CHAPTER 3 What He Never Told Me #2
“The funeral was the last time we spoke like normal human beings.”
“What happened?”
“He apologized.”
“For not taking her?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you say?”
Mason looked away.
“I told him I never wanted to see him again.”
My chest tightened.
“But then you both made the NHL.”
“Life has a sense of humor.”
“So all those hits. All those fights.”
“Not all of them are about Lily.”
His mouth twitched faintly.
“Sometimes your brother really is just an asshole.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Mason looked at me.
For a second, the darkness lifted.
Then he turned his hand beneath mine.
His palm met mine.
Not holding.
Just touching.
It felt more intimate than last night’s almost-kiss.
Maybe because there was no teasing left between us.
Only truth.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Mason shook his head.
“Don’t be.”
“I’m allowed to be sorry someone you loved died.”
He looked at me.
“You sound like her.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Lily.”
His expression softened.
“She never accepted instructions either.”
I smiled faintly.
“Smart woman.”
“The worst.”
“Clearly.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then his thumb brushed across my knuckles.
My breath caught.
The connection between us changed.
Again.
Always changing.
Always becoming something I didn’t know how to name.
I should have pulled my hand away.
I didn’t.
“You should hate me now,” he said.
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Noah does.”
“I’m not Noah.”
“I noticed.”
“You made mistakes.”
“That’s generous.”
“It isn’t.”
I squeezed his hand.
“It’s accurate.”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t know everything.”
“Then tell me everything.”
He pulled his hand away.
The loss of contact was immediate.
“You always push.”
“You always run.”
His eyes flashed.
“I’m sitting right here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
He stood.
Conversation over.
Again.
I was beginning to recognize the pattern.
Whenever Mason felt exposed, he moved.
Toward a window.
Toward a door.
Toward literally anything that created distance.
“Where are you going?”
“Coffee.”
“You haven’t touched the one you have.”
He looked at the cold cup on the table.
“New coffee.”
I almost smiled.
Before he could walk away, the receptionist entered the lobby.
“Good news.”
Every guest nearby looked up.
The older man held a radio.
“County crews cleared the south road. Northbound is still closed, but anyone heading toward Portland should be able to leave within the hour.”
Relief should have been my first reaction.
Instead, disappointment arrived.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Embarrassing.
Mason looked at me.
And somehow I knew he felt it too.
The night was over.
Our strange little world was ending.
By breakfast, the lodge had transformed.
Generators hummed.
People packed bags.
Phones regained signal.
Normal life returned with brutal efficiency.
I borrowed a charger from the receptionist and watched thirty-eight missed notifications appear.
Most were from Noah.
Some from my mother.
A few from friends.
One was from the client whose photography session had started this entire disaster.
Mason sat across from me at a small breakfast table, drinking actual coffee this time.
Neither of us had mentioned what almost happened before Noah called.
That was becoming its own presence.
The kiss that didn’t happen.
The question neither of us asked.
I opened another message from Noah.
**Call me when you’re leaving.**
Then another.
**Do not let Cole drive you anywhere.**
I sighed.
Mason noticed.
“Bennett?”
“Unfortunately.”
“He always this bossy?”
“Only when breathing.”
Mason smiled into his coffee.
“He still thinks I’m driving back with some random stranger instead of you.”
“He’d prefer the stranger.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
Mason looked at me.
“It used to.”
“And now?”
“Now I stopped expecting your brother to forgive me.”
Something in the answer made me sad.
“You blame him too.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to forgive him?”
Mason’s face closed.
“Breakfast interrogation is aggressive.”
“It’s a simple question.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Fine.”
I pushed my plate away.
“You get one.”
“One what?”
“Question.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“No cards?”
“No cards.”
“Dangerous.”
“Ask.”
Mason studied me.
I expected something playful.
Instead, he asked, “What are you going to tell Noah?”
My stomach tightened.
There it was.
The real question.
I looked toward the window.
Snow-covered mountains stretched beneath a pale morning sky.
What could I tell him?
That Mason saved me?
That we spent the night together?
That I learned about Lily?
That we almost kissed?
Definitely not the last one.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Tell him I slept downstairs.”
“You didn’t.”
“Close enough.”
“Why?”
“Because if you tell him we shared a room, he’ll lose his mind.”
“He already lost his mind when he found out you were in the building.”
“Exactly.”
I crossed my arms.
“I don’t like lying.”
Mason’s expression softened.
“Then don’t.”
“That was quick.”
“I’m not asking you to protect me.”
“Maybe I’m protecting myself.”
He went still.
I immediately wished I could pull the words back.
Mason lowered his coffee.
“From what?”
“An argument.”
“Emma.”
“I don’t know.”
He leaned back.
“Last night was complicated.”
“Yes.”
“Nothing happened.”
“No.”
The word came out too quickly.
Something flashed in his eyes.
Disappointment?
Maybe I imagined it.
“Right,” he said.
Nothing happened.
Technically true.
So why did hearing him say it feel like a lie?
I looked down at my phone.
“We almost kissed.”
Mason’s gaze snapped to me.
My face immediately heated.
Apparently I had chosen death.
“I’m aware.”
“We should probably agree that was…”
“A mistake?”
The word came from him.
I hated it instantly.
“Yes.”
He nodded once.
“Probably.”
Neither of us sounded convinced.
I forced myself to continue.
“You’re Noah’s rival.”
“I’ve heard.”
“And there’s all this history.”
“Yes.”
“And I barely know you.”
His eyes held mine.
“That can be fixed.”
My pulse jumped.
“Mason.”
He smiled slightly.
“There she is.”
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you pretend you’re annoyed because the alternative makes you nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Sure.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You already said that.”
I hated him.
Not enough.
An hour later, we packed the SUV.
The storm had transformed the world into something painfully beautiful.
Snow-covered trees leaned over the road.
Sunlight broke through the clouds.
Workers directed cars toward the newly cleared lane.
I stood beside Mason’s SUV while he loaded his duffel.
“So what happens to my car?”
“Tow company’s coming.”
“You arranged that?”
“This morning.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“While you were interrogating the receptionist about coffee.”
“I wasn’t interrogating him.”
“You asked three questions about roast level.”
“That matters.”
Mason closed the trunk.
“They’ll take it to a garage outside Portland. You can pick it up later.”
“How much?”
“Emma.”
“How much?”
He sighed.
“Nothing.”
“Mason.”
“They’re billing me.”
“Absolutely not.”
His mouth curved.
“I was wondering how long it would take.”
“Give me the invoice.”
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“You cannot keep paying for things.”
“I can. Watch.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
That sentence again.
This time I couldn’t answer.
His smile faded.
For one dangerous second, we just looked at each other.
Then a horn sounded behind us.
Reality returned.
Mason opened the passenger door.
“Come on.”
The drive south was quieter.
Not awkward.
Just different.
We had crossed some invisible line during the night.
Too much had been said.
Too much almost happened.
I watched Mason drive.
One hand rested on the steering wheel.
The other occasionally shifted gears.
It shouldn’t have been attractive.
It was.
I looked away.
“Stop staring.”
I turned back.
“You have a very high opinion of yourself.”
“You were staring.”
“I was thinking.”
“About me.”
“About murder.”
“Still about me.”
I smiled despite myself.
He saw it.
The world felt normal for a few minutes.
Then my phone rang.
Noah.
I answered.
“Hey.”
“Where are you?”
“On the road.”
“With him?”
I looked at Mason.
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“Emma.”
“Don’t start.”
“I told you—”
“My car is being towed.”
“Then I’ll come get you.”
“You’re three hours away.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do.”
Mason kept his eyes on the road.
Noah exhaled harshly.
“Did he tell you about Lily?”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
Mason’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“All of it?”
“He told me what happened.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
I frowned.
“What else is there?”
Mason glanced at me.
Just once.
But there was something in that look.
Warning.
Noah became quiet.
Then he said, “Ask him why Lily’s boyfriend was at that party in the first place.”
I went still.
“What?”
Mason’s face drained of color.
“Noah—”
“Ask him.”
“Why?”
“Because Cole invited him.”
I stopped breathing.
Mason stared straight ahead.
“Noah.”
My voice sounded distant.
“Is that true?”
“He won’t tell you that part.”
Mason reached toward the phone.
“Give me that.”
I pulled away.
“Did you invite him?”
“Emma.”
“Answer me.”
His jaw clenched.
“Yes.”
The word hit harder than I expected.
I turned back toward the phone.
Noah’s voice was cold.
“That’s the choice.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my screen.
Then at Mason.
“You invited him.”
Mason said nothing.
“Why?”
His hands gripped the wheel.
“Because he was my friend.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Before he dated Lily.”
“You knew him?”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
Mason’s expression became unreadable.
“Well enough.”
“Did you introduce them?”
Silence.
“Mason.”
“Yes.”
Everything shifted again.
The story I had just heard cracked open.
“You introduced your sister to the man who cheated on her.”
“Yes.”
“And invited him to the party where she found him with someone else.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I told you I made choices.”
“That isn’t the same as telling me what they were.”
“I know.”
Anger flared.
“You let me defend you.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, Emma?”
“The point is you keep giving me half the truth.”
He looked at me.
“Because the whole truth doesn’t make me look better.”
“Maybe I should get to decide what it makes you look like.”