18. Mason
Mason
The axe comes down hard, the sharp blade biting deep into the frozen log with a solid, resounding thunk that echoes across the snowy clearing like a gunshot.
A spray of white powder explodes upward around my boots, glittering in the weak morning sunlight before settling back down onto the fresh layer of snow.
I set another thick piece of wood onto the chopping block, the rough bark cold and gritty under my gloved palm.
I swing again, muscles burning under my flannel shirt as the axe head splits the log clean in two.
The impact vibrates up through my arms and into my shoulders.
The cold morning air bites sharply at my exposed face and neck. My breath puffs out in thick white clouds with every powerful swing, dissipating quickly in the wind. The rhythm is steady. Familiar. Exactly what I need right now to quiet the storm raging inside my head.
I needed this space. I needed to get out of that warm cabin before I did something stupid like pull Riley back into my arms and never let her go. Because the truth is I’m feeling things I never thought I deserved to feel. Not after everything I’ve done in my life.
Not after the blood that still stains my hands and the ghosts that follow me into every quiet moment.
She deserves so much better than a broken marshal who lives alone in the middle of nowhere.
She deserves a nice, safe life. A new bakery somewhere bright and sunny where she can fill the air with the smell of fresh bread and cinnamon rolls every morning.
Fresh starts, laughter, and all the romcom happiness she talks about with that bright, unstoppable sparkle in her eyes.
Not a man like me, weighed down by too many scars and too much darkness.
Inside the cabin I can hear her moving around.
The faint, cheerful clatter of pans and bowls drifts out through the slightly cracked door every time the wind shifts.
The sweet, warm notes of whatever she's baking follow it, wrapping around me like a gentle hand squeezing something deep inside. She’s in there creating something beautiful, humming softly to herself, while I’m out here splitting wood like a madman trying to remind myself why I can’t keep her.
I swing the axe again, harder this time.
The impact sends a deeper vibration up my arms and into my injured shoulder.
Sweat beads on my forehead despite the freezing air, trickling down my temple and mixing with the melted snow on my skin.
My injured arm protests with a sharp throb, but I ignore it.
Physical work has always been my way of clearing my head.
Today it’s not working nearly as well as I need it to.
The truth keeps circling in my mind like a vulture.
I want her. Not just for the storm. Not just for the heat that explodes between us every time we touch.
I want her in my life. In my cabin. In my bed every single night.
I want to wake up to the smell of her baking those ridiculous cookies and hear her bright laugh when she beats me at chess again.
I want to be the man who keeps her safe, who makes her feel like the sunshine she is.
But wanting something doesn’t mean I deserve it.
And soon the storm will end completely. The roads will clear. WITSEC will take her, give her a new name and a new life far away from here. Far away from me. I’ll never even know where she ends up. The thought sits like a heavy stone in my gut, cold and unyielding.
I split another log, the loud crack echoing in the quiet morning air. Snow crunches under my boots as I toss the split pieces onto the growing pile beside me. My breath comes harder now, chest rising and falling with effort. The cold air burns in my lungs but it feels good.
The satellite phone in my jacket pocket vibrates sharply against my chest. I set the axe down against the chopping block with a heavy thud and pull the phone out, recognizing Kane’s number immediately.
“Cole,” I answer, my voice low and guarded.
“Got movement on the Morettis,” Kane says without preamble.
His tone is dead serious, all business. “Two vehicles just crossed the border into Montana. Jax and Colt are already heading that way to see what they’re up to.
We don’t think they have her exact location yet, but they’re definitely getting closer.
The storm’s easing faster than predicted.
We may need to move her early. Roads are starting to clear. ”
I glance back at the cabin. Through the small window I can see Riley moving around the kitchen, flour dusting her cheek, humming softly to herself as she works at the counter. The sight hits me hard, warm and painful all at once.
“Wherever she goes,” I say, my voice coming out rough and final, “I go with her. Until she’s fully settled in WITSEC. I’m not handing her over to anyone else.”
Kane is quiet for a beat on the other end. “You sure about that, man? This is getting complicated. Real complicated.”
“I’m sure,” I reply without hesitation. “She stays under my protection until the handoff is complete.”
“Alright,” Kane says after a moment. “I’ll pass it up the chain. Stay ready out there. We’ll update you the second we know more.”
I end the call and slide the phone back into my pocket.
The axe feels heavier when I pick it up again.
I split three more logs in quick succession, the physical work doing nothing to quiet the storm raging inside my head.
Riley deserves safety. She deserves peace.
She deserves a life without constantly looking over her shoulder.
And as much as I want to be the one to give her all of that, I know how the system works.
Once WITSEC has her, even I won’t be able to find her.
That’s the entire point. Complete separation for her protection.
I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to let her go.
The cabin door creaks open behind me. I turn slowly and there she is, wrapped up in one of my heavy coats that swallows her small frame. Her cheeks are pink from the warmth inside, and she’s holding two steaming mugs of coffee.
“I thought you might want something warm,” she says, that soft, sparkling light still in her eyes even after everything we’ve been through. “I’m about to start baking cookies.”
I set the axe down against the chopping block and walk over to her, my boots crunching through the snow.
She hands me one of the mugs and I take it, our fingers brushing together.
The small contact sends a jolt of heat straight through me.
I sip the coffee, strong and black, the bitterness grounding me for a second while the steam warms my face.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice quieter than usual.
She studies my face for a long moment, searching. Then she steps closer, the snow crunching softly under her boots. “You okay out here? You’ve been chopping wood for a while.”
I look down at her, this bright, brave woman who stumbled into my life and turned everything upside down. The truth sits heavy on my tongue but I swallow it back. Instead I reach out and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her warm cheek for just a moment.
“Yeah,” I lie softly. “I’m okay.”
But as we stand there together in the cold morning light with the storm finally breaking around us, I know the real storm is just beginning. The one inside me. The one that doesn’t want to let her go.
And I have no idea how I’m going to survive it when the time comes.