Feeling bad for her I offer a soft, “Hi Hannah.”
She sends me a grateful smile, “Hey Laurel.”
She swallows, then addresses Carrson. “I’m sorry to interrupt your time with your Bonded, but it’s just that I hardly ever see you outside of Ashford House.”
Carrson shoots me a glare for the smugtold you solook I give him.
“I leave sometimes,” he mutters, petulant.
“I wanted to say thank you,” Hannah continues. “For what you did with Sampson. Fighting him so Mason and I could be together.”
“Wait.” I swivel toward Carrson. “That’s why you fought him?”
Before he can answer, Hannah gushes, “He sure did. Mason and Sampson both wanted to bond me, but I’ve loved Mason forever. Sampson is just so…” she shudders. “Mason’s blood calls to me. It sings. That’s why I’ll never forget what you did, fighting as Mason’s proxy.”
Carrson shifts, uncomfortable. He waves his hand. “It’s fine. Really. No big deal.”
“It is,” Hannah insists. “We’re lucky to have you, Carrson. That’s all I wanted to say. Just…thank you.”
She flashes another smile, pulls her orange sweater a little tighter, and slips away.
I swivel back to Carrson, grinning so wide it almost hurts.
“Awww,” I tease. “Carrson Ashford, selfless hero, champion of true love. Who knew?”
He rolls his eyes, the tips of his ears reddening. “Stop.”
I laugh, enjoying seeing him off-balance, a rare sight. Together, we start walking. “What made you step in?” I ask, curious.
He shrugs, “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about choice recently. When Mason and Hannah came to me it hit me. How rarely we get to choose around here. I wanted to give them that option.”
I glance toward a nearby chimney, smoke curling gray into the sky. The scent of woodsmoke clings to the autumn air.
“Free will,” I murmur. “That’s what you’re talking about.”
He gives me a sidelong glance, smiles, “Leave it to you to make it academic, but yes.”
We fall back into step, nodding to two Brothers on a bench. They straighten and dip their heads as we pass. Kids from town, a teacher with a stack of papers, all offer quiet hellos, small waves. They step aside with deference.
I see it then. Carrson isn’t just feared. He’s trusted. Respected. Revered.
“You haven’t had much of it,” I say softly. “Choice.”
“No,” he sighs.
“But in a way, I haven’t either,” I muse. “I didn’t choose to have my dad drink, didn’t choose to come here, didn’t choose…” I trail off, thinking of Preston.
Carrson bumps his arm into mine, a silent show of support.
“There was one choice I did make,” he says, filling the silence before it swallows me whole.
“Oh?” I ask, leaning into him as his arm brushes mine for a second time.
He watches me like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to joke about this. “This pizza girl made the worst delivery of her life…”
“And you chose her,” I finish for him, not as upset as I probably should be thinking back to that night.
His gaze holds mine, steady. “I did.”
