Chapter 9

9

Chloe

I sat cross-legged on the bed, my journal open on my lap. The setting sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a soft glow across the creamy pages.

Deep breath in through the nose . . . hold for three seconds . . . exhale slowly through pursed lips. The familiar pattern of the breathing exercise helped settle my racing thoughts. I repeated the cycle a few more times, feeling the tension gradually release from my shoulders.

Glancing down at the journal, I read the affirmation I’d scrawled across the top of the page: “I am safe. I am worthy of love and happiness.” The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else’s life. Someone whole and undamaged.

I closed my eyes, trying to believe the affirmation as I whispered it aloud. “I am safe. I am worthy . . .” My voice cracked on the last word.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. Unbidden, memories rose to the surface—flashes of violence, screaming, blood. My whole world wiped out . . .

No. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, forcing the images back into the recesses of my mind. I couldn’t let the past control me. Not anymore.

I refocused on my breathing, anchoring myself in the present moment. The feel of the quilt beneath me. The chirping of birds outside. The lingering aroma of coffee in the air.

“You’re okay, Chloe,” I murmured to myself. “You’re here now. You’re starting over.”

But even as I said the words, doubt crept in. After everything that happened, could I really build a new life here? Find a place to belong?

I thought of the people I’d met so far in Whittier Falls. Eryn with her warm smile and easygoing nature. The other workers at Sunshine Acres who’d welcomed me without judgment. And Mason . . .

My breath caught. Mason, with his gentle eyes that had made me feel safe for the first time in forever. The way he looked at me, like he really saw me . . . until today. Until he snapped at me for just trying to help.

I shook my head. I could let both things be true. Mason made me feel safe, offering me a kind smile, a roof over my head, a friend. And he upset me, because he’s human and we upset people sometimes. My old therapist, Dr. Bannon would be proud of me. But as much as I could intellectualize it, I couldn’t make myself feel any better.

Sighing, I closed my journal and set it aside. I had to focus on my fresh start, on healing myself.

One day at a time.

Breathe in, breathe out. You’re safe now. The past can’t hurt you anymore.

A sudden knock at the door shattered the quiet, making my heart leap into my throat. I froze, clutching the quilt with white knuckles .

The knock came again, louder this time. “Chloe? It’s Mason.”

Mason. I let out a shaky breath, both relieved and terrified. Of course it was Mason. Who else would it have been? More logic, and yet still, the far-fetched possibilities swirled in my head before I heard his voice.

I stood on trembling legs, smoothing my hair with unsteady hands. I couldn’t ignore him, but the thought of facing him, of letting him in, made my stomach churn. I wasn’t good with confrontation. I wasn’t good with a lot of things lately.

Steeling myself, I cracked open the door. Mason stood on the tiny stoop, his dark hair tousled, concern etched on his handsome face. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry to just show up like this, but I wanted talk.”

“Alright.” I didn’t step outside or open the door any farther. Not to be shady, I just found myself glued to the wood, as if it were the only thing holding me up.

To Mason’s credit, he acted like that was totally normal and didn’t try to push.

“Uh, so . . . how are you settling in?”

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on the door. “I’m . . . I’m okay,” I managed, hating how small my voice sounded.

Mason’s gray eyes searched mine, seeing too much. “I don’t mean to intrude. I just . . . I care about you, Chloe. And I know starting over in a new place can be overwhelming.”

Tears pricked the back of my eyes. Despite me being kind of pissed at him, his kindness and sincerity touched something deep inside me. But I couldn’t let him in—figuratively or literally, apparently.

I couldn’t risk him seeing the broken pieces of my soul.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “But I’m fine, really. You don’t need to worry about me.”

I started to close the door, but Mason’s hand shot out, stopping it. “Chloe, wait. Please.” His voice was low, earnest. “I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I’m here for you. If you ever need anything, even just someone to talk to . . .”

I hesitated, torn. Part of me longed to fling open the door, to let him wrap me in his strong arms and chase away the shadows. But the other part, the part that had been hurt and betrayed, screamed at me to keep my walls up, to protect myself at all costs.

But the way Mason was looking at me, with such gentle understanding . . . Maybe, just maybe, I could let him in. Just a little.

Slowly, I opened the door wider. “Do you . . . Do you want to come in for a minute?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

A relieved smile broke across Mason’s face. “I’d like that,” he said, stepping inside. “Thank you for trusting me, Chloe.”

As I closed the door behind him, my heart fluttered with a tentative hope. Maybe this was the first step in learning to trust again, in believing that I could find a place to belong.

Mason stood in the small living area, his tall frame seeming to fill the space. He ran a hand through his dark hair, his gray eyes filled with remorse as he turned to face me.

“Chloe, I owe you an apology,” he said softly. “The other day, when I snapped at you . . . It wasn’t about you at all. I’ve just been under a lot of stress, and I let it get the best of me. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

I wrapped my arms around myself, a protective gesture. “It’s okay,” I murmured, not quite meeting his gaze. “I understand.”

“No, it’s not okay.” Mason’s voice was firm, but gentle. “You deserve better than that.” He shook his head and began to pace around the little bit of flooring he could in the small cottage.

“I’ve been working myself to the bone at the ranch for years, and I love it, don’t get me wrong. But it’s a lot. My parents used to help out a lot with Abs, and they’ve gone away for a bit. I always appreciated their help, but I guess I didn’t know just how much they did until they weren’t here anymore.”

Once he started opening up, I could tell the words were cathartic. The man had probably never admitted these thoughts to anyone. So I sat on the bed and let him keep pacing and talking.

“I’ve been running ragged tryin’ to keep her schedule together, tryin’ to keep up at work, tryin’ not to lose my mind. I don’t know how other single parents do it, I’ll tell you that. I can barely keep my head above water. And some days, all I feel is that I’m a failure.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You’re not?—”

He held up a hand. “I know it could be worse. I know I’m a good dad, and all. But I’m not being the kind of dad I want to be. The kind Abby deserves.”

I had so much to say in response to that, but it wasn’t the time. And I wasn’t a parent, so I couldn’t truly put myself in his shoes. But I filed my thoughts away for later and let him continue.

“Snappin’ at you, when all you’d done is try to look out for my girl . . . that wasn’t right. And it didn’t have a thing to do with you. That was me, feeling like I’d failed again.”

“You didn’t fail, Mason. But I appreciate the insight. I understand why you snapped the way you did, and I’m sorry I didn’t contact you right away.”

“Chloe, no.” He took two steps toward me, which, with his long legs, put him right at the foot of my bed, towering over me. I had to lean my head back almost all the way to see his face.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

His voice softened as we locked eyes, and suddenly the realization that he was standing over me at my bed must have hit him, because the entire energy of the room shifted.

“I hope you can forgive me,” he said softly.

“Of course.”

He nodded, his head bobbing far too long for a simple acknowledgment. There were other thoughts brewing in his mind, but I didn’t dare ask what.

“I want you to know that I’m here for you, Chloe. I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I care about you. And I want to support you, in any way I can.”

His words sent a warm flutter through my chest, even as I fought to keep my guard up. I knew he meant well, but it was hard to let myself believe that someone could truly care about me, after everything I’d been through.

“I appreciate that, Mason,” I said carefully. “But you don’t have to feel responsible for me. I mean, you have enough on your plate, you just admitted that.”

Mason laughed, but it was humorless. “I do,” he said, his voice roughening with emotion. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have room in my life for other people. For friends . . . or maybe more than friends.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words, and I finally met his gaze again. The intensity in his eyes took my breath away, and for a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to let him in, to let myself fall . . .

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and all I could see was Mason—the flecks of silver in his gray eyes, the curve of his lips, the strong line of his jaw. My heart raced in my chest, and I knew I was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something that could shatter the fragile peace I had worked so hard to build.

But the moment passed, and I looked away, my walls snapping back into place. “I’m not . . . I’m not ready for anything more than friendship right now, Mason,” I said quietly. “I hope you can understand that.”

“Of course,” he said immediately, his tone reassuring. “I didn’t mean to pressure you, Chloe. I just wanted you to know that I’m here, in whatever way you need me to be. You already mean a lot to Abigail. And you’re here,” he said, motioning to the cottage around us. “You’re our friend, and that means somethin’ ‘round these parts.”

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m glad to be your friend. And Abby’s.”

And it was true. Even if I couldn’t let myself fully trust him yet, even if I couldn’t let myself fall, knowing that Mason was there, that he cared . . . it meant everything to me. And Abigail’s sweet friendship was the cherry on top.

Maybe, someday, I would be ready for more. But for now, this was enough. More than enough.