MASON
What the hell was I thinking? My muscles still ache from scrubbing the entire house clean two days ago. Everything aches like I ran five marathons back-to-back. But I’m practicing building those boxes in my head—indestructible boxes that make it impossible for those scary thoughts to escape. Those frightening memories are locked away where they can’t hurt me, where I can’t hurt myself.
A knock on my door startles me while I’m lying supine, attempting to practice my breathing techniques. Absolutely no anxiety about tonight. None! Nothing bad will happen. Likely.
“Come in,” I call out, leaning up on my elbows.
Parker opens the door enough to peek his head through. “I’ve got something for you.”
I sit up on the bed, eagerly waiting for him to come inside. I love presents but hate surprises. Parker’s strides toward me are sure and steady, but his hands shake a little as he pulls a medium-sized black box from behind his back.
“I got you some mission gear. We have someone whostocks clothes for us, and I pulled a little favor to get it ready so quick,” Parker admits with a hint of embarrassment. “But you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”
Wow. Why does he look so embarrassed? “Oh cool, let me see.”
Parker tightly hugs the box to his chest for a second. “The thing is, all of us dress differently, wearing what feels comfortable for us. Dante wears traditional mission clothes, and so does Jacob, but Hayden… He wears… It’s more clubwear kind of. Reid is dressed like Dante because they’re a couple.” Parker pauses as if caught in a huge mistake. He clears his throat and aims his dark green eyes down at the box in his hand. “Well, I got you some gear from where I bought mine. If that’s fine.”
He still won’t look at me, which is so polar opposite of his normal personality. Parker so often calms me when I need it most. I now feel the same need deep in the pit of my belly. To calm him, reassure him that this show of vulnerability with me is okay in the soft stillness of my bedroom.
“Let me see, Parker,” I tell him tenderly.
Parker’s eyes flit up to mine as a smile lifts up the corner of his lips. “Okay.”
He sets the box on the ground and opens it up. One by one, he tugs out what looks like a bespoke outfit made just for me.
“I’ll have more made for you if you like it.”
The shirt is long sleeve and black, but with a shimmer to it that makes it look like it was dusted with a layer of glitter. The pants are midnight black without any shimmer and skinny, obviously meant to hug my legs tightly. There’s also a halter made in what looks like supple brand-new black leather, with shiny oxford shoes to match. But the shoesaren’t normal dress shoes. I can tell the inside is made for comfort, and the tips have an odd dome to them.
“They’re steel-toed,” Parker explains as he notices my curious look toward the shoes.
“Oh.”
“Do you want to put it on? I had my tailor use materials that are soft against your skin, and I’ve washed it with your preferred detergent.”
I curl my fingers into my palm so hard it stings. I will probably succumb to the attention Parker lavishes on me one day. Of course, he won’t do it on purpose, but I’m falling for him harder and faster each time he does something thoughtful.
I stand abruptly from the bed, and Parker moves back a little to give me the space he always so attentively gives. I hold my hand out in demand for the clothes. I can’t spend one more second in his presence without saying something stupid likekiss me, but I’ve never been kissed and it might gross me out and send me into a panic attack. I’ve spent so many years dreaming of being kissed—of that perfect first kiss—that the idea of having it but reacting badly could send me into a spiral all on its own.
After Parker gingerly hands me the clothes, I disappear into the bathroom to put on my new mission aesthetic. I avoid the mirror as I dress, running my hands down the buttoned shirt and over my thighs. The clothes fit me like a glove, like someone poured them over my body so they fit just right. The holster is a little more difficult as I slip it over my arms. Turning to look in the mirror, a startled gasp rattles around the room at the image that greets me.
I look… hot. I run my fingers through my hair, attempting in vain to make it lie in a way that gives off the same vibes as the outfit. But it’s a fruitless endeavor because my hair is my hair, no matter what I do. I lost my hair during chemo as a kid, and once it grew back, it came back with a curl, unruly no matter how much I attempt to tame it.
When I step into the bedroom, Parker spins around and his jaw clenches hard, the muscles working at the hinges. His eyes get stuck on my thighs, so I glance down, but I have no idea what he’s seeing.
“Is it okay?” I ask, suddenly shy.
Parker grunts, then clears his throat a couple of times. “Yeah. It fits well? Do you need me to tighten the holster? I can do it without touching you… probably.”
I smile at him. “I think it’s okay. Are you giving me a gun?”
Parker nods, throat bobbing on a swallow. “Yeah, one of Hayden’s.”
“Oh. Not one of yours?”
Parker’s smirk warms me to the bone. “I usually only carry the tranquilizer gun if I’m not using the rifle. I’m giving you arealgun.”
“Oh.” It’s just hitting me that tonight I’m likely going to kill someone. Again.
