9. Reed

Reed

9

Mason Richard Zane, twenty-seven.

Only son of Richard and Bethany Zane.

One sister: Sienna Zane. Died two years ago this coming March after jumping from the roof of their father's hotel.

It doesn't matter how many times I read the facts, they hurt.

Mason's sister killed herself.

The darkness I've sensed Mason carrying around since I met him makes more sense now. He doesn't allow anyone to really get to know him, and he avoids commitments. It's probably rooted in a fear of letting people get too close.

He's been standing in front of me, silently struggling. And I've been too self-absorbed to see the depth of it. I'm not the only broken person barely making it through the day in this apartment. We're two haunted people living side by side.

I can't imagine the pain Mason carries with him. Sienna's death must have irreversibly shattered him inside.

Clicking on the next article, I keep reading, feeling wrong about it even if Mason has encouraged me to continue.

Mason's family built their empire from the ground up. His grandfather started with a single hotel on the outskirts of Vegas, and slowly over the years, the Zane family took over the nicest parts of the Las Vegas Strip.

After his grandfather passed away, his father took over. There's not much mention of Mason's mother, but what little I can find, she's usually at Mason's father's side.

Mason's dad gives me a bad feeling. It might be how he's never actually smiling, or it might be the dark gleam in his eyes. But every photo has a chill running through me.

The local Vegas papers paint a lovely picture of Rick Zane. They praise him for helping clean up certain areas, which in turn, reduced crime. But I'm not na?ve. There's always more to the story. And I don't think for a second that he did it out of the kindness of his heart.

Men like Rick Zane only care about two things: themselves and their wealth. And they generally have so much of the latter, they can guarantee no one airs out their dirty laundry.

So I dig.

I search.

I research.

It's a nice distraction from Carter—replacing one puzzle with another.

If I can't fix what's wrong in my life, I'll focus on someone else's. It's why I'm so good at what I do.

My chest tightens every time I think about the fact that Mason believes in me enough to want me to write about his family. He made it clear he's not close with his parents, and I can tell he's still torn up about what happened to his sister. Still, he wants me to keep digging. And every time I come to him with what I've found, he says I'm on the right track.

The right track.

It makes me wonder what he's waiting for me to find.

I'm sure he could just tell me, and maybe he would if I asked him.

I get the impression Mason would rather me uncover his secrets on my own. Like he isn't ready to face them but will once the moment is right. He wants me to dig until I find blood in the dirt.

Mason's intentions are the opposite of Carter's. And it's one more reason on a never-ending list that reveals how different they are.

I've been avoiding my email for the past couple of weeks because I know there are messages from Carter in there, and I'm not brave enough to look. He's still calling Sage every day, which means he hasn't given up. And I might have withstood his manipulation once, but he'll try other tactics until something works.

At least there's been no hint of Carter in LA. I haven't seen him once in the past month, and every day he doesn't show up, I detox just a little bit more. I chip away at the lies he would have told me if I'd stuck around. I get stronger.

Watching the bruises disappear.

Watching the blood drain from the whites of my eyes.

Physically, I've healed. Which now leaves me with the mental battle.

I'm not good enough.

I'm nothing without him.

No one is going to love the girl he turned me into.

Mental bombs he set, ensuring the shrapnel would stick with me.

Mason's key turns in the front door, and he walks into the apartment, looking too good as always. It doesn't take much since he's in a simple hoodie and jeans. But really, he could wear anything, and I'd find him attractive.

It's something I've known since the last time I was in town. But now that I've lived under the same roof as him for a month, it's even clearer. I don't plan on doing anything about it, but at least it's proof I'm not dead inside.

"Hey." He smiles when he spots me on the couch. "Working?"

I close the laptop and set it on the table. "Just finishing up, actually. I need a break before I get a headache from staring at the screen. Is it lunchtime?"

Mason comes upstairs every day for lunch like clockwork. I assumed that was his normal routine until Jude's wife, Fel, told me he never used to do that before I started staying with him.

"My afternoon appointment was canceled, actually." He stops at the edge of the couch, looking from me to my computer. "I'm off work for the rest of the day."

That's the first time this has happened since I've been staying here. He works all week. Sometimes weekends. And on days he is home, I've been hiding in my room. But as he continues to stare at me, I realize I'm taking up all his free time—not to mention his space.

Before I started staying with him, he probably would have used the opportunity to do something for himself. Now he's stuck babysitting his ex-roommate's sister. A job he didn't ask for, and it's not fair that I'm putting this on him.

"You should go out." I glance at the phone Sage bought for me, which is sitting on the table. "I was thinking about finally taking a trip to the compound to see Lyla anyway. I'm sure Sage could send someone to come get me. I'll stay the night there if you'd like some time to yourself."

Standing up, I adjust the straps of my tank top and force a smile.

"It's fine." Mason shrugs.

"You've been locked up in this apartment for too long." I force a smile. "Go, have fun. I'll be fine."

I start to walk past him, but he reaches for my hand.

I'd have flinched a month ago when the simplest touch only reminded me of what those soft caresses turn into if you trust them. But Mason tangling his fingers with mine doesn't raise fear. It skitters goosebumps up my arm.

It might not be safe to trust someone I don't really know like that, but as I look up into his blue eyes, I do. He would never physically hurt me.

"Reed." He releases my hand when I turn to face him. "It's fine. I don't mind you staying here."

"I know you don't, and I appreciate it. But I'm feeling better every day, and you deserve to get out of the apartment. Go on a date. Do something. Don't let me stop all your fun."

"You aren't." Mason takes a step closer, and he's so tall, I crane my neck back to look into his eyes. "Come to lunch with me."

"You want to go out to lunch?"

The farthest from the apartment I've gone out in the past month is downstairs to the tattoo parlor.

He nods. "I'm not the only one who needs to get out of the apartment. It'll be good for you. We can grab lunch or go and do something. Whatever you want."

"Why would you do that for me?" He has the entire afternoon to himself, and still he's choosing to spend it catering to my needs.

He doesn't owe me this.

"It's what friends do for each other, right?"

"Friends, right." I'm not sure why that hurts so much when it's what we are.

When it's all I want and all we can be.

After Carter, I don't know how to trust another man with my body, much less my heart.

"Good." His eyes skim down, and he swallows when his gaze pauses on my thin tank top.

I forgot to put on a bra since I was the only one home, and with his attention, my nipples pebble under the thin fabric.

"I'll get changed." I step back, realizing I shouldn't be walking around the apartment like this, much less in public.

Mason glances up at me, the smallest smile crawling up in the corner of his mouth. "I mean, I wasn't complaining."

His flirty comment should terrify me when Carter would have called me desperate for wearing this around another man. Instead, it does something else. Something unexplainable. My stomach flips over on itself, and I don't mind it.

Mason looks at me like I don't need to be ashamed of his attention. Like my body isn't something I need to hide for fear of being called names. I'm still reconciling the red flags versus the green ones given Carter would have berated me for this outfit.

I spent the past six years of my life trying to be everything for one man—only to have him still hate me for it.

Maybe if I tried a little harder, ate a little less, wore more makeup, he'd finally say I'm pretty and make me feel special like he did when we first met. Maybe if I acted like I wanted to touch him, he'd stop sleeping with other women. Maybe at some point, I will be enough.

All Carter's training did was chip away at my confidence.

But Mason isn't Carter.

He doesn't look at me like he wants to change me. He looks at me like I'm deserving of an ounce of attention.

"Still…" I take a breath, trying to steady my heart rate. "I think I'll at least put on a bra and pants."

"Your call." Mason smiles so big it hits me in the center of my ribs.

So bright, I feel warmth I haven't felt in a month—a year. Heat in the cold cavity of my chest. A smile so genuine, I find my own, just when I thought maybe I was no longer capable.

"Give me five minutes." Turning away, I walk to my room as fast as I can.

My heart is racing, and I need a little distance.

Mason is flirty with women, so I know it's not just me. Still, I let myself feel it. I let myself appreciate him seeing me as more than the messy, broken girl who showed up here a month ago.

And then I bury the feeling.

He's being nice, and I appreciate all he's doing, but we're just friends.

Slipping into jeans, I throw on a bra and sweater and turn to face myself in the mirror. My cheeks glow for the first time in weeks, and they're still flushed from Mason's attention.

Carter broke me, but I'm still here. I'm still worth looking at.

Reed Jackson's story isn't over yet.