Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
The skiers shed their gear as James helps me set the table. We move around each other with the ease of muscle memory, fluid and instinctive. When I stumble over the dog, James catches my elbow.
A touch so soft, imperceptible, I have to look to believe it’s there.
I glance up, not bothering to resist. His eyes are warm and soft, so full of yearning. Is this what I look like when I’m looking at him? Because there is no hesitation, no hiding his feelings in that look.
His fingers tighten, sending heat straight through me, reigniting what’s been simmering since his nose touched my palm and traced its way up to my neck. His cologne fills my lungs, and I step closer. He dips his head, his gaze dropping to my mouth. My chin lifts—
“Hmm… can I help set the table?” Mason clears his throat and strides toward us.
I jerk away. “Nope, all good. I stumbled. James saved your mom’s favorite dishes.”
“Is that so?” Mason stands, hands on his hips, eyes cold as a frozen lake.
What did he see? He’s watching us like he caught that moment. And how could he not? James stands rigid, hands shoved in his jeans pockets, meeting Mason’s stare head-on. I take a deep breath and continue setting the table.
Anna tosses a ball, and Bell launches after it. Paws thud across the wide oak planks before she skids into the door, snatches the ball, and trots it back to a cackling Anna.
Laughter from upstairs, chaos downstairs, unspoken truths everywhere.
Just your average family holiday.
“Anna, don’t do that in the house,” Mason snaps. “How many times do I have to tell you? We don’t throw balls in the house.”
She looks up with tears collecting in the corners of her eyes, gaze moving from Mason to me to James.
Sticking her thumb in her mouth, she slowly walks over to James and lifts her free hand in the air.
My breath dies in my chest as I watch her choose him.
James picks her up and disappears into the kitchen, his voice a gentle murmur.
Mason seethes, seeing her choice for what it is.
“Do you have to speak to her that way?” I set the final dish on the table. “She’s one.”
“Should I let her do whatever she wants? She takes after her mother that way.”
He doesn’t wait for my response; he just huffs off toward the liquor cart.
I stand there waiting for surprise or hurt to hit me.
But at this point, why would I feel either?
The comment should sting. Instead, it barely registers.
And I follow the sound of James and Anna now laughing in the kitchen.
They sit on the floor, Bell curled beside them.
James stacks measuring cups into a tower while Anna babbles happily, tears already forgotten.
“Thank you,” I say.
He looks up, eyes soft. “When I said I was here. I meant it. For both of you.”
The sound of chairs scraping and family conversation reaches our temporary sanctuary. There’s a dinner to serve and a table full of family waiting. Anna knocks over the tower of cups and claps delightedly. The sound makes me smile, but it also reminds me that we can’t hide in this kitchen forever.
“Come on, Bug,” I lift Anna. “Let’s go eat.”
“How was skiing today?” I ask as we all take our seats and begin passing the dishes, clearly unable to handle the awkward tension hanging from the rafters.
“It was good. Beautiful day on the snow,” Ivy replies. “I’m more interested in hearing about your day. Did you guys hang out?”
“I needed a book, so I tagged along to the bookstore,” James says, shrugging in a way that doesn’t quite achieve the nonchalance he’s aiming for.
Anna leans against Bell, soft as a marshmallow. “Un J!” She waves a toy in one hand, beaming at James with the kind of adoration reserved for someone who hung the stars.
“Bell makes a good pillow, huh?” he says with a deep chuckle that fills the room.
Without meaning to, I smile. Anna speaks ten words, and today she added his name.
The bond between them, so easy and natural, tugs hard at the truth I’ve been fighting for too long.
I want more of these days. More laughter around a table we call our own.
The fears I’ve clung to—of what this might mean for me and Anna—are beginning to quiet.
Telling me it’s not leaving that should worry me. It’s staying.
A firm grip tightens on my thigh. Mason’s fingers dig into my skin. A warning I should probably heed. My head pounds. I’m so fucking tired of this show. I push his hand off and keep my breath even.
“James, you up for Fortnite later?” Beck asks.
“Yeah. Once I’m back from my run, I’ll find you guys.”
He plays video games with them? It hits harder than it should. There’s no ego. No hesitation. It’s not a performance or something he’s doing to impress me. It’s just him. Warm, caring, involved.
And somehow, that feels more intimate than anything else that’s happened today.
“Jules, that book series you ordered for me arrived. I read the first few pages. It might be best left for reading after dark.” Ivy smirks, leaning into James to whisper something only he can hear. His eyes dart to mine, and his cheeks flush. I choke back the bile rising in my throat.
“Honestly, it's a great story. About way more than just the...sex.” Leo and Beck snicker and Jules waves a hand to hush them.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, and says, “A large part of it is about people not communicating with each other and opening up about what they truly want. Who wants who. Who loves who.”
Her eyes sweep across the table. Challenge on full display.
“Anna, time for bed. Say goodnight,” I say, needing out now. From this table. From them all.
“I’ll come with you,” Mason says, collecting Anna into his arms.
Oh, hell.
He never does bedtime. If he shows up at all, it’s a quick kiss on her forehead before disappearing into his home office. And I have no idea what to make that tonight of all nights, he shows up.
My eyes meet James as I leave the table. If he senses my apprehension, he doesn’t show it, but I feel his gaze tracking me up the stairs. I keep my hands steady and focus on the routine. Anna and I have mastered it: bath, milk, diaper, PJs.
Mason strokes Anna’s back, his voice soft as he sings her a lullaby.
He tickles her tummy, pulling a delighted giggle that echoes.
It’s a scene of domestic bliss that doesn’t match our reality.
A year ago, I would’ve given anything for this—for his presence, his effort.
But now, clumsy and calculated, I want no part of it.
“Sweet dreams, Bug.” I kiss her forehead before slipping into the shower.
The glass door hisses open, cold air rushing in.
Mason steps in as if it’s normal. Maybe once it wouldn’t have turned my stomach, but now I turn my face into the stream, letting it hide the stiff set of my shoulders and the dread tightening in my chest.
“How was your day today?” he asks, tone hard to read.
“Good. Like I said. I took Anna to the bookstore.”
He leans closer, mouth brushing my ear. “Did James go with you?”
“Yeah. But you already know that.” I turn to face him. If he wants this fight, let’s have it. “Don’t pretend you care, Mason. You’ve made it clear Anna and I are not your priorities.”
“You don’t think I care. Oh, I care.” His hands tighten around my hips, pulling me flush against his body. “Do you think I don’t see it? The way he looks at you.”
Pushing out of his grip, I leave the shower and wrap myself in a towel. I see no trace of desire in his eyes. All I see is pride, a wounded ego. The jealous rage of a man who feels his claim is threatened. He isn’t looking at me as a lover—he’s looking at me as a possession.
“If you don’t like what’s happening, look in the mirror. I’ve tried for years to make this work, and all you’ve given me are snide remarks and groping hands. Sex won’t fix this.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I dress quickly, heart hammering, and slip downstairs, needing air. Space. Anything.
Fuzzy boots. Blanket. Back deck.
It’s quiet, a kind of eerie stillness where sounds carry. I see movement through the windows. He’s following me. Mason doesn’t chase; he avoids. Fear grips my insides. I hold my breath. The door swings open. I stumble back a few steps, my lower back hitting the railing.
“Do you need a reminder of who you’re married to?” His voice is sharp, eyes wild. “Are you trying to make me jealous? That skirt the other night. The thing in the dining room before dinner. Whatever that was yesterday in the basement…”
He stops inches from me. He’s not particularly tall, only an inch or two taller than me, but he looms. Trying to intimidate me. Make me cower.
“Mason—”
He cuts me off, yanking me hard against him. “You want me to fuck you? Right here? Let him watch me bend you over the railing?” He spins me fast. His chest presses against my back. “Because he’s always watching you. And I think you like it.”
Dread coils down my spine as panic sets in. His nose ghosts over my neck as he presses harder against my body.
“Mase, this isn’t you,” I whisper, finally finding words—and my balance to either kick or drive an elbow if I have to. Because Mason has crossed plenty of lines, but he’s never touched me when I didn’t want it. And no way in hell is that happening.
For a moment, his breath—hot and ragged—ghosts across my neck, his fingers digging into my skin. He sucks in a long, shaky breath and his hold loosens. First one finger, then another, until his hand falls away completely. He steps back as though space might absolve him.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.
” His voice is soft now, almost fragile.
A careful smile spreads across his face as he cradles my cheek, all traces of anger tucked neatly away.
“The thought of losing you...The idea makes me so angry. I’m going to catch up on some work so I can spend the next few days with you and Anna. ”
He turns and disappears inside while I stay frozen, releasing a slow, shaky breath as my body trembles.
The woods call to me. How many times have I stared at those trees and wished I could escape into them?
Now I don’t hesitate. I force my feet to move and don’t stop until the trees swallow me whole.
Only here, surrounded by silence and space, can I finally breathe.
The sobs I’ve been holding back break free.
The woods wrap tighter, offering silence, safety, and all the time I need.
When the tears finally stop, when my breathing steadies, the thoughts I’ve been avoiding creep in.
What happens tomorrow? Next week?
Mason has never touched me in anger, but tonight he crossed a line I never imagined he would. If he can do that once, what’s stopping him from doing it again? Am I safe? Is Anna? Do I need to keep my distance from James—to make sure Mason has no motive to escalate, to go further?
Today may have been the happiest I’ve felt in a long time, but what’s happening between James and me doesn’t exist in a vacuum. There’s a messy web of relationships caught between us. Tonight was a warning. A glimpse at how badly this could all fall apart.
But it was also something else: a preview of what happens when I stop playing by Mason’s rules. When I stop shrinking myself to fit the box he’s built for me.
I sit there long after the cold has numbed my limbs. Remembering the bookstore, the kitchen, the sunroom—the warmth that promised a better future.
And the truth of my marriage: it’s no longer only about happiness.