The words twist my stomach harder. Makes me wanna throw up.
Mason’s voice is still careful. “I didn’t say anything. She didn’t recognize me, but…” He trails off. I can sense the question on the tip of his tongue but he’s too nervous to ask.
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s not mine.”
Mason just nods.
I pull in a breath. “She cheated on me. Got pregnant. Slept with me after so she could pull it off as mine. I didn’t know until our wedding day.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Yup.”
“Damn, dude.”
“That letter wasn’t a peace offering, it was a confession.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Because I didn’t want a pity party.”
Mason watches me for a second. “Okay, but that’s sort of a big deal. Heavy thing to carry around by yourself all these years.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the past. It’s fine. I’m good.” I reach for another piece of flooring.
Mason and I work in silence for a while. I replay the short conversation in my head, relieved, actually, that I got it off my chest once again.
Just then, Addison’s car rolls up the drive. If she hears even a sliver of this conversation, it’s over. She’ll tell Mom, and Mom’ll tell Dad.
I look back over to Mason. “Mase, not a word.”
He nods. “You got it.”
I know he won’t tell. He’s probably the best secret keeper aside from myself. Jesse’s decent, but he would tell Ella, and Ella would definitely slip up somehow, somewhere. Always gotta think about the trail.
“Wow!” Addison says when she steps inside. “You guys got a lot done!”
“Damn straight; you owe us.” I grunt.
“I owe you all nothing. I helped paint every one of y’all’s cabins and decorated.”
“Alright, well, you could’ve at least brought us a Gatorade or something,” I press.
She smirks and pulls out two big bottles of blue Gatorade from her bag. “Anything else?” She smirks again, tossing them our way.
Chapter 25
Cody
It’s later in the week, early morning, and I’ve come over to the lodge to help Karissa with whatever she needs before I get working on Addison’s cabin again. Emma’s asleep in the swing; looks like she’s dreaming. Karissa’s sitting on the edge of the couch, wearing an oversized purple T-shirt with spit-up stains on the shoulder. A pile of clean baby clothes sits beside her. She’s folding them, slowly, like she’s tired of it all.
I’ve been thinking about what Jesse said the other day, about a date night, to get her out of the house for a real break.
I clear my throat and step away from the now clean and empty sink, drying my hands on a dish towel as I cross into the living room.
Karissa blinks and looks at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I rub a hand along the back of my neck. “Just thinking.”
