CHAPTER 8 Montana #2
“This relationship between your mother and my brother is becoming very confusing.”
A small smile appeared.
“She loved Noah.”
That hurt.
Past tense.
“She blamed herself for the way things ended between us.”
“So she thought Noah could help.”
“Yes.”
“Did he?”
Mason looked away.
“Yes.”
The answer surprised me.
“What happened?”
“He showed up.”
“That simple?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you didn’t punch him?”
“I considered it.”
“Growth.”
Mason almost smiled.
“He stayed three days.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Mostly nothing.”
“That sounds like both of you.”
“Exactly.”
“Then why did it matter?”
Mason’s expression softened.
“Because he didn’t apologize.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Everyone apologized around me.”
“For Lily?”
“For everything.”
He looked toward the kitchen window.
“Noah didn’t.”
“What did he do?”
“He told me I was being selfish.”
My eyebrows rose.
“That sounds like Noah.”
“He said Lily was dead and I was making my mother lose another child.”
The words hit hard.
“Mason.”
“I tried to throw him out.”
“Obviously.”
“He wouldn’t leave.”
“Also Noah.”
That almost made him laugh.
“He said if I wanted to hate him, fine.”
Mason’s voice became quiet.
“But I wasn’t allowed to use hating him as another excuse to destroy myself.”
My throat tightened.
“Was he right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Absolutely not.”
I smiled faintly.
“Of course.”
Mason looked at me.
“That was the last time we were almost friends.”
I became still.
“What happened when you came back?”
“I went back to hockey.”
“And Noah?”
“He went his way.”
“But why start fighting again?”
Mason’s face closed slightly.
“Because forgiveness is easier in Montana.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Distance changes things.”
He leaned back.
“When we returned to competition, everything came back with us.”
“Lily.”
“Guilt.”
“Anger.”
“Yes.”
“Did something else happen?”
Mason hesitated.
There.
Again.
I felt it.
“Mason.”
He looked at me.
“There’s one more part.”
“Tell me.”
“Travis.”
“The man you beat up.”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
“He contacted Noah after I came back.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Money.”
“But your uncle already paid his bills.”
“He wanted more.”
“Blackmail?”
“Basically.”
“For what?”
Mason looked at me.
“He had photos.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Of the fight?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Lily.”
I froze.
“What kind of photos?”
“From the party.”
I felt sick.
“Nothing sexual.”
Mason said it quickly.
“But ugly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her crying. Her boyfriend with the other woman. Noah outside with her.”
Pieces.
Evidence.
A night no one wanted preserved.
“He threatened to sell them?”
“Yes.”
“To the media?”
“Yes.”
“But you weren’t famous yet.”
“Noah was.”
Of course.
Top draft prospect.
Public image.
Family.
“What did Noah do?”
“Paid him.”
My mouth dropped open.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To bury it.”
“Did you know?”
“Not until later.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“That doesn’t sound like Noah.”
“He was protecting Lily.”
I understood.
Even after death.
“And you?”
“Me too, probably.”
Mason’s expression hardened.
“But I didn’t ask him to.”
“Did that cause another fight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought he was cleaning up after me.”
“Were you ashamed?”
“Yes.”
“And he thought he was helping.”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
“This rivalry is exhausting.”
Mason laughed softly.
“You’re catching up.”
I looked at the anonymous texts.
“So whoever sent these knows about Montana.”
“Yes.”
“And probably Travis.”
“Maybe.”
“Could Travis be sending them?”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you still have contact with him?”
“No.”
“Where is he now?”
“I genuinely don’t know.”
That didn’t reassure me.
“Could he have my number?”
“Not from me.”
“From Noah?”
“Never.”
“Then how?”
Mason looked at my phone.
“That’s what worries me.”
The pasta sat cold between us.
I had completely forgotten lunch existed.
Mason stood.
This time he didn’t walk away.
He picked up both plates.
“Food’s ruined.”
“I think we ruined it.”
“Tragic.”
I followed him toward the kitchen island.
“Can you reheat it?”
He gave me a deeply offended look.
“Reheat?”
“Yes.”
“I cooked this properly.”
“It’s pasta, Mason. Not a sacred artifact.”
“You have no respect for cuisine.”
“I survived the protein bar. My standards are already compromised.”
He laughed.
The sound changed the room.
I hadn’t realized how tense I had become until it loosened.
Mason put the plates in the microwave.
I stared.
“You just gave me a speech about reheating pasta and then used a microwave.”
“Get out.”
I laughed.
He pointed toward the door.
“Leave my home.”
“Boyfriend of the year.”
Mason froze.
I froze too.
The word came naturally this time.
Boyfriend.
His expression changed slowly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He leaned against the counter.
“You called me your boyfriend.”
“You are technically.”
“Technically?”
“We established this yesterday.”
“Say it again.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“Absolutely not.”
He smiled.
There was something almost boyish about it.
It made my chest ache.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Your boyfriend is ridiculous.”
I covered my face.
“This was a mistake.”
“Too late.”
The microwave beeped.
Mason set the plates down.
We finally ate.
And annoyingly, it was excellent.
I looked at him after the first bite.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“No what?”
“You don’t get satisfaction.”
“You like it.”
“It’s acceptable.”
“You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
He smiled.
“I’ll cook again.”
“That is terrifyingly domestic.”
The word landed between us.
Domestic.
This entire afternoon was.
Lunch.
Kitchen.
His hoodie hanging over a chair.
My coat beside his.
It felt like trying on a life that didn’t belong to us yet.
I wasn’t sure whether that frightened me or made me want more.
After lunch, Mason showed me the rest of the house.
Not because there was much to see.
Guest room.
Small office.
Living room.
A room filled with hockey equipment that smelled exactly as bad as Lily apparently claimed.
“Oh God.”
I covered my nose.
Mason looked offended.
“What?”
“Close this door.”
“You wanted to see.”
“I made a mistake.”
“Elite athletic equipment has a scent.”
“Death has a scent.”
He laughed.
Then he opened another door.
His bedroom.
We both stopped.
The mood changed instantly.
Not because he had planned it.
Because we both knew what being there meant.
A large bed.
Dark sheets.
A suitcase half unpacked.
A framed photograph on the dresser.
I walked toward it.
Mason and a young woman stood together at a frozen lake.
He looked maybe twenty-two.
She was smiling at the camera.
Long dark hair.
Bright eyes.
Lily.
My chest tightened.
“That’s her.”
“Yes.”
“She was beautiful.”
“Yes.”
I looked closer.
“You look happy.”
“I was.”
Mason stood beside me.
I touched the edge of the frame.
“Thank you for telling me.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said, “I was scared.”
I turned.
“Of me knowing?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re Noah’s sister.”
“That’s not enough.”
His eyes held mine.
“Because I care what you think.”
There it was.
No joke.
No defense.
My heart beat harder.
“Mason.”
“I don’t want you finding excuses for what I did.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“But I also don’t think the worst thing you’ve ever done is the only thing you are.”
His jaw tightened.
“You barely know me.”
“Then let me.”
Something changed.
He stepped closer.
I didn’t move.
His hands settled lightly at my waist.
“You’re dangerous.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I mean it differently now.”
“How?”
Mason looked at me.
“Because I’m starting to want things I stopped wanting a long time ago.”
My breath caught.
“What things?”
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
“This.”
He kissed me.
Slow.
Deep.
No urgency at first.
I wrapped my arms around his neck.