49. Mason

Mason

M y mother has adopted Hannah like a stray kitten.

“I’ve already arranged for a nice in-home nurse to come help you take a shower. I know you must be wanting a real shower.”

“Do I stink?”

“Never dear, but it’s amazing what a good shower can do for the soul.”

Hannah’s eyes flit back to me nervously. “It’s okay. Mason’s been helping me.”

“I suppose he could, though, you better keep your hands to yourself, young man. She’s off-limits for another six weeks.”

Don’t fucking remind me.

All I’ve wanted to do since I got Hannah back is bury myself inside her and not come up for air for days, but . . . with the new wound in her shoulder, I can’t. Doctor’s fucking orders.

I’m happy to wait. I want her. Not sex.

But fuck if it wouldn’t make this shit a little bit easier if I could touch her without worrying I’m going to hurt her.

I’ve come to a new conclusion. Hannah likes to see me suffer. It’s fine. I’ll gladly suffer at her hand whenever she wants me to, but when she’s licking banana pudding off a spoon like a porn star at noon on a Tuesday when my family is in and out, it’s mildly fucking difficult to hide a hard-on.

Judging by the twinkle in her eye when she does it, I know she’s doing it on purpose.

Little brat.

“And Bailey sent you this,” Mom produces a stack of books from the box beside her, most of which were written by my sister, but there are a few others thrown in there, too.

“Oh, thank God,” Hannah groans, taking the first one with a wince. “I was so bored yesterday.”

“We’re going to have to move out of here,” I chime from the wall, but no one pays an ounce of attention to me.

After we left the hospital last week, Mom brought us back to her house and the spare room—with new furniture, of course. I’m not complaining, mostly because as much as I don’t want to, I’ve had to step out to deal with insurance shit at the garage and I refuse to leave Hannah alone right now.

Though she’s able to move around and her stitches are healing nicely, I know Hannah and her penchant for doing shit she’s not supposed to.

Mom loves it, of course, doting on Hannah, despite her begging to be left to fend for herself. I think my mother is just enjoying having her company, more than anything, but we’ll get to that later.

“Oh, and Mila,” Mom sighs, producing a box of cookies. “Mason let it slip the other night that you love orange-flavored cookies, so she took the liberty of making these herself. She’s a great baker.”

Hannah actually looks like she might cry.

“And this is from Bob and me.” Mom hands her a small box, popping the lid off so Hannah doesn’t have to struggle with one hand.

And then, Hannah really does cry.

“Thank you,” she breathes. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I know how hard it can be to lose family, even if that family’s not worth losing in the first place, so . . . I just wanted you to know you’re one of us.”

Hannah holds up the little gold locket to show me. It almost completely matches the ones my mother and father had made for my sisters when they were kids.

When I eye Mom, she holds up her hands in defense.

“There’s not a tracker in it,” Mom says, eyeing me, “but don’t think I didn’t think about it.”

“It’s perfect,” Hannah smiles and Mom gives her a soft pat on the leg.

God, this is turning into a Hallmark movie.

Honestly, though, she fucking deserves it. We all deserve it. A little peace and quiet after that hell has died down. Melissa Gaines is dead. Governor Gaines is in prison, about to be brought to trial. Marcus fucking Parker is dead. The cartel’s gone. Even that rat, Ian.

Life crumbled around us, but now we’re standing on top of the rubble. Finally fucking free.

“Now. Let me brush your hair.”

“Mom. Can it wait a bit? Hannah’s tired.”

“I’m fine,” Hannah says, completely missing the message.

“She’s fine,” Mom mimics.

“Mom,” I bite, tension radiating through me.

“Fine,” she sighs, leaning down to place a kiss on Hannah’s cheek.

Fuck, that’s something I never thought I’d see.

“I’ll come get you in a bit and you can go back to spoiling her.”

“Hey!” Hannah chastises from the bed. “I am not spoiled.”

I cock a brow as Mom tidies up the remnants of the steak dinner she brought for us.

“Only a little,” Hannah admits and if I wasn’t so tense, I would laugh.

“I’m going to go visit Bob. He should be here by now,” Mom smiles, stopping to pat me on the chest. She must feel something there because she pauses, her eyes going wide and her lips parting ever so slightly while I convey to her with my stare to keep the hell quiet.

She clears her throat, righting herself.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Bye, Monica,” Hannah calls as I shut the door behind her.

Fucking finally.

Silence.

“Why are you so quiet?” Hannah asks as soon as the door shuts behind Mom.

I suck in a deep breath. I can’t tell you the last time I was fucking nervous for something. Figures she’d be the one.

“I’m not,” I murmur, voice gruff when I turn back to her.

She eyes me angrily from the bed, but I know her well enough to know that anger is just hurt.

She thinks I’m upset with her for leaving.

She’s right, but . . . this is not that.

“Well, can you just talk to me, please?” The tear slipping down her cheek is like a shot of cement down my spine.

She waits for a moment, but when I can’t form the words, her bottom lip wobbles.

“You’re being an asshole.”

“And you’re being a brat,” I counter.

You know, for being such a small thing in my pocket, it sure as fuck feels like the weight of the world when you’re trying to work up the damned courage to use it.

“If you want to go, we can. We don’t have to stay here—”

“Hannah, shut up.”

Her eyes go wide, but for once, she actually falls silent.

Thank fuck.

Taking a deep breath, I move back to the side of the bed where she’s sitting, sidestepping the chair to get on my knees beside the bed, instead. I’m sure it’s not what she envisioned. The hospital and now Mom’s, the gunshot wound to the shoulder. The fucking storm that we just came through, but . . . it’s us.

“You’ve been sulking for days.”

“I’m not sulking.” Far from it, actually. More like shitting myself at the prospect of asking the girl of my fucking dreams to marry me, but you know.

“So what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

She opens her mouth at the same time my brain just says: fuck it.

Her words catch in her throat, those sexy fucking eyes glinting in the later afternoon sun streaming through the window.

“Mason Carpenter,” she croaks, her voice hoarse. “Are you—”

“Proposing?” I stop her, voice rough in my throat. “Yeah, I fucking am.”

“You’ve been quiet because you were . . .”

“Because I was trying to decide if this was the right time, but then I realized, there isn’t a perfect time. We aren’t candlelit dinners or picnics on the beach at sunset, Hannah. We’re darkness and mine has fucking craved yours since the moment I laid eyes on you. I can’t promise shit won’t be difficult from time to time. We may argue. We may not. But I promise I will never stop fucking chasing you, Hannah Marie.”

She swallows audibly, slowly reaching up to take the glistening black gold band.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, as if she says it any louder everything around us will slip away.

“The vines are me holding onto you—” I murmur “—with a fucking death grip, might I add. The diamonds are what you gave to me when you gave me your love. And that big stone in the center, with the green bleeding into the clear, is us bleeding for each other because I don’t ever want to be without you by my side again.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she falls silent, twirling the ring around in her fingers to get a better look at it. “And you said you weren’t romantic,” she chuckles softly, wiping a tear from under her cheek.

“I don’t want to go another second without you being mine, Hannah. I’m so fucking in love with you.”

Carefully, she scoots to the edge of the bed, bringing her hand up between us. We both look at the ring and then she holds it out to me.

“Are you asking me because I was shot or because you’re in love with me?”

I chuckle because I knew she was going to ask that and produce the receipt from my pocket.

“You bought it . . .” She breathes, eyes going wide.

“Before you left,” I confirm. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” she breathes and my chest tightens at the word. She looks like a goddess sitting above me, with me at her feet, ready to worship her.

Fuck, I just might.

“A thousand times, yes.”

Fuck me.

“I love you.”

And then she’s surging forward. I catch her in my arms and it’s too rough for her with her shoulder, but she kisses me despite the pain. Her lips slip against mine and it’s the most alive I’ve felt since I woke up to her missing from the bed beside me.

“You have to put it on,” she says softly against my lips, a tear slipping down her cheek between us. “Please?”

My chest tight, I take it from her, slipping it down her delicate finger and bringing it up to my lips.

“I love you,” she reminds me. “And I don’t ever want to be without you again.”

“You won’t be. I don’t care when. It could be fifteen years from now, but I’m going to fucking marry you.”

She shakes her head, her eyes dancing mischievously.

“You said you don’t want to go another second without me as yours, but . . . you forgot I don’t want to go another second without you as mine , either.”

I cock a brow.

“Little doe?”

“Right now,” she nods. “I want to marry you, right now.”