Page 64 of His Saving Grace

Owen rushed him again, telegraphing his intention to slam into Mason’s middle with his shoulder. Mason side stepped him, grabbed him in a headlock and pulled him tight against his side.

“Let me go, you bastard.” Owen spat the words, struggling against the hold.

Mason went to make a witty comeback about his brother disparaging their parentage, but Owen kicked out his foot and made contact with Mason’s bad leg. Pain shot through his thigh and he cried out, his knee buckling. The two of them crashed to the floor with a bone-jarring thud.

They both lay there, stunned. Owen recovered first, pulling himself up and throwing himself on top of Mason. Owen’s knee connected with his abdomen, and Mason grunted. He grabbed Owen’s upper arms, trying to flip him over top of him again.

Owen grabbed Mason’s shirt and the two of them rolled across the floor, elbows and fists flying. They crashed into the legs of the table, Mason’s beer tipping over and splashing suds across the floor. They rolled through it, neither of them even aware.

“You abandoned me, you bastard,” Owen said, his voice ragged, unraveled.

Mason, who was pressing his arm across Owen’s neck, paused. Owen pulled Mason’s forearm from his throat, sucking in a deep breath.

The unexpected words left Mason reeling, giving Owen an opening. The younger Callahan shoved, sending Mason flying backwards. He crashed into the table leg, the beer bottle crashing to the ground.

Owen was on him in seconds, grabbing him by the shirt and hoisting him up, so they were face to face.

“You left me here.” Owen’s eyes filled with hurt. “You went off and did your own thing and you left me here, all alone, to do all of this by myself.”

Mason was too stunned to do anything other than stare. He had no idea that was how Owen felt about him leaving. He’d arrogantly assumed Owen was jealous. It never occurred to him that Owen felt abandoned and that’s what had sparked their issues. Then that infamous Callahan stubbornness kicked in, and here they were. “Owen…” he began, unsure of what else to say.

“No.” Owen shook his head. “You don’t get to say anything. I needed you and you couldn’t have cared less. You left and never looked back, never came back and I needed you, you bastard.” He shook Mason, banging his head against the table leg.

Mason winced, knowing his brother didn’t realize what he was doing, but unwilling to just sit there and take the abuse. He pried Owen’s fingers from his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Mason said, knowing it wasn’t enough, but having nothing else to offer. He wasn’t sure his brother heard him. Owen didn’t react at all.

Owen’s hands dropped to his sides, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. An utterly defeated pose. That stupid ache flared bright in Mason’s chest. Owen had always been the strong, silent type. He’d always kept everything bottled up inside.

“I held her after every miscarriage while she cried. I was being the strong one, the supportive one. Being the one she needed. But I had no one to be the strong one for me.” Owen looked up, his eyes shiny with tears. The ache in Mason’s chest unfurled to become a full-blown, oozing sore.

“I’m sorry,” Mason said again, pushing the words past the tightness in his throat. They were inadequate, useless, trite, but they were all he had.

Owen shook his head and swallowed, the grief in his gaze pinning Mason to the spot, like a butterfly on a board. He couldn’t look away. Strain and sadness radiated from Owen in huge waves, pulsing with the need to break free. He was like a dam, holding back all that churning, rising emotion, refusing to let it breach. But Mason could see the fissures beginning to form. Owen was reaching a breaking point.

“The last one damn near killed her. She almost died.” The waves crashed over the top of the dam and Owen’s voice cracked, like stone crumbling under colossal pressure. “I needed you.”

He dropped his chin to his chest, and his shoulders shook with the force of his sobs.

Mason’s heart fractured, the pieces jagged and sharp. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. This was new territory for him. He slipped his arms around Owen’s shoulders awkwardly and waited for his brother to work through his grief.

It only took a few minutes for Owen to compose himself. He shoved Mason away, albeit more gently than before. “Get off me.” He brushed the tears off his cheeks, his gaze searching Mason’s.

“I’m sorry, Owen, I had no idea—”

“Well, now you do.” Owen staggered to his feet. He gingerly ran his fingers across his cheekbone. The area was already red and swollen. A shiner well on its way.

He stepped forward, and Mason braced for impact. Owen reached out a hand to help him up. Mason eyed it, unsure of what to do. Owen rolled his eyes and thrust his hand closer. Still expecting a trick of some sort, Mason took it, but kept on high alert.

Owen pulled, helping him to his feet. Mason winced, his leg aching now that the adrenaline had fizzled out, mostly thanks to the kick Owen had gotten in during the scuffle.

They stood there, staring at each other, a weird yet no longer uncomfortable air between them.

“Well,” Owen said, glancing at the broken beer bottle. “I guess we should clean this place up before Mama gets a look at it.”

Mason looked around and chuckled. Yup, it pretty much looked like a war zone in here. Chairs were toppled, the tablecloth and placemats were strewn across the floor and there was broken glass and beer everywhere. “I’ll get the glass, you get the mop.”

Okay, so maybe she’d over-reacted.