27. Shya

Chapter twenty-seven

Shya

I 'd fallen asleep again right after Mason promised he'd take me home as soon as the doctor cleared me. Goddess, I was just so tired. I could barely stay awake for more than a couple of hours at a time. When I woke up this time, the light was dim, and the only sound was Mason breathing. We were spooning again, and it felt like the safest place in the whole world. With Mason in the bed with me, holding me tight, there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

"How are you feeling, princess?" Mason's voice was quiet, subdued.

"Like a wrecking ball slammed into my chest."

He nuzzled my neck. "If I could take away this pain for you, I would. In a heartbeat."

I felt tears welling up, but I didn't want to cry. I needed a distraction. "Tell me about your tattoos."

"My tats?"

I turned over to face him. He was shirtless, and I cautiously reached out to trace the intricate designs. "When did you get them?"

"When I was a teen," he murmured, watching the touch of my fingers on his skin. Then he took my hand, guiding it to a stylized wolf on his bicep. "This one's for my Pack. My family." He moved my fingers to a small crescent moon near his collarbone. "This is for the people my mom and dad were before it all went to shit."

My fingers slipped down, brushing over a series of intricate lines on his ribs. "And these?"

"Each pattern represents a challenge overcome. This one was the first time I nailed a three-sixty snowboarding. This was when I biked four mountains in twenty-four hours. This one was for Derek and Sam graduating from high school. I thought they were never gonna get there; for sure, they were getting kicked out, but Ryan and I dragged them through their last year, and by some miracle, they passed."

He guided my hand to the intricate tribal design covering his shoulder and part of his chest. "This one's the most meaningful," he said softly. "Got it a few weeks after we met."

"It's beautiful," I whispered. "What does it stand for?"

He pressed my hand flat against his chest, where the tattoo covered his heart. "It's to remind me that no matter how dark it looks, no matter what happened in the past, there is always hope," he said, his voice intense. "You inspired this tattoo, princess. You inspire me to be a better person."

I wasn't ready for this conversation. I needed to change the subject quickly!

"Tell me about your dad. What was he like?"

Mason shifted, wrapping one arm around my waist. "My dad was … complicated."

"How so?"

"He was a good man, once. Before Mom died."

I waited, letting him gather his thoughts.

"After she passed, he just … gave up. Started drinking. Stopped being a dad."

"That must have been hard."

Mason grunted. "Ryan tried to pick up the slack. Always out hunting, working. Trying to keep food on the table."

"And you?"

"I was at home with the twins and Dad. When he bothered to show up."

I felt Mason's chest rise and fall in a deep sigh.

"He'd get drunk. Call me names. Pass out. Rinse and repeat."

Oh, Mason. "What about Sam and Derek?"

"They saw. Heard. I tried to shield them, but with our hearing …" Mason's voice trailed off.

I squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue.

"I begged him to get help, you know. To quit drinking. He'd try for a day or two. Never stuck. The pull of it was too great. He loved the drink more than he loved us."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yeah, I do. It was an illness, but it was a choice, too. If he wanted to stop, we would have done anything to help him. But in the end, he didn't want it. He liked the oblivion it provided. It meant he could escape everything; he didn't have to feel the pain of losing Mom anymore."

"What happened to him?" In the time I'd known the Shaws, I'd never heard any of them mention their dad.

"He let his anger take over. He lost control. Got violent. Not with Ryan or the boys. Just with me. It started small—I didn't get him a new bottle of beer fast enough, so he'd lash out. Or I gave the twins the last food in the fridge, and it was empty when he got hungry. The drink, it changed him. That wasn't who he really was. He was just so full of anger all the time. It got to the point where he'd hit out if I was in his way or I looked at him funny."

My breath caught. "Did Ryan know?"

"No. He was out all the time, trying to get us money and food to survive on. I didn't want him to know."

"Why?"

Mason's voice was flat. "Didn't want to burden him. He was doing everything he could just to keep us going. He didn't need to know what was going on at home as well. It was my problem. Mine and Dad's. It was up to us to sort it out."

"And? Did you sort it out?"

He fell silent for so long that I thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he said softly, "I'd managed to keep Dad away from the twins as much as I could. Then I got detention at school. It meant I came home later than usual that day. The twins were already there, and I came home to find Dad screaming at Derek. I knew Dad was a hair's breadth away from attacking him."

I looked up at him, wishing I could go back in time and make it better. "What did you do?"

His jaw clenched. "Intervened. Told Derek and Sam to run, and I took the beating."

"Mason, I'm so sorry."

He kissed my forehead, his lips so warm against my skin.

"I knew then I had to do something. It wasn't safe for the twins to be around him, not anymore. I told Dad he had to leave. He was furious, said I was a fucking waste of space, that he was ashamed of me and wished all of us had died instead of Mom."

I stroked his arm. "It was the drink talking, Mason. He didn't mean what he said."

Mason paused. "Maybe. Doesn't change what happened."

"Did he leave?"

"No. He came at me, said he was going to take care of us leeches once and for all. That I was first, and then he'd wait for the others, make sure we all joined Mom."

"Oh, Mason." I cupped his face in my hand, suddenly knowing without a doubt what had happened. It was the only thing that made sense. The Shaw brothers were still here, and it would explain why none of them mentioned their dad.

"You killed him."

He looked into my eyes, and in that moment, he looked so vulnerable. Like he was that kid again, trying to fight off his father. "I screwed up. I became just like him; I lost control. The fight, it wasn't easy, and it wasn't pretty. After … after I carried the body deep into the woods. I buried him near to the old Dark Goddess temple."

I felt sick imagining it. A boy dealing with something so horrific by himself. And suddenly, the tight rein he always kept on his anger, the balls and fidget toys he used to keep his hands busy all made sense. He was scared of losing control again and killing someone else. "Do your brothers know?"

"Ryan does. He found me a few hours later when he came home. The twins? I think they guessed, but they didn't ask questions when I told them Dad took off and wouldn't be coming back. I think they were all just relieved that he was out of our lives."

It was so different from the happy, loving childhood I'd had.

"Mason, I … I don't know what to say."

He shrugged, his voice flat. "It was a long time ago."

"You were just a kid. You shouldn't have had to deal with that."

Mason's eyes met mine, filled with a pain that seemed to stretch back years. "Someone had to. Better me than the twins."

I nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "That's why you became a PI, isn't it? To help others who can't help themselves."

Mason's eyes flickered away. "Partly."

"You're trying to save others from what you went through."

He let out a long breath, then pulled me closer. We lay there in silence for a while, just holding each other.

Finally, I spoke. "What do we do now, Mason? About Tristan, about … everything?"

His voice was hard when he answered. "Tristan is already dead; he just doesn't realize it yet. We'll take down anyone who stands with him."

I nodded, feeling a spark of determination ignite in my chest. "Good. Because I want payback. For what they did to me, to my dad, to everyone."

Mason pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes. "We'll get it, princess. I promise you that."