Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DESTINY
Ican't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I feel Mason's breath on my lips, the almost-kiss replaying in my mind like a movie scene. It's been less than forty-eight hours since I showed up on his doorstep, yet here I am, lying awake thinking about a man I barely know.
This wasn't part of the plan. I came to Whisper Vale for safety, not romance. The last thing I need is another relationship, especially one built on lies and desperation.
But Mason isn't Greg. The differences are stark and numerous. Where Greg controlled, Mason protects. Where Greg demanded, Mason offers. Where Greg took, Mason gives.
I roll onto my side, punching my pillow into submission. This attraction is just gratitude mixed with proximity. Nothing more. It can't be more.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Tasha checking in.
Tasha: How's life with Mountain Man Therapist? she texts.
I type back: Complicated. He's nothing like I expected.
Tasha: Good complicated or bad complicated?
Me: He almost kissed me tonight. I hesitate before adding: I wanted him to.
Tasha responds with a row of exclamation points, followed by: Get it girl!
It's not like that, I reply, though my body heats at the memory of his fingers on my cheek. He's just being kind.
Tasha: Sure, Jan. Men don't almost kiss women out of kindness.
I set my phone down without responding. Tasha doesn't understand. She didn't see Mason's face when I told him about Greg, the careful neutrality that barely masked his anger. He sees me as someone to fix, a trauma case like the troubled teens he counsels at Jax's wilderness program.
I'm not a project. I refuse to be one. Not again.
Greg started the same way, seeing potential in the shy new teacher, taking me under his wing, molding me into what he wanted. It took two years to realize he didn't love me; he loved owning me.
The bruise around my eye throbs, a visceral reminder of what happens when I trust the wrong man.
Giving up on sleep, I slip downstairs for water. The cabin is quiet except for the occasional pop from the dying fire. Through the windows, moonlight paints the snow in shades of silver and blue, a fairytale landscape.
Movement on the deck catches my eye. Mason stands at the railing in flannel pajama pants and a thermal shirt, staring out at the mountains. He looks solid and real against the dreamlike backdrop, steam rising from the mug in his hands.
I should go back upstairs. Instead, I slide open the glass door and step into the frigid night.
"Couldn't sleep either?" I ask.
Mason turns, unsurprised by my presence. "Occupational hazard," he says. "My brain doesn't know how to shut off sometimes."
I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I'd grabbed a coat. "What are you thinking about?"
"You."
The simple honesty of his answer knocks the breath from my lungs. No pretense, no games.
"What about me?"
"Wondering whether I'm helping or making things worse." He offers me his mug. "Hot chocolate. I make it from scratch."
I take a sip, the rich sweetness coating my tongue. "This is amazing."
"My mom's recipe. Secret ingredient is nutmeg."
"I suspected as much." I hand back the mug. "And for the record, you're helping. More than I can say."
Mason nods, taking a drink before asking, "How long were you with him? Your ex?"
"Two years." I lean against the railing beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching. "It wasn't always bad. That's the part no one understands. In the beginning, he was charming, attentive. Made me feel special."
"They usually start that way." Mason's voice is gentle but matter-of-fact. "Love bombing. Sets the foundation for the control that comes later."
"Is that your professional assessment, Dr. Walsh?" I try to keep my tone light.
"Just Mason is fine." He half-smiles. "And no, that's the voice of experience. My friend Riley was in a similar situation a few years back."
"What happened?"
"She got out. Met someone who showed her what real love looks like. They're married now." He turns to face me. "There's life after abuse, Destiny. Good life."
His words hit a tender spot in my chest, hope mixing with doubt. "I want to believe that."
"Start small. One day at a time." He gestures to the night sky. "Look up."
I tilt my head back and gasp. Without city lights to drown them out, the stars are spectacular.
"I've never seen so many stars," I whisper, suddenly aware of my insignificance in the vastness of the universe.
"Perspective," Mason says. "Whatever you're facing, the universe is bigger. You're a tiny speck in an infinite cosmos."
"That's... not as comforting as you might think."
He laughs, the sound warm in the cold night. "My point is, you're free to reinvent yourself. The stars don't care about your past. Neither does Whisper Vale."
"Do you?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
Mason studies me for a long moment. "I care about your safety. And your future."
Not the answer I was hoping for, but an honest one. I shiver, the cold finally penetrating my thin pajamas.
"You're freezing," Mason says. "Let's go inside."
Back in the warmth of the cabin, he stokes the dying fire while I curl up on the couch. He joins me, keeping a careful distance.
"You never finished telling me about your family," I prompt, not ready to return to my empty bed.
Mason settles deeper into the couch. "Not much to tell. Parents died when I was in college. Freak accident. It's just me and my sister now. She's happily married and determined to see me paired off too."
"Hence Sealed, Signed, Delivered," I conclude.
"Hence the ambush, yes." He runs a hand through his hair. "She means well."
"Family usually does." I think of my own parents, still baffled by my sudden career change and cross-country move. I told them it was about wanting adventure, not running for my life. One more lie in a growing collection.
"What about your family?" Mason asks.
"Typical suburban setup. Dad's an accountant, Mom teaches yoga. I have an older brother who's a software engineer in Seattle." I pick at a loose thread on my pajama pants. "They don't know about Greg. At least, not the bad parts."
"Why not tell them?"
I laugh without humor. "My mom's favorite phrase is 'everything happens for a reason.' What possible reason could there be for a man breaking my wrist because I talked to a male colleague at a school function?"
Mason's jaw tightens. "He broke your wrist?"
Shit. I didn't mean to reveal that particular detail. "It was a hairline fracture. I told everyone I fell."
"And they believed you?"
"People believe what they want to believe." I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant though my heart races. "Greg was charming, respected. No one wanted to think the beloved principal was abusing his girlfriend."
Mason's expression darkens. "Did you report him?"
"I tried." The memory still burns. "Filed a police report, had medical documentation. Two days later, the report mysteriously disappeared. Greg's brother is a detective in San Diego PD."
"Jesus," Mason mutters.
"That's when I knew I had to leave. Disappear completely." I wrap my arms around my knees. "I thought I covered my tracks, but then his PI friend showed up at my Reno motel room three days ago. Hence the black eye."
Mason's stillness is unnerving. When he finally speaks, his voice is dangerously calm. "This man assaulted you."
"He said he just wanted to talk." I touch my bruise gingerly. "This happened when I tried to run."
"Did he..." Mason hesitates. "Did he do anything else?"
I understand what he's asking. "No. I kneed him in the groin and locked myself in the bathroom until he left. Then I packed my car and drove straight here."
Relief softens his features. "Smart thinking."
"I'm learning." I manage a small smile. "Running might seem cowardly, but sometimes it's the only option."
"It's not cowardly. It's survival." Mason shifts closer, his thigh now touching mine. "You're incredibly brave, Destiny."
The compliment warms me more than it should. I look down, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze. "Tell that to my knees. They haven't stopped shaking since I got here."
"Fear and bravery aren't mutually exclusive." His fingers brush mine where they rest on the couch. "True courage is feeling the fear and acting anyway."
His touch sends electricity up my arm. I should pull away, maintain boundaries, keep perspective. Instead, I turn my hand palm up, an invitation he accepts, his warm fingers interlacing with mine.
We sit like that in comfortable silence, hand in hand, watching the fire burn down to embers. For the first time in months, I feel no need to fill it with nervous chatter or people-pleasing smiles.
"We should get some sleep," Mason eventually says. "Big day tomorrow."
"Right. Tree lighting ceremony. Dinner with your friends." I reluctantly release his hand. "More fiancée theatrics."
Something like disappointment flickers across his face. "It doesn't have to be all theatre."
My pulse jumps. "What do you mean?"
He stands, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Just that... the best cover stories contain elements of truth."
Before I can ask him to elaborate, he wishes me goodnight and heads to his bedroom, leaving me alone with the dying fire and a riot of confused emotions.
I don't get much sleep that night, either.
The next morning dawns bright and clear, perfect weather for the tree lighting ceremony. Mason's already gone when I come downstairs, a note on the counter informing me he had an emergency session with one of his clients and will be back by noon.
I use the alone time to bake cookies for tonight's dinner at Jax's. Baking centers me, the precise measurements and familiar processes soothing my anxiety. By the time Mason returns, the cabin smells like vanilla and cinnamon.
"It's like living with Mrs. Claus," he comments, hanging his coat by the door. "Those for Jax and Riley?"
"I never show up empty-handed." I brush flour from my cheek. "My grandmother's golden rule."
Mason steals a warm cookie from the cooling rack. "Your grandmother was a wise woman."
"Still is. Ninety-two and sharp as a tack." I watch as he savors the cookie, unreasonably pleased by his obvious enjoyment.
"These are incredible," he says around a mouthful of cookie. "What are they?"
"Brown butter snickerdoodles with a caramel center." I smack his hand as he reaches for another. "Save some for tonight!"
He captures my wrist gently, pulling me closer. "Make me."
The challenge in his eyes sends heat pooling low in my belly. We stand frozen, the air growing pregnant with possibility.
The moment breaks when his phone rings. Mason releases my wrist, stepping back to answer. I busy myself with the cookies, heart hammering against my ribs.
What is happening between us? This isn't just pretend anymore, at least not for me. Every touch, every look, feels increasingly real and dangerous.
"That was Tom," Mason says after hanging up. His expression has hardened. "The black Escalade is back. Circling town."
Cold fear washes over me. "He found me."
"Not necessarily," Mason counters. "Tom says the driver's being careful, staying just long enough to look around before moving on. Could be he's still searching, not certain."
I sink onto a stool, legs suddenly weak. "Should we cancel tonight? The tree lighting?"
"Absolutely not." Mason's voice is firm. "We stick to the plan. Be seen together, reinforce our engagement story. If your ex is watching, he needs to believe you've started a new life here."
"But what if he tries something?"
"Tom's got patrol cars watching for the Escalade. And I'll be with you the entire time." Mason comes to stand before me, taking my trembling hands in his. "I won't let anything happen to you, Destiny. I promise."
I look up into his steady blue eyes and can’t help but believe him. "Okay."
He squeezes my hands. "Now, let's figure out what you're wearing tonight. This is your big debut as my fiancée, after all."
His attempt to lighten the mood works. I laugh, tension draining from my shoulders. "Is the great Mason Walsh actually concerned about fashion?"
"I'm concerned about authenticity." He releases my hands. "If we're selling this engagement, we need to look the part."
I cock my head, studying him. "What exactly does 'the part' look like in your mind?"
"Coordinated, but not matching. Like a couple that shops together but maintains individual style." He shrugs at my surprised expression. "I have a sister, remember? I've absorbed more about women's fashion than I care to admit."
"Alright then, future husband." I stand, planting my hands on my hips. "What should I wear to impress Whisper Vale and throw my stalker ex off the scent?"
Mason considers for a moment. "That green sweater you wore yesterday. It brings out your eyes. So any top in a similar color on you would be perfect. And those jeans you came in that..." He trails off, color rising in his cheeks.
"That what?" I press, enjoying his discomfort.
He clears his throat. "That fit you well."
"You mean the ones that make my ass look fantastic?" I tease.
"Those would be the ones, yes." His frank admission surprises a laugh out of me.
"Noted. And what will you be wearing?"
"Blue button-down, dark jeans. My leather jacket." He raises an eyebrow. "Will that meet with your approval, future wife?"
The title sends a strange thrill through me. "I suppose it'll do," I say with mock seriousness. "Though you could wear a trash bag and still look ridiculously handsome."
The compliment slips out before I can stop it. Mason's eyes widen slightly, but he recovers quickly. "Careful, Brooks. Talk like that might make me think you're not entirely faking this engagement."
He says it lightly, but there's a question in his eyes that makes my heart flutter.
"Maybe I'm just a very good actress," I counter, though the wobble in my voice betrays me.
"Maybe." He takes a step closer. "Or maybe there's more truth to this charade than either of us wants to admit."
My breath catches as he tucks a stray curl behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. For a moment, I think he might finish that interrupted kiss from last night.
Instead, he steps back, mask of control firmly in place. "We should get ready. Tree lighting starts at five."
As I watch him head upstairs, I exhale slowly, trying to calm my racing pulse.
This is getting complicated with feelings developing where they shouldn't.
I came to Whisper Vale looking for safety.
I didn't expect to find temptation in the form of a brooding mountain man therapist with gentle hands and watchful eyes.
And I definitely didn't expect to want him this badly after just a few days.