Page 79 of Honeyed

Mason smirks. “He’s lucky to have a sweet little wife like you. Not everyone is so lucky. Not every kid who goes through that winds up in a rich family with a nice perk of a woman who just falls in their lap.”

Awareness covers my skin in goose bumps. His words sound like a vendetta, like a poison meant to corrupt us from the inside.

“Do you … are you … I don’t think you’re giving us the whole story.” I have no idea what compels me to entertain him, but I need answers about who this man is.

His laugh sets my teeth on edge. “I’m making this documentary for all the men who have been wronged by women. Who are painted in this light, whose children are alienated from them through lies and the court system.”

Holy fuck, this guy thinks Warren’s father is innocent. That’s why he’s been pushing for interviews, information, and time with the man I love. This isn’t an objective look, it’s a smear campaign. It’s a dangerous message that he and the madman behind bars want to spread.

“I told you to stay the hell away from us.” Warren walks up snarling, and immediately I know this is bad news. There are too many people here who could witness something going down, and Warren is too touchy when it comes to this guy. I was just getting somewhere, uncovering the truth of why Mason keeps showing up, and now he’ll clam up with more cryptic passive-aggressiveness.

“This is a free event open to the public.” Mason looks smug, and I know Warren is minutes away from hauling him up by the collar.

“What are you doing back in my restaurant?” Dad comes barging through the crowd, and my head snaps in his direction, surprised he knows who Mason is by looks alone.

“Is there something wrong here?” Billy, one of the guys we went to high school with who has become the new sheriff after the old one was removed for what happened with Cassandra, breaks through the crowd.

“This guy has been harassing Warren and Alana.” Patrick is the first to speak up from where he had just joined us.

“You have no evidence of that!” Mason cries. Meanwhile, Liam comes to stand in between us all and separate him from Warren.

“Security footage will show him outside the restaurant numerous times,” I chime in, grasping at straws.

“I’m a fan of the menu here, love the pizza.” He grins, besting me.

“Any physical altercations?” Billy asks Warren.

My husband hesitates. “Well, no, but—”

“Has he followed you home or shown up on private property?” He’s just doing his cop duty, but I could strangle Billy.

“No.” Warren’s expression is stone.

“I’m shooting a documentary about his father and have been trying to get him to participate. Perhaps a little overzealously, but I’m a film maker. We want Warren’s story.”

A gasp goes up around the restaurant, and part of me almost forgot the entire town of Hope Crest is crammed in here. Now, they all know what is going on, and Warren has to deal with the looks and assumptions he’s been running from his whole life. I could strangle Mason Klein for that alone.

“We’ve all said no, definitively. You know that, and now it’s becoming harassment.” Dad’s eyes squint in fury. “Leave my children alone.”

“He’s crossing lines now, Billy, come on,” Liam implores our childhood friend.

Billy seems to be weighing things, having heard all sides, and my stomach twists with anticipated dread because we have nothing, not really.

“Get lost, buddy, and don’t come back here or I will have cause to at least bring you down to the station.” Billy sighs, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“Billy! What the hell? Do something!” Patrick yells at him.

Mason still hasn’t taken his big break and gotten the hell out, and I see Warren’s hands form into fists.

My arms go around his waist, and I whisper only to him, “It’s not worth it. Baby, look at me.”

He does, reluctantly, and I shake my head while trying to send a telepathic signal that this weasel is not worth the consequences.

“There isn’t anything I can do, Patty. He didn’t put hands on anyone, we have no cause right now, unless you all can supply me with some.”

As much as I want to invent something, I know he’s right. Warren has email requests for the documentary, we have a few run-ins with him around town, but nothing that looks like more than a persistent director.

Even if I know, deep down, that he’s been borderline stalking us. That he’s been snooping and sulking around where he shouldn’t be. That there are dark, toxic ulterior motives for him wanting to get close to Warren and my family.

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