Chapter 7 - Lily
I can't believe what I'm hearing.
What Mason went through. What he endured. The horror of being a child watching his mother get beaten, trying to protect her, and being beaten himself for it. The shame he still carries for something that was never his fault.
It's painful. It's horrific. And I really thought he'd been some carefree kid running wild on a ranch, riding horses in the rain without consequences. I was so fucking wrong that guilt twists in my stomach like a knife.
"Mason," I breathe out, my hands gripping the saddle horn so tight my knuckles have gone white. "You did your best. You were just a kid. Nobody expected you to do more than that."
"I know." His voice is flat, emotionless, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is clenched so tight it must hurt.
"Logically, I know that. But at the time, I felt fucking useless.
Felt like I failed her every single day.
So as soon as I turned eighteen, I joined the military. "
"I had no idea," I say, and I hate how small my voice sounds. "I didn't know you were in the military."
Daisy keeps plodding along at that same steady pace, her hooves against the packed dirt. Mason doesn't look at me, just keeps his eyes fixed ahead, his hand steady on the lead rope despite whatever he's feeling inside.
"It's not something I talk about," he says. "It's a part of my life I'd rather forget."
Something in his tone makes my chest tighten.
There's more there. More pain, more trauma layered on top of what his childhood already carved into him.
I should drop it. Should let him keep those secrets buried where they won't hurt him.
But I can't. I need to understand this man who's shown me more kindness in twenty-four hours than most people have in years.
"Was it that bad?" I ask.
Mason's silent for so long I think he's not going to answer.
We complete another full circle around the corral.
The sun beats down relentlessly, and I can see sweat soaking through the back of his henley now, darkening the fabric.
My own cardigan is stuck to my skin, uncomfortable and too hot, but I barely notice.
All I can focus on is Mason. The way his shoulders have hunched slightly, like he's bracing for a blow. The way his breathing has changed, coming faster and more shallow. The way his knuckles have gone white where he grips the lead rope.
"I saw too much," he finally says, his voice so low I have to strain to hear it over the sound of Daisy's hooves. "Did too much. Things I can't take back. Things I can't forget no matter how hard I try."
My throat tightens. "Mason—"
"My body and mind are still paying for it," he continues, like now that he's started he can't stop.
Like the words have been building up for years and finally found a crack to escape through.
"I have nightmares. PTSD. There are nights I wake up thinking I'm back there, that I'm still in combat, that someone's trying to kill me.
Loud noises—thunder, fireworks, a car backfiring, they can send me right back.
Make me feel like I'm nineteen again and watching my best friend die. "
Oh god. His best friend.
I don't know what to say. What words could possibly be adequate for what he's telling me? What comfort could I offer that wouldn't sound hollow and meaningless?
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, because it's all I have.
"Not your fault." Mason's voice is rough, strained. "None of it's your fault. I chose to enlist. Chose to stay in even when it got bad. Those are my decisions, my consequences."
"You were trying to get stronger." The pieces are falling into place now.
The military wasn't about patriotism or serving his country.
It was about a boy who couldn't protect his mother desperately trying to become a man who could protect everyone.
"You wanted to be able to protect the people you love. "
Mason's head snaps up, his dark eyes meeting mine for the first time since he started talking. There's surprise there, like he didn't expect me to understand. Like nobody's ever made that connection before.
"Yeah," he admits. "That's exactly why I joined. I thought if I got stronger, learned to fight, learned to handle weapons and combat situations, I could come back and protect her. Protect everyone. Be the man I couldn't be as a kid."
"And did you?" I ask gently. "Did you come back and protect her?"
"By the time I got back, I was a fucking mess.
Spent months going from town to town, drinking myself stupid trying to stop the nightmares.
Couldn't hold down a job. Couldn't function.
Woke up startled at every loud noise, couldn't be around crowds, couldn't sleep more than a few hours without waking up screaming. "
Daisy completes another circle. I've lost count of how many times we've been around this corral. Twenty? More? It doesn't matter. The world has narrowed down to just this. Mason's confession, the sun beating down on us, the sound of hooves on dirt.
I glance toward the fence. Rosie's still with Tucker and Emma, all three of them laughing about something. Safe. Happy. Tucker catches my eye and gives me a small nod, like he knows we're in the middle of something important and he's got my daughter covered.
These men. This makeshift family. They take care of each other. They take care of people who need it. Even broken, traumatized ex-military guys who probably should be in therapy instead of running a ranch in the middle of nowhere Montana.
"When did you finally feel better?" I ask, turning my attention back to Mason.
"Took a while." He adjusts his grip on the lead rope, and I notice his hands are shaking slightly.
"Maybe six months of just... existing. Barely surviving.
Then one day I woke up and realized I hadn't had a nightmare the night before.
Hadn't woken up in a panic. It was the first peaceful sleep I'd had in a year. "
"What changed?"
"Nothing. Everything." He shrugs, the gesture at odds with the intensity of his expression.
"I just finally started accepting what happened instead of trying to drink it away or fight it or pretend it didn't affect me.
Started understanding that I was always going to have PTSD, that the nightmares might never fully stop, but I could learn to live with it. "
"And your mother?" I prompt gently. "You said you wanted to protect her."
Mason's jaw clenches again. "Once I finally got my shit together enough to come back to Blackwater Falls, first thing I did was kick my father out of the house. Told him if he ever came near her again, I'd kill him. And I meant it. I would've killed him without hesitation."
The words should scare me. Should make me question whether Mason's dangerous, whether I should be here alone with him. But all I feel is a fierce satisfaction that his mother finally got the protection she deserved. That Mason finally got strong enough to be the man he wanted to be.
"She must have been so relieved," I say.
"She was." His expression softens slightly. "She cried. Thanked me. Kept saying she was sorry I had to see all that growing up, that she should've left him years ago but she was too scared, too dependent on him financially. I told her none of it was her fault. That he was the monster, not her."
"You were right."
"I know." He looks at me again, and there's something raw in his eyes. Vulnerable. "I promised her I'd always protect her from then on. That she'd never have to be afraid again. And I kept that promise until she died."
Oh. Oh no.
"Mason, I'm so sorry—"
"Cancer." His voice is flat. "Five years ago.
She fought hard, but in the end, it wasn't enough.
Frank died a year after that." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion.
"Losing both of them within a year nearly destroyed me.
Frank was more of a father to me than my biological father ever was.
He saved me when I was fifteen, gave me a home, taught me everything I know about ranching and being a decent human being. "
We're still moving in circles. Still making loops around this corral while Mason pours out years of trauma and pain. My ass is starting to hurt from the saddle, my thighs aching from gripping Daisy's sides, but I don't care. This matters more than physical discomfort.
"Is that when you started working here?" I ask. "When you were fifteen?"
"Yeah. Showed up at Frank's door one night after a particularly bad beating.
My mom had kicked my father out temporarily, but I knew he'd be back.
Knew it wasn't safe. Frank took one look at me—black eye, split lip, bruises all over, and just opened his door.
Said I could stay as long as I needed. Work on the ranch to earn my keep. "
"He sounds like an amazing man."
"He was." Mason's voice cracks slightly. "He saved all six of us. Wade, Tucker, Rhett, Boone, Colt, and me. We all came from fucked up situations, all needed somewhere to belong. Frank gave us that. Gave us a family when we had nothing."
The pieces are fully assembled now. Six broken boys who became brothers. A ranch that's not just property but a legacy of love and second chances. Men who help strangers because they remember what it's like to need help and have nowhere to turn.
"That's why you helped me," I say, understanding flooding through me. "Last night, when you found me in the parking lot. It wasn't just about Rosie being cold. It was because you've been there. You've been the person with nowhere to go and nobody to help."
"Yeah." Mason's eyes meet mine again, "I remember what that feels like. The desperation. The fear. The exhaustion of just trying to survive day after day. If someone had offered me shelter back then, no strings attached, it would've changed everything."
"So, you're paying it forward."
"Something like that." He manages a small, sad smile. "Frank taught us that. Help people who need it. Don't ask for anything in return. Just make the world a little less shitty, one person at a time."
Sweat is pouring down my face now. My cardigan is completely soaked, clinging to my body in uncomfortable ways. Mason's henley is dark with sweat, his hair damp, his face flushed from the heat. But neither of us suggests stopping. Neither of us wants to break this moment.
"Do you still have nightmares?" I ask.
"Sometimes." His honesty is brutal and beautiful. "Not as often as I used to. But yeah, they still happen. Probably always will."
"What do you do when they happen?"
"Usually? Grab my phone, text one of my brothers. They know. They understand. Sometimes one of them will come over, just sit with me until I calm down. Other times I just need to know I'm not alone, that there are people who give a shit whether I make it through the night."
This strong, capable man who can fix anything, who handles horses like they're extensions of himself, who offered me shelter without hesitation... He still needs people. Still needs support. Still struggles with demons that won't let him go.
"Last night," Mason adds, "when I let you stay at the cottage? I didn't have any nightmares. Slept straight through for the first time in weeks."
"Maybe it's because you did something good," I suggest, my voice barely above a whisper. "Helped someone who needed it. Your mind finally let you rest because you'd done what Frank taught you."
"Maybe." But the way he's looking at me suggests he thinks it's something else entirely. Something to do with me specifically, not just the act of helping. "Or maybe it's just you."