Chapter Twenty-Eight
“On a scale of super-double pissed and over-the-top, ready-to-commit-murder pissed, how angry are you at me?” Atlanta asked.
I glanced around Mason’s bedroom, then back at the phone.
“This feels like déjà vu,” I told her, my attention going back to the whitewashed dresser.
Who knew Mason Hughes would decorate his badass condo in a classy beach theme. There were some Navy memorabilia and nautical-themed pieces scattered around, but it was mostly pastel blues, creams, sage, and whimsical.
I loved it, and not because my sister loved the beach. Because it was Mason’s.
“Well?” she pushed.
I blew out a breath and gave her what she was looking for—absolution.
“You did hack some pretty scary places to make the evidence against me disappear,” I reminded her.
“That’s what friends do,” she huffed.
I didn’t think that’s what normal law-abiding-citizen friends did for each other, but I didn’t point that out. There was nothing law abiding about Atlanta, and I doubt there ever would be.
“And you did have my back with Tom and told him you’d cut him from throat to ball sack if he ever tried to contact me again. And you got him to send in a GB team to back up Pete, Jack, Cat, Gavin, Aiden, and Fallon when they crashed Amir’s auction and took him out.”
Something I wished I’d been a part of but instead was nursing a head wound back at the penthouse, with Mason standing guard at my side.
“Calli,” she snapped. “Just tell me how mad you are and if you’re ever going to forgive me.”
I snatched my phone off the bed, and on my way to the living room, I told her, “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“I killed Jason,” she reminded me.
A few months ago, I never would’ve forgiven her for taking his life, thus taking away my opportunity for revenge.
I spied Mason sitting out on his deck, beer bottle in hand, enjoying his view of the ocean.
“While I was sitting in that hangar, I remembered how much my sister loved me. After all the years of not wanting to reminisce about the real her, who she was, how much she enjoyed life, my brain finally allowed the good stuff to pour back in.”
Mason’s head turned, and when he noticed me standing in front of the sliding glass door, he smiled.
It was that smile, the way he looked at me, the invisible tether that rooted me to him, that had given me back my sister.
Killing Jason wouldn’t have given me peace.
Revenge wouldn’t have soothed the ache.
Mason did.
“She called me CeCe,” I told Atlanta. “We were sisters but best friends forever. She’d hate that I lost two decades of my life. She died. It was brutal and ugly, but I’m still alive, and she’d want me to be happy and live . . . maybe even for the both of us. Jason’s dead, and you know what?”
“What?” she asked softly.
“Nothing’s changed. I don’t feel the joy and happiness I thought I’d feel.
The cloak of darkness didn’t lift because he’s no longer breathing.
I’m not sorry he’s dead. The world’s a better place, but honestly, as weird as it sounds, I just don’t care.
What I care about is, you made it possible for me to come to California.
But before that, you gave me Mason. I can’t be mad at you for going behind my back when what you did gave me the one thing I was desperate to find. ”
“I’m glad you found it, Calli.”
“No, Atlanta, I didn’t find it. You went behind my back to give it to me.
Then Mason gave me the rest while I stubbornly fought him.
Now, not only do I have the peace I’d been missing, I also have six men who act like annoying brothers and Catarina, who has unreservedly welcomed me.
I’m going to enjoy my peace and write books and love on my man. ”
“I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, and I’m over-the-moon happy for you. But damn, woman, this new you is not the Calista I knew.”
Thank God for that. The old Calista was miserable.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Her laugh made me laugh. What could I say? I was deliriously happy.
“So when’s the wedding?”
“Tomorrow,” I teased.
“What!” she screeched, nearly taking out my eardrum.
“Kidding. I don’t know if we’ll get married. Maybe we’ll just live happily ever after and not worry about a piece of paper and tax breaks. Or maybe we will. Who knows, and if I have Mason, I don’t care.”
Mason jerked his chin, reminding me we had somewhere to be.
“Listen, I have to go. We’re meeting the team at the Dirty Plank for drinks.”
“One more thing. I’ll be over-the-top, ready-to-commit-murder mad if you don’t invite me to the wedding. Okay, two things.” She paused, then added quietly, “I’m happy you have your Lili back. Don’t ever forget her again.”
With that, she rang off.
I waited for the sharp pain to hit at the mention of Lili. But like all the times in the last three weeks since I’d let my sister back in, it never came.
Mason came through the sliding glass door, his intelligent eyes scanning my face for any signs of distress.
This look was different than his Mason stare back in Dubai—he wasn’t examining me to uncover deceit.
This perusal was a man who loved his woman and wanted to make sure she wasn’t upset after having what he thought would be a hard conversation.
“All good?” he asked.
“Yep. Atlanta says she’ll be over-the-top, ready-to-commit-murder mad if she’s not invited to our wedding,” I blurted out.
Mason’s hot-guy smile lit his face. “Are you asking me to marry you, sweetness?”
“And if I was?” I teased him back.
“I’d drive us to the courthouse tomorrow. Unless you wanted a big wedding, then I’d tell you to start planning.”
I blinked away my shock, but I didn’t have time to think of a proper comeback before Mason’s arm shot out and tagged me around the waist, bringing me flush to his chest.
“Do you want to get married, Calli?”
Did I?
I told Atlanta I didn’t care, but maybe that wasn’t the truth.
“I want to be Calista Hughes,” I told him. “I want to have your name. I want us to be a team, a family.”
The green of Mason’s eyes darkened, and I knew what that meant.
Since we’d been home, the floodgates had opened.
I’d seen that hungry look on his handsome face for less of a reason than me telling him I wanted to be his wife.
Heck, I’d told him his stoneware was rad, and that had earned me an orgasm on the kitchen island.
“We’re gonna be late meeting our friends,” he threatened.
“Fine by me.”
Mason swept me up into his arms and stalked to the bedroom—his go-to place when he was feeling creative.
I’d learned the couch worked in a pinch or when Mason felt like bending me over the back of it.
Shower sex was hot. Wall sex, phenomenal.
But Mason in his big king-size bed with room to get adventurous—otherworldly.
“Love you, hotshot,” I whispered, still shy saying the words, which was silly since he told me ten times a day.
His hand came up to gently trace the scar along my right temple, as if his touch could erase the reminder that Jason had hurt me.
“Love you back, Calista. Don’t ever forget, yeah?”
“I won’t.”
Not that he’d ever let me.
As soon as he stepped over the threshold into the bedroom, he lowered his lips to mine, but before he could kiss me, I mumbled, “Eleven.”
“One day, that count will be so high, you’ll lose track.”
He was right. One day, the count would be ridiculously high. But he was also wrong. I’d never lose track of the times he swept me off my feet.
“Kiss me, hotshot.”
Mason didn’t kiss me, he chuckled, so I kissed him. With his happiness on my tongue, a kiss had never been so sweet.