My throat tightens. "Mason—"
"My body and mind are still paying for it," he continues, like now that he's started he can't stop. Like the words have been building up for years and finally found a crack to escape through. "I have nightmares. PTSD. There are nights I wake up thinking I'm back there, that I'm still in combat, that someone's trying to kill me. Loud noises—thunder, fireworks, a car backfiring, they can send me right back. Make me feel like I'm nineteen again and watching my best friend die."
Oh god. His best friend.
I don't know what to say. What words could possibly be adequate for what he's telling me? What comfort could I offer that wouldn't sound hollow and meaningless?
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, because it's all I have.
"Not your fault." Mason's voice is rough, strained. "None of it's your fault. I chose to enlist. Chose to stay in even when it got bad. Those are my decisions, my consequences."
"You were trying to get stronger." The pieces are falling into place now. The military wasn't about patriotism or serving his country. It was about a boy who couldn't protect his mother desperately trying to become a man who could protect everyone. "You wanted to be able to protect the people you love."
Mason's head snaps up, his dark eyes meeting mine for the first time since he started talking. There's surprise there, like he didn't expect me to understand. Like nobody's ever made that connection before.
"Yeah," he admits. "That's exactly why I joined. I thought if I got stronger, learned to fight, learned to handle weapons and combat situations, I could come back and protect her. Protect everyone. Be the man I couldn't be as a kid."
"And did you?" I ask gently. "Did you come back and protect her?"
"By the time I got back, I was a fucking mess. Spent months going from town to town, drinking myself stupid trying to stop the nightmares. Couldn't hold down a job. Couldn't function. Woke up startled at every loud noise, couldn't be around crowds, couldn't sleep more than a few hours without waking up screaming."
Daisy completes another circle. I've lost count of how many times we've been around this corral. Twenty? More? It doesn't matter. The world has narrowed down to just this. Mason's confession, the sun beating down on us, the sound of hooves on dirt.
I glance toward the fence. Rosie's still with Tucker and Emma, all three of them laughing about something. Safe. Happy. Tucker catches my eye and gives me a small nod, like he knows we're in the middle of something important and he's got my daughter covered.
These men. This makeshift family. They take care of each other. They take care of people who need it. Even broken, traumatized ex-military guys who probably should be in therapy instead of running a ranch in the middle of nowhere Montana.
"When did you finally feel better?" I ask, turning my attention back to Mason.
"Took a while." He adjusts his grip on the lead rope, and I notice his hands are shaking slightly. "Maybe six months of just... existing. Barely surviving. Then one day I woke up and realized I hadn't had a nightmare the night before. Hadn't woken up in a panic. It was the first peaceful sleep I'd had in a year."
"What changed?"
"Nothing. Everything." He shrugs, the gesture at odds with the intensity of his expression. "I just finally started accepting what happened instead of trying to drink it away or fight it or pretend it didn't affect me. Started understanding that I was always going to have PTSD, that the nightmares might never fully stop, but I could learn to live with it."
"And your mother?" I prompt gently. "You said you wanted to protect her."
Mason's jaw clenches again. "Once I finally got my shit together enough to come back to Blackwater Falls, first thing I did was kick my father out of the house. Told him if he ever came near her again, I'd kill him. And I meant it. I would've killed him without hesitation."
The words should scare me. Should make me question whether Mason's dangerous, whether I should be here alone with him. But all I feel is a fierce satisfaction that his mother finally got the protection she deserved. That Mason finally got strong enough to be the man he wanted to be.
"She must have been so relieved," I say.
"She was." His expression softens slightly. "She cried. Thanked me. Kept saying she was sorry I had to see all that growing up, that she should've left him years ago but she was too scared, too dependent on him financially. I told her none of it was her fault. That he was the monster, not her."
"You were right."
"I know." He looks at me again, and there's something raw in his eyes. Vulnerable. "I promised her I'd always protect her from then on. That she'd never have to be afraid again. And I kept that promise until she died."
Oh. Oh no.
"Mason, I'm so sorry—"
"Cancer." His voice is flat. "Five years ago. She fought hard, but in the end, it wasn't enough. Frank died a year after that." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. "Losing both of them within a year nearly destroyed me. Frank was more of a father to me than my biological father ever was. He saved me when I was fifteen, gave me a home, taught me everything I know about ranching and being a decent human being."
We're still moving in circles. Still making loops around this corral while Mason pours out years of trauma and pain. My ass is starting to hurt from the saddle, my thighs aching from grippingDaisy's sides, but I don't care. This matters more than physical discomfort.
"Is that when you started working here?" I ask. "When you were fifteen?"
