19. Mason

Mason

“ I think it’s important for you all to remember you’re a family, first. Your pasts can’t erase that, but they can tear you apart.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I’ve never been to therapy. Mom tried to force it on me because she thought it would help me after Dad’s death, but I refused.

I mean, what’s the point in paying some stranger to listen to my problems and give me the same regurgitated bullshit they do everyone else?

I only agreed to this because I know Mom’s struggling. Since Parker went to prison, people have been showing up outside her new house; the press has been harassing her. Mila. Logan and Savannah even had a couple paparazzi show up, but Logan shut that shit down with a flash of his fancy FBI badge and a loaded 9mm.

No one’s bothered me . . . yet. I’d like to keep it that way, so I keep my distance. I know it upsets Mom, but I knew Parker was bad news from the beginning.

If I had known what he was really into I would have killed him before he ever had the chance to hurt my sister.

Maybe that was my driving factor in helping Hannah. I could stop her from getting hurt. I could keep her safe and find Melissa Gaines in the process. Put an end to all of this.

At least . . . that’s what I tell myself.

I shouldn’t have kissed her. I shouldn’t have touched her. I should have kept my distance like I’d planned, but once I got a taste of her, I couldn’t stop.

Fuck . . . she’s tastes like perfection. Sweet. Soft. Just like she always has.

I have no doubt in my mind shit would have spiraled out of control if Mila hadn’t shown up. Out of all the stupid shit I’ve ever done, this obsession I seem to have with the governor’s daughter is probably the most dangerous of all.

“Mason,” Kenda, the therapist calls my name, staring me down across the room. “I haven’t seen you for any of your one-on-one appointments.”

“I don’t need therapy.”

“Mason,” Mila grits quietly, but Kenda holds up her hand, silencing her.

“Can you tell me what goes through your mind when you think about coming to therapy?”

I shrug, leaning back in my chair. “A waste of money.”

Kenda nods, scribbling something down on her pad.

I don’t like it. I feel like I’m getting my brain picked over like a science experiment. And what the fuck is she writing, anyway?

“Perhaps you could give it a shot? One session, just to test the waters and if you don’t like it, you can back out.”

“Perhaps not.”

Mom’s eyes zero in on mine, but I ignore her. She’s lucky I even came to her little family therapy session.

At a certain point, there’s no repairing the damage that’s been done. We’ve all been through fucking hell and survived. We should be celebrating. Not sitting here, talking about our feelings in a sterile office in the middle of a city built on false faces.

On the same side of that coin, just because Parker’s out of the picture, it doesn’t mean we’re safe. My sisters are still being hunted. Mom’s still getting unsettling letters. Fucking fingers in her damned mailbox.

Just because one snake’s out of the garden, doesn’t mean there isn’t a whole fucking nest still laying in wait.

“Why don’t Logan and Charlie have to be here?”

“While they’ve been impacted by your stepfather’s actions, they haven’t been in the direct line of fire,” Kenda explains. “You and your sisters and mother have, so it’s imperative that we discuss the negative ramifications of everything that transpired.”

“Mason has never been comfortable speaking about his feelings,” Savannah chimes. She’s been relatively quiet through this whole session, even though, out of anyone, she was probably fucked over by Parker the worst.

“Don’t see the need to. I know what I’m feeling.”

“Do you?” Kenda asks, throwing it back at me in that professional manner that makes me feel like a damned kid again. “Your mother tells me you don’t visit often.”

“Or at all,” Mila grumbles.

“I miss you, Mason,” Mom whimpers, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from snapping at her and making it worse. “I just want to see you happy. Find a nice girl and settle down. Build a family. Get out of that dusty shop.”

“Mom,” Bailey warns from the tablet, but Mom can’t be swayed.

“You don’t have to live that life. You can do anything you want. You aren’t tied to that place.”

“I am.”

“No, your father was and look where it got him.”

“Dead?”

Everyone falls silent.

“Dead, Mom?” I challenge again. Tears brighten her eyes, but I don’t care. I’m past caring. I cared for years when she left me with Gran because her husband didn’t want me around. I cared when she missed my high school graduation. I cared when she tried to get Gran to sign Dad’s garage away to her, so she could sell it, claiming it was a “poor investment”.

Yeah, I’m way past fucking caring now.

“That’s what you mean, right? Dad died and Parker’s in prison, so now you want to control me? Where were you when I needed you? When Savannah needed you? Fucking Bailey, even? Too busy wallowing in your own self-pity because your husband was a sociopath and a cheater instead of doing something about it.”

“Let’s all take a breath,” Kenda tries, but I’m done taking breaths in her little circle jerk of trauma.

“That shop is mine. Just like that house and just because you decided it wasn’t enough for you, doesn’t mean it isn’t for me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Mom says, voice cracking with emotion I’m really not in the mood to dive into.

“What I want is to get the fuck out of here,” I snap, my temper right on the edge. I don’t like being interrogated. I had enough of it when they arrested Parker.

“I think it’s important we all remember why we’re here,” Kenda interjects when things grow tense. “To uncover that past trauma and dissolve it so we can have a happy union of family. This is good,” she nods to me, offering me a gentle smile, even though I feel anything but right now. “There’s obviously some tension here, dating back to childhood. I think that it would be worth exploring.”

What the fuck does that even mean?

“Mason, what are your thoughts on Mr. Parker?”

“You don’t want to ask that question.”

No one says a word. If I had my way, Parker would have been skinned alive. He hurt my sister. My mother. I failed to protect them and there’s that sick part of me that believes it’s my fucking fault he was able to get to Savannah in the first place.

“I do want to hear your thoughts. It may give some insight into your stance on this situation.”

“You really want to know?”

She nods.

I chuckle darkly, sitting forward. “I hope he rots in that jail cell until they have to scrape him up off the floor with a shovel.”

She stares at me a beat, concern pooling in her eyes.

Funny. That’s the only emotion I’ve seen from her all day.

Ting . . .

And just like that, time’s up.

I stand before anyone can stop me. I need to get the fuck out of this stuffy little office before I say some shit that will get me locked in a padded room.

“Mason, wait!” Savannah calls as I exit the building Kenda’s office is in. The heat of the day washes over me and sweat dots my brow as I search for my truck.

Then, I remember . . . Mila and Raul, one of Mom’s drivers picked me up.

Fuck.

“Can you just stop running, you big asshole?” Savannah pants, catching up to me when I stop on the sidewalk.

I need a beer. Or to hit something. Or to fuck my pretty little receptionist.

Maybe all three.

“What, Savannah?”

While Bailey and I are close, Savannah and I couldn’t be further apart. She’s always been cold. I’ve always been colder. Where she’s starting to open up after everything happened, I’m shutting everyone out because once they see what’s inside my fucked-up head, they’ll never want me around, anyway.

“Mom got another letter.”

Of course, she did.

“What about this time?”

She shakes her head, watching a car pass us by on the road. “It was encrypted. Logan took it in to be cracked. But I think it has something to do with Melissa.”

Prince didn’t tell me that.

“Good. Maybe they’ll kill her and save the rest of us some trouble.”

“What about Parker?”

I whirl on her, the mention of his name like a shot of fire in my veins. “What about him?”

Savannah remains unfazed. “He’s dying. He might have some inkling to where she’s at, but he won’t talk to Logan.”

I shake my head. I know what she’s asking. “No.”

“He knows things, Mason. Things that could be useful. He won’t talk to any of us, but maybe if you go, he’ll let something slip.”

“You sound like Prince.”

“I sound like I’m right. We still don’t have anything on the Brethren and if someone’s got her, that must mean they’re out to get Mom, too. We have to do something. Please just think about it.”

“I said no.”

“You could be putting a lot of people in danger.”

“What do you want me to do, Savannah?” I snap and she falls back a step, her blue eyes filling with tears.

Goddammit.

“Look, whoever is doing this, I’m sure your fiancé will catch them. He found you, didn’t he?”

“Are you still mad about that?”

“I’m not mad about shit. I’m glad he found you.”

Her brow furrows and she takes that signature Savannah attitude stance. “But you’re mad at yourself. Mason, you couldn’t have stopped what happened any more than I could. It wasn’t a playground bully. It was life or death.”

I don’t have a response for that.

“Look, I have to go. Call me if something comes up,” I murmur and she pauses for a moment, clearly expecting me to say something else.

I can’t.

I move toward the black Bentley when it pulls up to the curb, but before I can reach for the handle, Savannah wraps her arms around me from behind, hugging me.

“I’m not mad at you,” she whispers.

And before I can even process what she said, she’s gone.

“Spit it out, Mila.”

She’s been quiet since we left the therapist’s and Mila quiet is never a good sign. Kid used to grumble in her sleep as a baby.

She turns to regard me, opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, and takes a deep breath.

Jesus Christ.

“You going to tell Mom?”

“No . . .” she says after a long moment and turns back to the window beside her.

“She’s different,” I murmur. I can’t tell if I’m talking to myself or her. “She’s the polar opposite of Melissa—”

“ Don’t . . . say her name.” She grimaces as if Melissa Gaines is Bloody Mary. Say her name three times and she pops out with a knife. “I’m not judging her.”

“You’re judging me, though, right?”

Mila cocks her head, shooting me a look.

“Not everything’s about you, Mason,” she snaps. It’s the most un-Mila thing I’ve ever seen. She glares at me for a moment, but then her face crumples and she’s back to that same resigned look of reproach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She shakes her head, blonde waves falling around her shoulders. “I don’t know. I just . . . I have this bad feeling that something’s going to happen and I can’t . . . I can’t stop thinking about how we all keep pretending everything’s over.”

“It’s not,” I murmur darkly. In fact, we’ve barely made it to halftime.

“She’s with you because of Melissa . . . isn’t she?”

I grit my teeth, back straightening against the leather seat of the Bentley.

“She is.”

“She’s trying to save her while you’re trying to bring her down. Isn’t that ironic?” Mila murmurs, brows furrowed. “Does she know?”

“About how deep this all goes?”

Mila nods in acquiescence.

“No. I want her to find out on her own.”

“If it were me, I think I’d want a little head’s up. Before I went through all the trouble of trying to find her.”

I shake my head, staring at the black divider separating us from the front.

“Not Hannah. She’d save her just so she could turn her in the right way.”

Mila smiles softly. “She’s better than me. I wouldn’t be able to call you my brother if you did any of those horrible things.”

I can’t say I disagree with her, though Hannah’s always had a soft spot for damn near anyone. She’d try to rescue a worm if it meant it could do whatever worms do for another day.

“She knows the kind of person her sister is. She just doesn’t want to believe it.”

“You like her.” It’s not a question.

I clench my teeth because I can’t deny there’s some sick part of me that wants to claim Hannah for myself. Shatter her and put her back together so she’ll never leave. Make her fall in love with me.

I’m a sick fuck, but . . . aren’t we all a little obsessed with someone at the end of the day.

“If you’re worried about what Mom or Savannah or even Bailey will think . . .” Her gray eyes flash with something I can’t place. “Don’t. They’ve all had their chance at happiness. We haven’t.”

Jesus. This is getting too much like a Hallmark movie for me.

“When it’s all said and done, Mila, we’ll just be two different people. I’ll stay at my shop in Inglewood and Hannah Gaines will go back to being California’s princess.”

It tastes like fucking battery acid coming out of my mouth.

“Don’t you ever get tired of pretending you don’t care?”

“Don’t you?” I challenge and she purses her lips.

“I’m not running from anything. Or anyone.”

“And Bailey wasn’t planning to go back to New Orleans just like Savannah wasn’t falling in love with Prince. Just like you aren’t hung up on Cross.”

She narrows her gaze on me, cheeks flaming red. “Don’t pretend like you understand me.”

“I understand you better than you think because you’re just like me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I am not.”

“Pretend all you want, Mila. You and I don’t belong in their world any more than Hannah belongs in mine.”

“What if she did, though? Belong in your world. You know her so well, what if she hates it as much as we do?”

I mull it over for a moment. Hannah in my world. Cooking dinner with me in my little kitchen every day. Watching movies on a rainy Saturday.

Curling up against me every night.

“She doesn’t, though,” I murmur as we pull up in front of my house. It doesn’t escape me that in a couple hours, I have to meet Hannah to take her to the Inner Sanctum.

The last place on Earth I want her to see.

“You good to go home?”

She smiles softly. “I’ll be fine.”

I nod, climbing out of the back and stretching my legs. I’m too tall for the back of the Bentley. Another way I don’t “fit” into this world.

“Mason,” Mila calls before I shut the door. When I look back at her, her expression is guarded. “I trust your judgment. You always do the right thing.”

She’s wrong. I’ve tried to do the right thing my entire life, but this time . . . I’m not sure I want to. If giving Hannah up is the right thing, I don’t know if I can.

If I’m toxic, she made me this way.

Now she gets to live with the consequences.

“Have a good night, Mila.”

Hannah’s house is pink.

Fucking pink. Like pink lemonade on a hot summer day.

My truck looks out of place up front, but as I stand on the little porch, knocking on her door, I realize, so do I.

I’ve always been out of place in her world, just as she is in mine. We weren’t meant to meet. I know it. The fucking universe knows it and it reminds me every time I’m forced to remember she’s Melissa Gaines’ sister.

The forbidden fruit.

Thank fuck Mila didn’t mention what she walked in on at the therapy session. I have a feeling Hannah would be the final nail in the coffin for Mom and me. She’d see it as a betrayal, even if Hannah wasn’t the one who partook in the events that nearly destroyed us. She’s related to Melissa, and that’s enough in Mom’s eyes.

I knock again when Hannah doesn’t answer and finally, I hear footsteps on the other side of the door just before she opens it. I’m still tense from the gladiator-style family therapy session, and I’d rather be alone, but I gave her my word.

And I know she’d go by herself if I didn’t go with her.

I have half a mind to tell her to hurry up, so we can get this over with, but when I see her . . . I stop dead in my fucking tracks.

Bare toes with red polish, tanned legs leading to a silky black robe that sits entirely too fucking high on her thighs. Lace from her bra at the center and finally, those fucking freckles that almost did me in years ago.

Fuck me.

“Hey,” her cheeks flame, but she doesn’t move to open the door.

“Are you going to let me in, Hannah?” My voice is just as dark as my mood, though I can’t tell if it’s lifted since she opened the door or gotten worse at the sight of what I can’t have.

Probably a bit of both.

“Oh, sorry,” she chuckles nervously, stepping out of the way to let me inside.

“Here,” I murmur, holding out the bouquet of white daisies I felt the need to bring. Now that I’m here, I’m deciding I should have thrown them out the fucking window.

She pauses, cheeks brighter than I’ve ever seen them.

“I thought this wasn’t romantic,” she teases and I shrug.

“It’s not.”

“So you always show up at a girl’s house with flowers and take her to kinky sex clubs?”

I swear to fucking God . . .

“You plan to go in that?”

I can’t lie. The thought of anyone else seeing her like this pisses me off more than I’d like to admit.

I step closer, the scent of her perfume wafting over me and very lightly, reach out to rub the bottom hem of her robe, right over her thigh. Goosebumps raise on her skin from my fingers and I can practically hear her heartbeat hammering in her chest, but I don’t step away.

Neither does she.

Her lips part slightly over a breath when my fingers dance across her bare skin, and her eyes go half-lidded. Hazy green in the late setting sun.

“Maybe I will.”

“Go get dressed.” Before I spank your ass.

Forcing myself back from her, I move into the living room. At least it’s not entirely pink.

The house is warm, decorated in rich colors and all manner of different patterns. A stark contrast to the sterile mansion her mother owned in Bel Air and a hell of a lot smaller.

Funnily enough, it suits her better than the sprawling estate ever did.

Hannah moves into the kitchen to get a vase before coming back to set her flowers on the coffee table. There’s a picture on the mantel, that catches my eye. Hannah and Melissa. Young, probably teenagers. It’s easy to see their twins when they’re right beside each other.

“I just wanted a reminder,” Hannah says softly from behind me. The room shifts and the tension could be cut with a knife. She chuckles quietly, though it lacks amusement. “It’s hard to forget she was that girl once. Happy . . . real.”

“She’s still real,” I murmur, turning away from it. It’s hard to look at the woman I’ve been obsessed with for years, standing next to the one I’ve wanted dead for a long fucking time. “She’s just a murderer.”

“She’s still a person,” Hannah says quietly. “She’s still my sister.”

“And she shouldn’t be.” I don’t know what makes me say it, but it’s true. No one as good as Hannah should ever be related to a monster like fucking Melissa Gaines. “She doesn’t deserve to be.”

Hannah watches me for a moment, biting the inside of her lip in thought.

“I’m not sure we’re all that different. She just acted on her dark thoughts.”

I shake my head, gritting my teeth. She’s too fucking good for this world. Too fucking good for me.

“You don’t have a dark bone in your body, Hannah,” I murmur under my breath.

She’s silent for a moment, watching me.

“And if I did? If I did those horrible things she’s accused of.”

Fuck.

I don’t have an answer for her. In my mind, I want to say I’d kill her. In my chest I know I fucking couldn’t.

Ironic, isn’t it?

“I’ll go get dressed now,” she says quietly.

And then she goes to her room and shuts the door, leaving me with nothing to do but think.