Page 26 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
"I met Sarah right after grad school. We were both starting our careers, me in therapy, her in corporate law. It was intense from the beginning. The kind of relationship where you're planning a future after three months."
He takes a sip of his hot chocolate, gathering thoughts.
"Things were good for a while. Great, even. We moved in together, got engaged. Started planning the wedding." His jaw tightens. "Then I took a position at a trauma center inReno. Started working with survivors of abuse, assault, human trafficking. Heavy stuff."
I remain quiet, giving him space to continue at his own pace.
"I tried not to bring it home with me. Tried to compartmentalize. But that kind of work... it changes you. You can't unsee the things you've seen, unhear the stories." His fingers resume their rhythmic tracing on my arm. "Sarah said I became distant. Emotionally unavailable. She felt like she was competing with my patients for my attention."
"Was she right?" I ask softly.
"Partially." His honesty surprises me. "I didn't know how to balance it all. Didn't have the tools to separate work from home. But instead of working through it together, she issued an ultimatum, the job or her."
"That doesn't seem fair."
"It wasn't. But neither was expecting her to live with half a partner." His sigh ruffles my hair. "When I wouldn't quit, she left. No discussion, no attempt at compromise. Just a note saying she couldn't do 'this life' anymore."
The pain in his voice makes my heart ache. "I'm sorry, Mason."
"Don't be. It was a valuable lesson." His arms tighten around me. "It taught me that some people aren't equipped to handle the messy parts of life. That it's safer to keep work and personal separate."
"Is that what you're doing with me?" I tilt my head to meet his eyes. "Keeping me separate from the messy parts?"
His gaze holds mine, unwavering. "No. That's what's different about you, Destiny. You walked in already carrying your own mess. You're not afraid of the dark places."
"Because I've lived in them," I whisper.
"Exactly." He brushes a curl from my face. "You understand that healing isn't linear. That sometimes the people mostqualified to help others are the ones who've been broken themselves."
A deeper understanding settles over us in that moment, a recognition of kindred spirits. Mason sees me, really sees me, in a way no one else ever has. Not as a victim to be pitied or a problem to be solved, but as a whole person, scars and all.
"Thank you for telling me," I say, reaching up to touch his face.
"Thank you for asking." He turns to press a kiss to my palm. "For caring about my history, not just my present."
Later, in bed, our lovemaking has a new dimension, slower, deeper, infused with the emotional intimacy we've built through shared confidences. Mason whispers praise against my skin, telling me I'm beautiful, brave, perfect. For the first time, I let myself believe him.
As we lie tangled together afterward, drowsy and satisfied, a thought occurs to me.
"Mason?"
"Hmm?" His voice is thick with approaching sleep.
"If this were real, our engagement, what kind of wedding would you want?"
He props himself up on one elbow, suddenly more awake. "Are you asking hypothetically?"
"Yes." I trace patterns on his chest. "Just curious."
He considers the question with endearing seriousness. "Something small. Intimate. Just close friends and family, outdoors if the weather permits. Maybe at the mountain overlook where we supposedly got engaged."
The image makes my heart squeeze. "That sounds perfect."
"What about you?" His finger traces the curve of my shoulder. "What would your dream wedding look like?"
"Similar to yours, actually. I've never wanted a big production." I smile up at him. "Though I'd definitely want a good cake. Priorities."
Mason laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Noted for future reference."
