Page 42 of Broken Trust
His mind raced through possibilities, each one making his chest constrict more. It looked like a pharmacy bag. Did Elin take regular medication?
He knew how thorough she was—she would have packed everything she needed and about ten more things just in case. If something cropped up, there were proper channels in Blackout to get things.
Unless it was something she didn’t want on record—
Stop.
He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t stand here speculating about her private business when he had no right to any part of her life anymore. He’d given up that right when he walked away.
Without thought, he took off in the other direction. He was halfway to the gym before his mind registered his intention.
The weights didn’t judge. They didn’t ask questions or demand explanations. They just required strength, focus and discipline—things he could control.
Mason loaded the bar with more weight than usual, needing the strain, needing something to channel the chaos in his chest and the frustration of what felt like a wasted day. Each set should feel like a win, but not today when everything felt like a loss on the scoreboard.
He hit his workout hard, reaching a new personal record on the bench press, then another on deadlifts. His muscles screamed and sweat dripped into his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm in his head.
Every rep brought him back to Elin. Her beautiful face twisted in pain when she walked into the war room and saw he was alive. The way her eyes softened when she was on the verge of release.
The trust in her eyes when she looked at Sinner right before she darted inside with that package.
“You’re going to tear something if you keep that up. You should have waited until someone could spot you.” Con’s voice cut through his focus.
With a groan, Mason racked the weights and grabbed his towel to wipe his face. His CO leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, that knowing look on his face that meant a conversation Mason didn’t want to have was coming. Even after their day of failures and dead ends, Con looked like his usualunshakeable self. It was part of what made him such a good leader.
Mason rolled his shoulders. “Just pushing limits.”
Con moved into the gym, his gaze steady. “Yours or the equipment’s?” He paused, studying Mason with those eyes that missed nothing. “She’s affecting you.”
Mason’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the towel. “Not my performance. I’ve taken every order, executed to perfection. My focus hasn’t wavered.”
Con shook his head slowly. “That’s not what I mean.” His voice dropped, carrying the weight of experience. “You left things badly with her. Unfinished business has a way of compromising even the best SEALs.”
Mason met Con’s gaze directly, shifting to face his CO fully. “You could say that.”
“I am saying it.” Con crossed his arms as he seemed to weigh his words. “She’s here, Mason. And she’s staying. Blackout just sent through the contract—she’s on board until she finds all eleven handlers. Could be months.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Months.
Months of seeing her every day, being close enough to touch but not having the right, of watching her brilliant mind work while remembering how it felt to be the focus of all that intensity.
Months of circling each other, waiting for that single look that would ignite the blaze between them…only for it to sputter out and leave them hollow again.
Without the words that used to bind them together, sex was just sex.
Con let out a low sigh. “Go talk to her, Mason. That’s not your commanding officer talking. That’s someone who’s watched too many good men let unresolved shit eat them alive.” He gripped Mason’s shoulder briefly. “Whatever happenedbetween you two, whatever you need to say or hear, deal with it. Or it’ll affect more than just you.”
Mason nodded slowly. Con was right. He always was when it came to reading people.
He showered quickly, the hot water sluicing away sweat but not the knot in his chest. The sun had set completely now. The sounds of the base settling into its nighttime rhythm drifted up to him.
He pulled on clean clothes—jeans and a black henley—and made his way to her room.
He knocked, then waited. “Elin? It’s me.”
After five beats of silence, he started to twist the knob again before stopping himself. She deserved her privacy. If she didn’t want to see him, then he needed to respect that.
As he started toward the stairs, another door opened and female laughter rippled out. He stopped in his tracks, sifting through the women’s voices and picking out each.
