Page 42 of The Art of Dying

“Keeping what from him? That Mason is back and someone was in my backyard? He can’t do anything about it. It will drive him crazy being so far away and worrying. I’ll tell him if there’s something to tell. Right now… there’s just not.”

“You need to get a protective order.”

“On what grounds?”

“Domestic violence!”

I shook my head. “It’ll just provoke him.”

“You’re making excuses. We can’t just sit here and wait for him to do something.”

I pointed at her. “That. That right there is why I’m not telling Kitsch. You’re here and you still feel helpless.”

She sighed. “At least have Kelita look at this. At least let her know. Promise me.”

“Okay! Okay, I heard you. I still have to take you to your car. We’re going to be late if we don’t leave in the next five minutes.

“Do you have an extra toothbrush?” Alecia asked, walking toward the hall.

“Under the sink in the bathroom off the spare bedroom,” I said. “I’m going to warm up the car.”

I slipped my arms through the sleeves of my coat and pulled it tight around my scrubs. Another four inches of snow had fallen over night. Broom in one hand, my keys and purse in the other, I managed to unlock the door and pulled, feeling the icy air rush my face. Layers of powder crunched under my feet as I left tracks between the porch and my car, nestled under a winter white blanket in the driveaway. After a quick sweep of the windows and hood, I slid in behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition. The engine whirred, resisting at first and then growled to life. I made sure the windshield defrost was on high and then slammed the door before beginning my jog back to the house.

But I didn’t make it. Mason was standing between me and the porch.

“Oh, God!” I screamed and dropped the broom, letting it fall into the snow.

Mason laughed. “I figured if I was going to catch you, this would be the best time.”

I glared at him. “Actually, this is a terrible time,” I said, picking up the broom. “I have to leave for work, so if you don’t mind.”

“Actually,” he said, side-stepping. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I do. I just… it’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” I said under my breath.

“What was that?” When I didn’t repeat myself, he continued. “Damn, you’re wicked pretty, Mack. I think even more so since the last time I saw you.”

“It’s amazing what happiness and the absence of blood will do.”

He frowned. “Why you always gotta be like that, Mack? I said I was sorry.”

“You always do.”

“I mean it this time. I was so in love with you, it made me crazy. I was jealous, I was scared of losing you. It made me do shit like that,” he sighed, “I don’t even recognize that guy anymore. I’m so different now, Mack. If you’d just take the time to see it, you’d see the guy you loved is back. Back for good.”

“Well, I’m different, too,” I said, lifting my chin. “What you did, Mason? It changed me. Damn near killed me, and we both know I’m not waxing poetic.”

“Waxing what?”

I rolled my eyes. “Never mind.” When I tried to walk the other way, he side-stepped again. “I’m not the same girl you loved. And even if I was insane enough to try to love you again, I don’t want to. Loving you is painful. Emotionally, mentally, and physically painful.”

“You think it didn’t hurt me, too? You think it hasn’t killed me to hear you’re trying to move on, knowing what we had, knowing how you felt, how I know you still feel about me, and you’re making a scene all over town with someone like Kitsch? He’s a jarhead, Mack. You think I get mad sometimes? Wait ’til he loses his shit on you with all that training.”

“That’s the thing. He could be frightening. He could be intimidating—a monster… if he wanted to be. He chooses to control it. That is power and discipline you’ll never possess, Mason.”

“You know what he doesn’t have? What I had with you. You said that to me a hundred times, what we had was special.”

“That was the trauma talking. Now, I think back on the day you left and all I remember is feeling relieved.”

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