Chapter 20
Mason
She laughs at her phone. It’s small. But it cuts through the quiet of the living room like a pin drop.
“What’s funny?” I ask.
She glances up, thumb hovering over the screen. “Nothing.”
I nod, eyes back on the TV.
Then she laughs again. This time, my jaw tightens before I can stop it.
“Work stuff?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Sierra?”
She shakes her head. “No. Trevor.”
I feel my guard raise up, and I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “Why’s he texting you on a Saturday night?”
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“I’m just asking,” I say, but my voice already sounds different, edged.
Her brows knit. “Because we work together, Mason. It’s just about work.”
“Okay, but why’s he texting you this late?”
She just stares at me, like she doesn’t even know what to say.
“I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong,” I say quickly, though my blood feels hot. “I just don’t love it.”
She lets out a breath that sounds like frustration more than anger. “You don’t love that I have coworkers?”
“I don’t love that it’s him.”
“Why?” she presses.
I hesitate. Because saying it out loud makes it real.
“Because he’s our age,” I admit. “Because he’s good-looking. And around you all day in a world I’m not a part of.”
Her mouth falls open slightly. “So you’re jealous?”
“No,” I say immediately, even though I’m not sure what else you’d call it. The room goes still.
Finally, she shakes her head and hands her phone toward me. “Here. Read it.”
I hesitate.
“Go ahead,” she insists, firm but serious. “I don’t have anything to hide.”
I take the phone even though it feels wrong, and look at the text thread anyway.
It’s exactly what she said it would be. Work. Grading, art projects. A picture of a hamster cage with googly eyes glued on crooked, followed by him saying: Dylan told me Friday it needed “more personality.” I think it’s judging me now.
I shrug despite myself, still not liking it.
“Well?” she asks.
I hand the phone back. “Okay, yeah, it’s nothing.”
“I told you that.”
“I know.” I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “I just—”
“Mason,” she says quietly, “I’m not interested in him. At all.”
I look at her.
“I’m in love with you,” she continues. “I married you. I come home to you. I promise there’s nothing there beyond work.”
“I know,” I say.
“But I guess I also get why it bothered you,” she adds. “Because if the roles were reversed, if you were laughing at your phone and said it was some woman from work, I wouldn’t love that either.”
Relief hits and she scoots closer. “Not because I’d think you were cheating. But because we don’t get a ton of time together.”
“Yeah.”
She pauses, then adds, “I’ll always keep it professional. And I’ll be more mindful when we’re home. But I also need you to trust me.”
I nod. “I do. I promise.”
She studies my face. “I need you to promise that you’ll say something sooner from now on too.”
“I know,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I will.” I squeeze her hand.
She leans into me then, her head resting against my shoulder. I wrap my other arm around her and hold her close, the tension fading.
“I don’t want anyone else’s attention,” she murmurs. “I want yours.”
My chest tightens.
“You have it,” I say. “You always have it.”
We sit like that for a while, the TV still playing. Her fingers trace slow, absent circles against my leg.
The house is quiet by the time we crawl into bed. TV off, lights dimmed, the ceiling fan ticking.
Megan rolls onto her side, facing me, her head resting on my chest. One arm drapes across my stomach. She smells good, like she always does. I stare up at the ceiling for a minute, my thoughts still circling, slower now and calmer.
Her fingers trace against my bare skin.
She tilts her head back to look at me, eyes soft in the low light. “So, we’re okay, right?”
“We’re great.”
She smiles and settles back in, tucking herself closer. Silence stretches again. Comfortable. Easy.
After a minute, her breathing evens out, the weight of her sinking heavier against me as sleep takes over. I stay awake longer than she does, listening to it.
I think about how fast jealousy crept in tonight. How easily fear slipped into a place that should’ve been solid.
And I don’t like that about myself.
I don’t want to be the kind of man who lets insecurity speak louder than trust. Not with her.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, careful not to wake her, and I drift off too.