Page 56 of Hidden Resolution
But it did.
A lot.
If she had any foresight, she’d never have let him cross the threshold of her apartment. His stamp was everywhere, and one day, probably soon, she’d pay for letting him stake a claim.
Their minor arguments had faded as they found a working rhythm. He’d begun texting and calling, which felt monumentalin their own right. Yet she never initiated contact. Pushing would send him running.
On the nights he didn’t come by, Shonda flatly refused to sit in a quiet void and absorb the sting. She made plans. Friends. Dinner. Erica. Anyone who could serve as a distraction from the hollow ache in her chest. And she damned well never let herself fall apart. Because what she wouldn’t do was chase him. She wasn’t that woman, and never would be.
Her happy bomber had gone silent. No fresh threats lurking under the hood of her new car, painstakingly parked in a gated garage under lights and cameras. Sure, she wasn’t naive enough to believe it was over. Neither was Mason. But every now and again, she was able to clear her head of the nagging worry.
One of the sweetest things he’d done was arrange for patrol cars to swing by her place when he was absent. And he’d gone to the extent of securing routine patrols for her mom’s and dad’s places, too.
If leaving her place, Mason used back roads, checking mirrors so frequently it boggled her brain.
Simple trips to the grocery store turned into a cloak-and-dagger event. They always used his car, rigged with a sensitive alarm able to detect the brush of a leaf on its way to the ground.
Tonight, he circled the block twice before pulling into the parking lot.
“I feel like we’re in a spy movie,” she quipped, bracing as he executed another evasive maneuver.
He didn’t crack a smile. “Better safe than sorry.”
His terse response set her nerves on edge. He didn’t appear angry per se, but tension coiled around him like a taut wire ready to snap. Every inquiry about work, his day, or anything hinting at a personal share was met with a blank stare or a grunt.
When he reached for the door handle, she caught his arm.
“Mason, what’s wrong? Are you mad at me for some reason?”
“No.”
He tried to pull away, but she held firm.
Leaning forward to meet his eyes, she asked, “Is it impossible for you to have a real conversation with me? Anything more meaningful than what we plan to eat for dinner or what movie we want to watch would do.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Here we go.” He slumped back with an exasperated huff. “This is where you encourage me to share my feelings, right? To commit to calling you my girlfriend?” His cold gaze locked on her face. “It’s not happening, Shonda. Give it rest.”
The disdainful attitude stung harder than any slap. He’d twisted a vulnerable moment into a needy demand she didn’t make. For a split second, she wished hehadhit her. At least then she could label it for what it was. Abuse. A perfect reason to walk away.
Her therapist would say her inability to quit him went back to childhood and her feelings of being unlovable. Perhaps it did, but she wanted more from life and the people in her world.
She sat motionless, staring at his gloved hands clenched around the steering wheel. Her shell cracked open, revealing the sobbing inner child, the one deserving of attention and caring.
“I’m done.”
Her statement was toneless and final, but once out, the oppressive weight lifted from her shoulders. Before he could react, she flung her door open and stepped out, hustling in the opposite direction from the store.
“Shonda, get back here,” he snapped, voice fury-laced.
She didn’t break stride. Each step cemented her decision to be done with the self-torment. Done with longing for things she couldn’t have. Done with the best sex of her existence.
Her last thought almost paused her flight, but she was nothing if not dogged.
“I’m not fooling around,” he called after her. “Get back here. It’s not safe for you to walk home in the dark.”
No, it wasn’t. But it was safer than being near him, where she might fold and pretend she didn’t crave or need more.
His muttered “goddammit” echoed in the quiet night. The snow made everything sound sharper but less personal.
