CHAPTER 2 The Truth Between Enemies
He hated marshmallows.
He could start a fire with disturbing efficiency.
And he was very good at lying when the truth mattered.
The first discovery came when we found a forgotten box of hot chocolate packets in a cabinet beside the fireplace. The second became obvious when the fire started dying and Mason rebuilt it in less than five minutes without looking at the instructions taped to the wall.
The third took longer.
“You’re cheating.”
Mason looked offended.
“I’m an elite professional athlete.”
“That has absolutely nothing to do with this.”
“It means I possess integrity.”
“You intentionally distracted me.”
“I asked a question.”
“You asked whether I always bite my lip when I’m nervous.”
His gaze dropped toward my mouth.
“You’re doing it again.”
I immediately stopped.
Mason smiled.
I pointed at the deck of cards between us.
“Pick one.”
The lodge had become strangely quiet after midnight. The other guests had apparently gone to bed, leaving us alone in front of the fireplace with emergency lanterns, blankets, and an ancient deck of cards we had found in a drawer.
We had started with poker.
That lasted approximately eleven minutes because Mason was unbearable when he won.
Then I invented new rules.
Every lost hand required answering one question honestly.
Mason had called it childish.
Then he lost.
Now he was suddenly very interested in renegotiating the rules.
“You first,” he said.
“I won.”
“Barely.”
“Winning by one point is still winning.”
“You sound exactly like your brother.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Careful.”
He leaned back against the couch.
“Ask.”
I studied him.
There were dozens of harmless questions available.
Favorite food.
Favorite movie.
Most embarrassing moment.
The kind of meaningless things strangers asked each other when they wanted to pretend they were becoming friends.
But Mason and I weren’t friends.
And I wasn’t interested in meaningless things.
“Why does Noah hate you?”
His expression changed.
There it was.
The wall.
One second he was relaxed, almost playful. The next, every emotion disappeared behind those gray eyes.
“Different question.”
“That isn’t how the game works.”
“Then I quit.”
“You can’t quit because you don’t like the question.”
“Watch me.”
He reached for the cards.
I placed my hand over them first.
His fingers touched mine.
Neither of us moved.
That happened too often around him.
Tiny moments that should have meant nothing suddenly felt dangerous.
A hand.
A glance.
The sound of my name in his voice.
Everything became too noticeable.
Mason pulled his hand away.
“Emma.”
“You said honest answers.”
“I did.”
“So answer.”
“No.”
“That means you lied about playing.”
“No. It means some things aren’t mine to tell.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what I said.”
“You and Noah are the people involved. Whose story could it possibly be besides yours?”
His jaw tightened.
He stared at the fire.
I waited.
Finally, he said, “Someone else’s.”
The answer surprised me.
“Who?”
“That’s another question.”
“So there is someone else.”
Mason smiled faintly.
“Nice try.”
I watched him.
“You’re protecting someone.”
His eyes moved to mine.
Something passed through them.
Pain, maybe.
Or guilt.
Then it disappeared.
“You lost the privilege of asking questions when you ignored the rules.”
“I won.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“You’re evasive.”
“You’re wearing my jacket.”
I looked down.
Damn him.
I was still wrapped in his black jacket because the room had grown colder despite the fire.
“That’s irrelevant.”
“It looks better on you.”
“Mason.”
He smiled.
I hated how easily he could shift the conversation.
I hated even more that part of me enjoyed letting him.
“Fine,” I said. “Your turn.”
He gathered the cards.
We played again.
I lost.
His smile became immediate.
“No.”
“I haven’t asked anything.”
“You look too happy.”
“I’m enjoying justice.”
“You won a card game.”
“History remembers winners.”
“Ask your stupid question.”
Mason considered me for a moment.
“When was your last relationship?”
I blinked.
“That’s your question?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m curious.”
“That sounds suspiciously like another question.”
“Emma.”
“Fine.”
I pulled the blanket around my legs.
“Eight months ago.”
“What happened?”
“One question.”
“Technicality.”
“You created the rules.”
“You created the rules.”
“Exactly. Which means I control them.”
His mouth twitched.
“Eight months.”
“Yes.”
“Serious?”
I stared at him.
He lifted both hands.
“Fine. Next round.”
We played.
I lost again.
“This game is rigged.”
“You’re bad at cards.”
“You’re distracting.”
Mason’s eyebrow lifted.
“How?”
I immediately regretted the word.
He leaned forward slightly.
“How am I distracting you, Bennett?”
“You talk too much.”
“Sure.”
“You do.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
His eyes held mine.
“Interesting.”
“Ask the question.”
His expression became more serious.
“Did you love him?”
I wasn’t expecting that.
I looked toward the fire.
“Once.”
“What happened?”
“That’s—”
“Next question. I know.”
We played again.
This time, I barely paid attention.
My previous relationship wasn’t painful anymore. Not exactly. Daniel had been safe. Kind. Successful. The kind of man my parents liked immediately.
We dated for almost two years.
We had discussed apartments.
Vacations.
Marriage in the abstract way couples discuss something they assume will eventually happen.
Then one evening, he told me he had been offered a job in Boston.
And he wanted me to follow him.
Not asked.
Expected.
When I told him my career mattered too, he said photography wasn’t exactly something I couldn’t do anywhere.
That sentence ended us.
Maybe because I realized he had never understood why my work mattered to me.
Maybe because I realized I had been shrinking myself for months without noticing.
Mason won again.
“You’re definitely cheating.”
“I’m definitely talented.”
“Ask.”
“What happened?”
I sighed.
“He wanted me to move across the country.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“That is absolutely a second question.”
“I’m banking it.”
“You can’t bank questions.”
“I just did.”
I shook my head.
“Because he expected me to give up everything I was building.”
Mason’s expression changed.
“He asked you to quit photography?”
“Not directly.”
“Same thing.”
I looked at him.
There was no teasing now.
“He said I could photograph anywhere.”
“That’s not the same as building a career anywhere.”
Exactly.
The word landed inside me before I could say it.
I had spent months defending my decision to people who thought Daniel’s offer sounded romantic.
Boston.
A new apartment.
A fresh start.
Why wouldn’t I go?
Nobody understood that it wasn’t about geography.
It was about being treated like my dreams were portable because his weren’t.
“You understand,” I said quietly.
Mason shrugged.
“I understand ambition.”
Something in his tone made me curious.
“Is that why you play?”
He looked at the cards.
“Partly.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Win and you can ask.”
So I did.
Three hands later, Mason finally lost.
He swore under his breath.
I smiled.
“History remembers winners.”
“I regret teaching you anything.”
“Why do you play hockey?”
He stared at me.
“You already asked that.”
“You told me your dad introduced you to it. That’s not the same thing.”
Mason turned one card slowly between his fingers.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he looked toward the fire.
“Because I’m good at it.”
“That’s the boring answer.”
“It’s also true.”
“Not good enough.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“You really don’t let things go.”
“No.”
“I noticed.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then Mason sighed.
“When I was seventeen, after my dad died, there wasn’t much money.”
I stayed quiet.
“My mom worked at a pharmacy. My younger sister was twelve. Dad had life insurance, but not enough to fix everything. Mortgage. Bills. Everything adds up fast when the person paying most of it suddenly disappears.”
I had never heard Mason mention a sister.
“You have a younger sister?”
“Had.”
The single word changed everything.
My stomach tightened.
“Mason…”
He stared at the fire.
“She died four years ago.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
The room became unbearably quiet.
“I’m so sorry.”
His expression remained controlled.
Too controlled.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
And instantly I knew.
This was it.
The thing he had been avoiding.
The reason behind the wall.
The reason Noah hated him.
Maybe.
Mason stood.
“Game’s over.”
I stared up at him.
“What?”
“I said game’s over.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“Good.”
He walked toward the window.
I watched his shoulders.
Tense.
Rigid.
“Mason.”
“Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
There was anger in his voice.
But it wasn’t directed at me.
I recognized that kind of anger.
It was the kind people used when sadness felt too dangerous.
I stood slowly.
He kept his back toward me.
Snow covered the window, leaving only a small dark patch of glass near the center.
I could see his reflection.
His head was lowered.
His hands were clenched.
I should have stayed where I was.
Instead, I walked toward him.
“Mason.”
He closed his eyes.
“I said don’t.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you standing behind me?”
“Because you look like you shouldn’t be alone.”
He turned.
Fast.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
The words were sharp.
I flinched.
Regret appeared immediately in his eyes.
“Emma…”
“You’re right.”
I stepped backward.
“I don’t.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s fine.”
“No.”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Damn it.”
I started toward the bed.
His voice stopped me.
“Her name was Lily.”
I turned.
Mason remained beside the window.
“She was twenty.”
I said nothing.
“She was studying nursing. Wanted to work with kids.”
His mouth moved slightly, but it wasn’t a smile.
“She hated hockey.”
“Really?”
“Couldn’t stand it. Said everyone smelled terrible.”
A small laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
Mason looked at me.
“She wasn’t wrong.”
“She sounds smart.”
“She was.”
His voice cracked almost imperceptibly on the last word.
That hurt more than if he had cried.
“What happened to her?”
Mason’s gaze dropped.
For several seconds, he didn’t answer.
“Car accident.”