Page 105 of Hidden Resolution
“What the hell are you doing? Do you know how much I paid for those fucking flowers?” He rushed to save the remaining buds, freezing when she waved the scissors in his face.
“They’remyflowers. I’ll damn well do what I want to them. Right now, mutilation makes me happy. And you’re down to three minutes.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Mason shivered.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” Recovering himself, he pointed a finger at the mess, keeping it out of scissor range. “Certifiable,” he stressed.
“Then you should be ecstatic to be free of me,” she replied, giving a careless shrug.
“I should,” he agreed. He inhaled a fortifying breath. “But I’m not.”
She hesitated a heartbeat before snipping another bud.
“I love you, Shonda.” The rawness in his soul was laid bare. “You might think speaking those words isn’t worth much, coming from me, but the last time I said them was the night my girlfriend, Melanie, died.”
Her head whipped around, and her gaze bore into him.
Pity flashed in those expressive eyes, and he swallowed the ugly reactive response of wanting to erase it with a cutting remark. The trigger was from childhood, when vulnerability was painful. But opening up to ridicule or pity—two things he hated with a burning passion—would allow him to lay the past to rest and possibly have a better future.
As quickly as her sympathy appeared, it was gone, replaced by doubt.
“You’ve not told your mother, brothers, or nephew in all these years?” she asked.
Her skepticism was valid, and he didn’t fault her for asking.
“No,” he confessed. “Not really. Maybe Jacob. But with the others… it’s always been understood.”
And with his revelation, he saw what he’d been missing. What he’d been denying to those closest to him. How had an uncaring father and a cheating skank emotionally crippled him to this degree?
“I’m glad for your self-discoveries, Mason. Truly. But?—”
“Don’t,” he croaked, unable to bear being sent away. “Don’t say it doesn’t matter to you. Don’t say it’s too late.”
“Then tell me, what should I say? Should I forgive your treatment of me, as if it’s perfectly acceptable behavior? Should I be okay with how you express love? Sparingly, if at all, bythe way.” She exhaled her exasperation. “Because if what we’ve shared until now is an example of what I can expect if we start anactualrelationship, I’ll politely decline.”
Mason’s entire core froze under her arctic stare.
Where had her fire gone? The passion they’d shared? Had he destroyed the last kernel of her affection with his thoughtlessness? Stolen from her the same way Melanie and his father had from him?
In the face of Shonda’s rejection, he felt physically ill.
Denial rose up, fierce and overpowering. His involuntary step forward caused her to shift backward.
Her retreat saved her life.
The crack of the gunshot was unmistakable. The vase with the stems shattered into thousands of fragments, cutting where they landed.
“Get down!” Mason lunged at Shonda and covered her body with his. A hail of bullets pinged around the kitchen, splintering cabinets and denting appliances. The final one ricocheted off the granite counter, lodging in his abdomen.
He grunted.
“Fuck me. Not again!”
31
What did he mean by “not again?”
“Mason?” Hysteria crept into Shonda’s voice, making her wince at its shrillness.
