Page 47 of Man of Lies

I wiped my hands with the towel and pretended I didn’t know what she was getting at. "We're all doing it for the same reason."

She didn't argue, just studied me with those dark, steady eyes. "We used to be. But you've lost touch with the guy you were before all this. The one who knew how to live for more than the job. Maybe it's time to take a step back."

"Not all of us have much to go back to, sweetheart," I said, tossing her a wink that pulled more like a grimace. "You're right, though. I probably could use a vacation. Somewhere with a beach, some good whiskey, and zero memories of the last decade."

The truth was, I wasn't ready to let go of this life, even if it was already killing me. I'd spent nearly two decades shedding everything about my past, getting as far away from Dorchester as possible. But Marie saw right through it, and the certainty in her eyes unsettled me.

"Joke all you want," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm just saying…you might want to consider settling down."

I snorted at that. "Yeah? And what? Go back to the suburbs and play house? I'm not sure I'm cut out for domestic bliss."

"You'll never know until you try," she said wryly.

I'd just opened my mouth, but before I could tell her to stop pushing, the door swung open. I flicked a glance toward the door, wired to a hair-trigger every time I caught the first creak of the hinges. It swung open on a blast of thick, muggy air, and Mason strode in, looking like he'd been running on fumes and willpower for so long that they'd finally called it quits.

Not just messy—wrecked.

My heart skipped a beat. This wasn't the man who'd spent all night in my bed a few days ago, the one I'd spent hours mapping with my tongue, just to make sure I could find my way back.ThatMason was open and vulnerable, breath warm against my throat, clinging like he didn't want to let go.

This man had burnt himself down to the wick.

His suit was wrinkled beyond saving, the jacket was creased like he'd used it as a pillow, and his crushed tie hung loose around his collar. His hair was flat and sweaty at the temples, a telltale sign of long hours under a helmet, and a day's worth of dark scruff shaded his jaw. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and his eyes were red-rimmed from fatigue and too much time in contact lenses.

He stumbled toward the bar in a barely straight line, but he wasn't drunk. That was the real kicker. I'd never seen him drink. He refused to touch anything that risked loosening up the chokehold he kept on himself. If this were a bender, I could've chalked it up to one bad night, but these were days of wear and tear and exhaustion ground deep into his bones. The kind of night he locked himself in my back room and slept like the dead.

"Room's free if you need it," I said, nodding toward the storage room, even though all I wanted was to haul him over myshoulder and carry him upstairs to my apartment. He needed to get between my sheets and stay there until his eyes lost that glassy, overstimulated shine. "Rough night?"

He groaned low in his throat, dragging his tie the rest of the way off and stuffing it into his pocket with agitated fingers. Like the fabric itself had personally wronged him.

"Rough few days," he muttered in a voice shot to hell.

Marie watched the two of us with interest, then drained her glass and set it down with a precise clink.

"Thanks for the drink, cutie," she said, dripping with that mock sweetness that only she could pull off without sounding forced. Her eyes glinted as she slid off the bar stool and grabbed her purse. "But I'd better hit the road."

I let her get a few steps before calling, "Don't be a stranger, Marie."

She glanced over her shoulder with a warning look and was gone. The door clicked shut behind her with a soft echo.

I slid a banana and a glass of water into Mason's hand before he could argue. He blinked at it like he'd been handed a dead rat. His nose wrinkled, but then he sighed and reluctantly peeled the fruit, as if forcing himself through the motions. He took a bite like it physically pained him, chewing with the kind of grim determination of a man doing penance.

I watched him choke down another mouthful before asking, "Long day?"

He swallowed hard, grimacing. "Long week. Long fucking month."

I leaned back against the counter, keeping my distance but not letting the silence stretch too long. "Too many balls in the air, huh?"

He didn’t bother to reply; he just kept chewing slowly, his jaw working like he was trying to swallow something more than just the food. I could read the exhaustion and frustration in his face, the kind that settled into the skin after too many hours of noise.

Mason always carried more than he should. More than anyone should, really. He'd nominated himself his brothers' keeper, clearing Ben's name, handling the estate for Gideon, and keeping Gage and Dominic out of prison. That was more than enough, but he topped it with a seat on the task force he thought he'd managed to hide from me. And the real kicker? He pretended none of it was eating him alive. I could see it now, though, the slow collapse behind his eyes.

I reached out to touch him, barely stroking his cheek with my fingertips, just to watch the flare in those bright blue eyes as they lifted to mine.

"Get some sleep," I said softly. "I'll finish cleaning up, and then I'll join you."

The flicker of a genuine smile on his lips felt like a reward. I didn't know why it mattered. Maybe Marie was right, and I'd lost all sense of myself, grasping blindly for any touchstone that made me feel human.

Or maybe I just wanted to see him happy.

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