But how can I expect Lily to open up to me if I don't do the same? How can I ask her to trust me when I'm holding everything back?
This isn't about sex. Isn't about getting into her pants or manipulating her into something. This is about wanting to share a piece of myself with her. About wanting her to see what's behind the facade of the messy, bearded cowboy who offered her shelter.
I must be thinking too long because she starts talking again. "You don't have to tell me anything. Maybe I talked too much. I always do that when I'm nervous. My mother used to say—"
"You didn't talk too much," I interrupt, my voice rougher than I intended. "And I want to tell you. I just... I don't talk about this shit. Ever."
Daisy keeps walking at a steady pace around the corral. I have no idea how many times we've circled now—ten? Twenty? But I'm not stopping. Not when we're having this conversation. Not when Lily's actually opening up to me, showing me pieces of herself.
She glances toward the fence again, checking on Rosie. Tucker's lifted both girls onto the lower fence rail now, letting them watch us ride. Emma's pointing at something, probably explaining horse anatomy or some shit. Rosie's laughing, her little hands clapped together with joy.
The sun beats down on us. Sweat drips down my chest, soaking through my henley. Lily's face is flushed, beads of perspiration on her forehead, her cardigan clinging to her body in ways that should be illegal. But somehow, in this moment, I feel more whole than I have in years.
No nightmares last night. No waking up in a cold sweat, reaching for a gun that isn't there, my heart racing with phantom fear. Just solid, dreamless sleep for the first time in months.
Lily feels right. Like the light at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel.
I take a deep breath and make the decision.
"My father used to beat my mother," I tell her, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Started when I was young. Five, maybe six. I'd hear her crying at night, hear the sound of his fists connecting with her face, her body. Hear him screaming at her that she was worthless, that she deserved it, that if she was a better wife he wouldn't have to hit her."
Lily's gone completely still in the saddle. I can feel her eyes on me, but I keep my gaze fixed on Daisy's head, on the worn leather of the lead rope in my hands.
"When I got older, maybe eight or nine, I started trying to intervene. I'd get between them, tell him to stop, push him away from her." My jaw clenches at the memory. "He'd just hit me instead. Said I needed to learn respect, that a son who didn't respect his father deserved punishment. My mother would beg him to stop, and that just made him angrier."
"Mason—" Lily's voice cracks.
"I couldn't protect her." The admission feels like ripping open an old wound. "I was too small, too weak. He'd knock me aside like I was nothing, and then he'd go right back to hitting her. I was useless."
We make another circle around the corral. The sun is relentless, heat radiating off the dirt, but I barely feel it. All I can feel is the old shame, the old rage, the knowledge that I failed the person I loved most.
Chapter 7 - Lily
I can't believe what I'm hearing.
What Mason went through. What he endured. The horror of being a child watching his mother get beaten, trying to protect her, and being beaten himself for it. The shame he still carries for something that was never his fault.
It's painful. It's horrific. And I really thought he'd been some carefree kid running wild on a ranch, riding horses in the rain without consequences. I was so fucking wrong that guilt twists in my stomach like a knife.
"Mason," I breathe out, my hands gripping the saddle horn so tight my knuckles have gone white. "You did your best. You were just a kid. Nobody expected you to do more than that."
"I know." His voice is flat, emotionless, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is clenched so tight it must hurt. "Logically, I know that. But at the time, I felt fucking useless. Felt like I failed her every single day. So as soon as I turned eighteen, I joined the military."
"I had no idea," I say, and I hate how small my voice sounds. "I didn't know you were in the military."
Daisy keeps plodding along at that same steady pace, her hooves against the packed dirt. Mason doesn't look at me, just keeps his eyes fixed ahead, his hand steady on the lead rope despite whatever he's feeling inside.
"It's not something I talk about," he says. "It's a part of my life I'd rather forget."
Something in his tone makes my chest tighten. There's more there. More pain, more trauma layered on top of what his childhood already carved into him. I should drop it. Should lethim keep those secrets buried where they won't hurt him. But I can't. I need to understand this man who's shown me more kindness in twenty-four hours than most people have in years.
"Was it that bad?" I ask.
Mason's silent for so long I think he's not going to answer. We complete another full circle around the corral. The sun beats down relentlessly, and I can see sweat soaking through the back of his henley now, darkening the fabric. My own cardigan is stuck to my skin, uncomfortable and too hot, but I barely notice.
All I can focus on is Mason. The way his shoulders have hunched slightly, like he's bracing for a blow. The way his breathing has changed, coming faster and more shallow. The way his knuckles have gone white where he grips the lead rope.
"I saw too much," he finally says, his voice so low I have to strain to hear it over the sound of Daisy's hooves. "Did too much. Things I can't take back. Things I can't forget no matter how hard I try."
