Page 124 of Shattered Promise

“I was so scared,” I murmur into his shirt once I get my tears under control.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“That woman—she was trying to steal my life. She said—she said she’s Theo’smom.”

He pulls me back just enough to see my face, his hands bracketing my cheeks. His thumbs sweep away the tears, rough and reverent. His breath is sharp, his eyes wild, but his voice comes out steady, a hard promise: “No, she’s fucking wrong. And so was I.You’reTheo’s mom, baby. No one else. Ever.”

I sob, a raw, ugly sound, and wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him so tight it must hurt. He just squeezes back, like the pressure in his bones is the only thing holding him together. Every word he says is a lifeline, and I gulp it down like it’s the only air I’ll ever breathe.

Mason’s hand finds the back of my head, fingers tangling so gently in my hair. “You’re the only one who matters, Abby. You and Theo. You’re my family. Don’t ever let anyone—don’t let me—make you think otherwise.”

His words bury themselves in the hollow places inside me, the ones that never felt real or worthy or permanent. I can’t stop shaking, but I nod, over and over, until he kisses my forehead, my temple, the bridge of my nose.

A radio squawks from the hall. The noise outside the apartment spikes. I can’t see what’s happening past the wall of Mason’s body, but I hear the thud of boots and sharp, trainedvoices: "Clear the back," and "Suspects located." I catch the heavy tread of my brothers and, somewhere, Lisa shrieking—high and hysterical, the sound of someone losing a fight with reality.

Mason shields me through it, every muscle in his back tensed like he’s ready to take a bullet if it comes to that. The tremors in my hands match the aftershocks in his voice.

"I love you," he murmurs into my hair, his hand brushing over my stomach. “I love you, Trouble. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.”

I’m crying again, but they’re not scared tears—they’re relief, exhaustion, the collapse after sprinting through life and finally finding your person.

I hear Beau’s voice, closer, the familiar depth of it pushing through the static. “Is she okay?”

“She’s okay,” Mason says, not taking his eyes off me.

I breathe in and push away from Mason’s chest, one hand braced to his shoulder as I try to stand. My legs wobble. I expect to collapse, but he’s there, steadying me, thumb tracing the inside of my wrist. The skin is welted and angry, but it’s nothing compared to what’s spinning in my head.

The room is chaos. Two officers are at the door already, one with a radio pressed to his shoulder, the other wrangling Lisa.

Her voice claws through the room like nails on glass, high and cracked. “You don’t know what you’re doing! I’m his mother—I’m the one he wants,” Lisa wails.

The officer nearest her doesn’t blink. He steps in, quick and smooth, his partner moving to Beth, who doesn’t resist. She just stares at me with glassy, damp eyes like this is some awful dream neither of us can wake from.

I hold tighter to Mason’s shirt.

His arm is still around me, anchoring me. One hand cradles the back of my head, palm splayed wide like he’s trying to shield me from everything—noise, chaos, the tremble in my knees.

“Ma’am?” A third officer approaches me. His voice is gentle. “We’d like to get you looked at. Do you want a ride to the hospital?”

I open my mouth and close it again. I don’t know.

“Yes,” Mason says, before I can answer.

“I’m fine,” I manage. It’s automatic, like muscle memory I haven’t unlearned yet. “Really.”

He turns me toward him, cupping my jaw. His thumb brushes just under my cheekbone, eyes burning like twin points of gravity. He’s soaked to the bone, rainwater still dripping from his collar. His knuckles are scraped. There’s a gash on his forearm I didn’t notice before.

“I found your letter,” he says, voice so quiet it lands like prayer.

The air leaves my lungs in one hard gust. My hand finds his wrist, curls there like I’m afraid I imagined him.

Everything in me threatens to crack open.

Mason’s gaze never leaves mine. His thumb moves to trace the damp strands of hair clinging to my temple. And suddenly I feelseen—not just rescued, but claimed. Not just carried out, butfound.

I nod, once. The rest of me trembles with it.

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