Chapter 13
SIENNA
I stood there in the garden with the fairy lights blurring through the sudden sting in my eyes, watching Mason’s broad back disappear down the gravel path like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
My cheek still burned from where I’d slapped him, but it was nothing compared to the knot twisting in my stomach.
Hurt. Angry. Confused as hell. All of it crashing together while the distant thump of the reception music tried to pretend everything was fine.
Lena stepped closer, her hand brushing my arm. “You okay, babe?”
I shook my head, swallowing hard. “No. Yeah. I don’t know.” My voice came out shaky. “God, he’s such an asshole when he’s drunk. But… part of me still hopes he’s safe somewhere out there. Not doing something stupid.”
She gave me a look that said she’d heard enough about Mason this week to write a dissertation on him.
We’d gotten all dolled up together earlier—me in this emerald-green dress that hugged every curve I usually hid under field gear, hair loose and wavy for once, makeup actually done.
I knew I looked good. Really good. The kind of good that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I could handle walking into a Royal Bastards wedding without feeling like the awkward scientist tag-along.
Lena had killed it too, in that sleek black number that made her legs look endless.
We’d laughed in the mirror back at the Airbnb, taking selfies like teenagers, and for a minute it had felt like a real girls’ night win.
But then the ceremony had been about to start, and I’d seen him—Rick—standing off to the side by the rose arbor, this big, fit silver-fox of a man in his late fifties, handkerchief pressed to his face like he was trying to hold himself together.
He still looked like he could bench-press a Harley, prime and strong, but his eyes…
God, his soul looked absolutely shattered.
I couldn’t just walk past that. So I’d gone up to him, touched his arm gently, and asked what was wrong.
He’d given me this broken little smile and said, “It’s just… I miss my wife. Weddings, you know? I’m heartbroken. I’ll never get over her. I wanted to come support Tank—he’s a good kid—but it’s just hard for me.”
Eddie had been right there, clapping a hand on Rick’s shoulder, voice rough. “Yeah. I lost mine a few years back in that wreck. Still hits me the same way some days.”
That was it. No creepy vibes. No sleazy lines.
Just two older guys who’d loved their wives hard and were drowning in the middle of a happy day that reminded them of everything they’d lost. Lena and I had looked at each other, and without even saying it out loud, we’d decided: we were going to distract them.
Keep them laughing. Be the easy, fun company they needed so they didn’t have to stand there alone with their ghosts while everyone else celebrated forever.
And it worked. They were confident, easy to talk to—real conversation, real laughs, no hands wandering where they didn’t belong like half the younger guys at the reception kept trying.
Rick told stories about the old days running with the Scorpions that had us cracking up.
Eddie cracked jokes about prospect life back in the ‘80s that made even the prospects nearby groan. It felt… nice. Normal. Like we were just four people who’d found each other in the middle of the chaos and decided to make the night lighter for everyone.
We’d exchanged numbers at the end of the ceremony, nothing flirty, just “let’s grab coffee sometime, keep the laughs going. ” Good company. That was all.
And then Mason had to get all drunk and jealous and ruin the goddamn moment.
I pressed my fingers to my temples, the garden spinning a little.
“It wasn’t even like that, Lena. They weren’t hitting on us.
They were just… sad. And sweet. And we were trying to be decent humans.
But he saw me sitting with Rick and lost his mind.
Called me a gold-digger whore. Me. Like I’d suddenly turned into some club-girl cliché the second his back was turned. ”
Lena’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of understanding in them too. “He’s an idiot. A hot, jealous idiot, but still an idiot. You want me to go find him and slap him again? I’ve got practice now.”
A tiny, broken laugh escaped me. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.
” I glanced toward the path where he’d vanished, the knot in my chest loosening just a fraction.
“I’m still mad at him about Bandit, you know?
That half-feral little shit deserved to be free.
I get it now. He never wanted to be cooped up in my apartment anyway.
I just… I hope he’s safe out there somewhere. Not roadkill or coyote dinner.”
She bumped my shoulder gently. “He’ll turn up. Cats always do when they’re ready. And Mason? He’ll sober up and realize he just torpedoed whatever the hell you two have going on. Again.”
I nodded, but the confusion still sat heavy.
Hurt because his words had cut deeper than I wanted to admit.
Angry because he’d assumed the worst without even asking.
And yeah—still a little mad about the cat, even if I was starting to see the feral truth in it.
But underneath all of it was this stupid, nagging worry that he was out there alone with his scotch and his cigar and his ghosts, just like Rick and Eddie had been before we stepped in.
I straightened my dress, wiped under my eyes quick so the mascara didn’t run, and forced a breath. “Come on. Let’s get back to the girls before Regan sends a search party. And maybe… maybe text Rick and Eddie later. Tell them thanks for the laughs. They earned it tonight.”
Lena linked her arm through mine, and we started back toward the lights and the music, the garden path crunching under our heels.
But I couldn’t stop the last little thought looping in my head: Mason, you absolute idiot. I hope you’re safe. And I hope you choke on that scotch while you figure out how badly you just fucked up.
The garden path felt longer on the way back, my heels crunching gravel like tiny accusations with every step.
The rain that had started during the cake cutting had finally let up, leaving the air cool and damp and smelling like wet roses and regret.
Lena stayed glued to my side, her arm linked through mine like she was afraid I might bolt.
We’d barely made it back under the string lights when Regan spotted us. She broke away from the cluster of girls still giggling by the bar, her dress sparkling with leftover glitter and her eyes bright with that unstoppable Regan energy.
“Hey! The after-party’s at my cousin’s lake house. Private dock, hot tub, zero prospects allowed. You two in? We’re sneaking out in ten.”
I shook my head before she even finished. “No. Hard pass. I’m done for the night.”
Her eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t push.
Instead she looped her other arm through mine and steered us both toward a quieter corner near the hedge, away from the thump of the music and the last stragglers on the dance floor.
Lena gave me a small supportive squeeze and wandered off to grab us waters, leaving Regan and me alone.
“Spill,” Regan said, voice low but gentle. “What happened out there? You look like someone ran over your cat again.”
I let out a shaky laugh that hurt. “Bandit did get out, actually. Mason opened the balcony door the other night and the little traitor bolted. Still no sign of him. But that’s not even the worst part.”
I told her everything. The almost-confession in my kitchen, the heat between Mason and me that had felt like something real for half a second, the way he’d pulled back because he didn’t do half-measures and I wasn’t some club girl who could just walk away clean.
The sidewalk kiss that still lived under my skin.
Rylee showing up with her perfect dentist husband.
And then tonight—how Rick and Eddie had been shattered over their dead wives, how Lena and I had just tried to keep them company, keep them laughing so they didn’t have to drown in it alone.
How Mason had seen me sitting close to Rick and lost his entire mind.
“He called me a gold-digging whore, Regan. Right to my face. In front of Lena. Drunk off his ass and mean as hell about it.”
Regan’s eyes went wide, the playful sparkle vanishing.
“Shit. About Rick and Eddie? Yeah… about them… They’re kinda like the Hugh Hefners of Santa Fe.
Mansions on the hill, check. Rolls-Royces, check.
Six-hundred-thousand-dollar cars are chump change to them.
Private jets, check. But what they don’t have?
” She tapped her chest right over her heart.
“Love. They lost both of theirs. Every woman within a thousand square miles has been trying to crack that piggy bank open since the funerals. Doesn’t mean you or Lena are like that, though. ”
“I know we’re not,” I said, rubbing my arms even though the night wasn’t cold.
“Lena’s dad actually lost her mom on their wedding anniversary.
When she saw Eddie standing there crying into a handkerchief…
it was like comforting a favorite uncle or something.
I mean, I think she’s a little attracted to him, but Lena doesn’t really go for—” I stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding like I was speaking for her.
“Anyway. Maybe she’d actually be good for him.
She’s got her own degree, her own job, her own life.
She’s not a gold-digger. And I’m sure as hell not either. ”
Regan nodded, serious now. “I know you’re not into Rick. Or Eddie.”
I let out a bitter breath. “Well, as of tonight I’m not into Mason either. Not after that.”
She bumped my shoulder with hers, softer than usual.
“Just… give him a chance to sober up and grovel. And be careful, okay? I’ve already sent a prospect out looking for Bandit.
Didn’t tell him why, just said I want to start doing some recon runs out where you collect those water samples.
He thinks it’s club business. You watch your back at work.
We’ll figure out the rest of this Oakley shit this week, once all the wedding craziness dies down. ”
I stared at her for a second, the fairy lights catching in her eyes like tiny stars.
The worry in my chest eased just a fraction—not gone, not even close, but lighter knowing I wasn’t carrying the poisoned aquifer alone anymore.
Mason’s words still stung, the jealousy and the drunk cruelty still burned, but Regan’s quiet promise felt like armor I hadn’t known I needed.
“Thanks,” I said, voice rough. “For listening. For the recon. For not making me go to the after-party.”
She grinned, small and wicked. “Anytime, scientist. Now go find Lena, get the hell out of those heels, and text me when you’re home safe. We’ve got a wedding hangover to survive… and then we’re going to war with some rich assholes who think they can poison my town.”
I nodded, squeezed her hand once, and turned to find Lena waiting with two bottles of water and a look that said she’d back me up no matter what kind of mess I’d walked into.
The night felt heavier than it had ten minutes ago, but at least I wasn’t walking through it completely alone.