Chapter 24

24

Chloe

The pond’s glassy surface reflected the blue sky, a collage of pink and orange fading into twilight. My heart thumped an erratic rhythm. I had carried the weight of my past alone for so long, letting it hunch my shoulders and furrow my brow. But today, with Mason’s gentle presence beside me, the burden felt lighter, like maybe, just maybe, I could set it down.

“Okay.” The word was a whisper, more to myself than to him. A promise that I was ready to let someone in. Ready to peel back the layers of carefully constructed walls brick by brick, even if the thought sent tremors through me.

I glanced at Mason, his profile calm and reassuring against the backdrop of the sprawling ranch. He waited, patient as the ancient oaks that lined the pond.

A shiver traced the length of my spine, not from the cool autumn air, but from the prospect of vulnerability. The water rippled as a fish disturbed its tranquility—a mirror of my own unrest. I hesitated, biting my lower lip.

“Back home . . .” I started, then stopped. The words clung to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter, thick and unyielding. I tried again, forcing them out. “There’s a lot I haven’t told anyone here. About . . . about why I really came to Whittier Falls.”

My eyes returned to the pond, locking onto the undulating reflection as if it held the script of my life. The scars on my back tightened, a physical reminder of the night that changed everything. Of the night I became a survivor rather than a sister, a daughter.

I exhaled slowly, steadying my voice against the memories threatening to capsize me. “I think it’s time I tell you about that,” I said, finally lifting my gaze from the water to find Mason’s steady, kind eyes. His gaze never wavered from mine, patient and expectant. I took a deep breath, the cool air filling my lungs, emboldening me.

“Growing up,” I murmured, “was like living on a tightrope. My father . . . he was a storm cloud in a seemingly clear sky.” My words hung heavy between us, each one a weight lifted, yet pressing down with the gravity of my past.

“I thought we were happy, an ordinary family. But there was this darkness in him—like a riptide beneath calm waters.”

Mason’s hand brushed against mine, tentative but supportive. He leaned forward slightly, his presence a silent anchor as my voice trembled with the tide of memories.

“The night everything changed,” I continued, “it was like any other. Until it wasn’t.” My heartbeat quickened at the recollection, each thud echoing the fear that had once consumed me entirely.

“Chlo,” Mason whispered, his voice a lifeline amidst the swell of emotions. “You don’t have to . . .”

“No, I need to,” I insisted, meeting his gaze firmly now. “I survived . . . when no one else did.”

He reached out, his fingers encircling mine with gentle certainty. “I’m here,” he said, his gray eyes reflecting a storm of his own—a tempest of empathy and concern.

“Thank you,” I breathed out, allowing myself to lean into the comfort of his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand seep into my cold apprehensions. “It feels like another lifetime now. But the fear . . . it followed me here.”

Mason nodded, his jaw set with a quiet resolve as he listened, his hand a steady pressure against mine. I found the courage to keep speaking, to let go of the ghosts that had haunted me for far too long.

“My father snapped that night. I don’t even know why or how. Just did. ‘Attempted family annihilation’ is what the police called it. Then the media. It all became a circus, and I was still trying to come to terms with losing my mom, losing my little brother and sisters, being chased down and attacked by the one man who should have been my protector.

“And what’s almost just as bad, is that the only other survivor, my older brother Jamie, he abandoned me after it all.”

Mason stirred, a wrathful look crossing his face. “What?”

“He was away at college when it happened. The police brought him to the hospital to see me, but he was in shock. We both were. And then the reporters outside . . . it was all so much. He went to stay with friends out of state. A few months later, I got a call. He was changing his name and disappearing. Didn’t want anything to do with any of it. It was too much for him, I guess.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was a hell of a trauma. But to abandon you? When you were the one attacked that night? When you witnessed it all?”

Mason was raging now, and I knew he felt the pain I’d felt. I knew then, just how much he cared. I held his hand, squeezing it.

“I know . . . I’ve talked about that a lot in therapy. ”

“Fuck, Chloe. I’m so damn sorry you went through that. Words . . . they’re not enough.”

I shook my head. Of course they weren’t. Nothing was. But I appreciated his empathy all the same. It meant more than I could imagine.

I brushed a hand across my arm, feeling the ridge of scar tissue there, hidden beneath the sleeve of my shirt. “I’ve got . . . marks,” I murmured, my voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. “You’ve seen them.” My fingers trailed up to the edge of my hairline, hovering over the jagged line that marked my temple.

“Chloe . . .” Mason’s voice was a tender caress, his gaze never wavering from mine.

“Most of them are on my back, because I’d tripped and fell. He got me there before I could get away again.” I confessed, a shiver running through me as I remembered the searing pain, the blood. “They’re . . . reminders of that night. Of everything I lost.”

His hand, still clasping mine, gave a reassuring squeeze. “But they ain’t who you are, Chlo,” Mason said, the timbre of his voice deep and steady. “They’re just . . . echoes of the past.”

“Echoes that sometimes scream,” I admitted, biting down on my lower lip.

“Maybe so,” he agreed softly, leaning back, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that sent a different kind of shiver through me this time. “But what I see? That’s a woman who’s brave as hell. Someone who faced the worst and came out breathing. Fighting.”

“Doesn’t feel like bravery,” I said with a half-hearted chuckle, looking away from those penetrating gray eyes.

“Bravery ain’t about not being scared,” Mason replied, shifting closer until I could feel the warmth of him beside me. “ It’s about facing life head-on, scars and all. And you, Chloe Beecham, you’re doing that every single day.”

“Even when I want to run?” My voice wobbled, revealing the doubt that lingered beneath my newfound veneer of courage.

“Especially then.” His other hand lifted, hesitating for only a second before his fingers gently traced the line of my jaw, urging me to face him again. “Because you’re not running anymore. You’re here, opening up to someone who wants nothing more than to be by your side.”

“Thank you, Mase,” I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek, no longer able to hold back the tide of emotions his words unleashed within me. “But there’s something else,” I started, my voice barely above a whisper, betraying the unrest that danced like ripples across the water.

“Something else?” He tilted his head, concern etching deeper lines into his rugged face.

“I’ve moved around a bit. At first, trying to hide. I changed my name, too. But then, it became about finding a new home. Starting over somewhere I could put down roots, call my own. I thought I found that here. Safety. A new start away from my past. But I got a call at Sunshine Acres. It sounded like him . . . like my father.” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard against the fear rising in my throat.

“Sounded like him?”

I nodded. “And he called me Katie. I changed my name years ago. I’ve moved half a dozen times. No one knows that name anymore. No one.”

“But he’s in prison, right?”

“Yes. I double checked after the call. But the ID showed an area code from Illinois, not Florida, where he is. He can’t spoof a number from prison. And then, there was a letter.”

“A letter? ”

“It was postmarked in Chicago. It just said two words. ‘Found you.’”

“Goddamit.” Mason looked like he was trying to contain his anger, but it seeped through him.

It didn’t scare me. It felt good knowing I had someone on my side. Someone who cared.

“What if it’s one of those copycat assholes? Someone obsessed with the case, tryin’ to mess with you?”

I thought about that. “I guess it’s a possibility. But it sounded just like him.”

“Well he can’t hurt you from prison. What about your brother?”

“Why would he try to find me now? He’d made it clear he didn’t want anything to do with me.” The pain of that fact pricked me like usual, but I was able to push it away faster this time.

Mason’s hand found mine, his grip firm and reassuring. “Chloe, look at me.” His gray eyes locked onto mine, steady and unflinching. “Whoever it is, whatever they’re trying to do, you’re not facin’ this alone. Not anymore.”

“Can we really stop someone who doesn’t want to be stopped?” I asked, the trembling in my voice betraying the terror that stalked my every step.

“We can sure as hell try.” His jaw set in a way that told me he meant every word. “I’ve got your back, Chloe. This town, it’s got good folks who’ll stand up for their own. And you—you’re one of us now.”

“Even with all my baggage?” The question slipped out, wrapped in half-hearted humor, but laced with genuine doubt.

“Especially with it.” There was no hesitation in Mason’s voice, just a quiet certainty that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. “You’ve been through hell and back, Chlo. But those scars? They’re just part of your story. And I reckon it’s about time we start writing a new chapter. Together.”

“Thank you, Mason,” I whispered, finding solace in the promise shining in his eyes. A promise of protection, of shared burdens, and maybe, just maybe, a hint of forever blooming between us.