn’t notice than to admit to themselves what might have happened.

But Mason doesn’t look away. His gaze sweeps to the spots on my arms, to my cheek. To my darkening eyesocket, and to my lip. He doesn’t hide his agitation as he meets my stare and grips his coffee mug tighter.

Strangely, it’s comforting to have someone face it with me. Even if all it does is remind him how broken I am.

“I bet the last time you saw me you didn’t think this is how it would happen again.”

“It’s still nice to see you.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “But yeah, I hoped it would be under circumstances where I’m not sitting here itching to get my hands on the shithead who did this to you.”

“I’m not looking for a prince to save me, Mason.”

“Didn’t say you were, Sticks.”

“Sticks?”

He shrugs. “Like the game: Pick-up Sticks.”

“Guess you’re right.” I tap my mug with my finger, waiting for the coffee to cool down. “I’m a mess.”

“That’s not why I called you that.” He shakes his head.

“Then why?”

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