His voice drops even quieter, like he’s speaking straight into the rawest part of me.
Like he already knows this broke something open inside me.
I sniffle. It’s sharp, shaky, completely out of control, and before I can fall apart again, Mason reaches out, wraps his hand around my wrist, and tugs me toward him with a gentle, insistent pull.
“Come here,” he whispers. “Don’t cry, baby. C’mere.”
The second I sit in his lap, I melt. I fold into him and my arms fly around his neck—clinging, desperate—and he hugs me even harder, his hands spreading across my back, holding me like he’s my anchor. Because he is.
His heartbeat thuds solid against mine. And the reality of it hits me so hard I almost sob again. He’s still here, still breathing.
I let myself memorize everything about him—his warmth, his smell, the steady rise and fall of his chest. The way his thumb automatically rubs slow circles against my skin every time he’s comforting me, like his body knows exactly what to do, even when the words don’t come.
“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair, voice rough with truth. “And I do my best every single day to make sure I come home to you.”
My throat tightens. I squeeze him harder, my fingers curling into the back of his shirt. “I need you to,” I whisper. “I can’t do this life alone. I don’t want to.”
His arms tighten around me in response, the kind of hold that feels like a vow.
We sit there, wrapped up in each other, the office quiet except for our breathing. The house feels still, the world paused, like even time is giving us space to fall apart and put ourselves back together again.
For a long time, neither of us moves.
Chapter 18
Mason
I pull into our empty driveway just after six, which is weird. Megan didn’t say anything about having plans tonight. The lights are on inside though. My guess is she left them on all day. She does that a lot.
I head in and find her in the kitchen, hair up, flannel sleeves pushed to her elbows, stirring something on the stove like nothing’s out of the ordinary.
“Oh— Hey,” I say, slipping my boots off. “Where’s your car?”
She keeps moving, pulling a utensil from the drawer. “It wouldn’t start.”
I stop short. “What?”
“It wouldn’t start. I don’t know. It’s still at school.”
My chest tightens. “How did you get home? Sierra?”
“No, she already left. Trevor drove me. You know he doesn’t live too far? He said—”
“Megan.”
She looks at me, brows knitting together. “What?”
“Why didn’t you callme?” The question comes out sharp.
She stares at me. “You’ve had a rough week, babe. I didn’t want to—”
“So?” My jaw tightens. “I don’t care if I’m on the moon, Megan. You callme.”
“I know,” she says quickly. “I just thought—”
“I’m your husband,” I say, cutting her off again. Trying to stay calm. “That’s literally my job.”
Her shoulders drop. She fiddles with her hands, eyes on the counter.
