Chapter Thirty-five
Ashlyn
“I already took care of that pompous man-slut Preston Harding,” Roger bragged and Ashlyn’s stomach turned over. Preston’s accident hadn’t been an accident at all. He’d nearly died. Roger had nearly killed him. And he didn’t even care.
“Please, Roger.” The words squeezed past the lump in Ashlyn’s throat. “Please don’t do this. I’m so sorry. You’re right. You deserved better from me. Please.”
There was a pause—a moment of debilitating hope—where all she could hear was her own panicked pulse before he said, “I’m sorry, too.”
“No!” Mason jerked forward and slammed to a stop when the barrel of the gun pressed to her temple. “You don’t want to do this. You care about her. I know you do. You don’t want to hurt her.”
Cold steel slid across her cheek as Roger used the gun to brush away a stray lock of hair in an almost tender gesture. His eyes turned soft and for one moment she thought they’d reached him—the boy she knew, the one she remembered—but then his voice was just as soft when he said, “You’ve left me no other choice.”
The click of the hammer being cocked snapped Ashlyn’s brain into gear. Mason’s eyes went wild, his chest laboring under every shallow breath, his rigid body straining against an unseen barrier. The icy kiss of cold steel left her skin and Ashlyn brought her leg up, mule-kicking Roger in the crotch.
A roar filled the room as he righted the gun and took aim at Mason.
Ashlyn didn’t think. She didn’t stop to make a decision. Didn’t consider the consequences of her actions. She dove.
***
Her thoughts slowed to a crawl, oozing through her aching skull. Lights suddenly seemed too bright. Sounds too loud. Voices. There were voices. Someone shouting her name. He sounded like he was screaming directly into her brain and yet far away at the same time. Did that make sense? No. Nothing made sense. The gun was lying on the floor. So was Roger, blood flowing from his nose and a gash in his left cheek. Jay stood over him, shaking out his hand. Where the hell had Jay come from? Was she hallucinating? Because there was a lot better things to hallucinate than her best friend’s husband. She could think of a few right off the top of her head. Which felt like it had been lit on fire.
“Ashlyn?” That annoying voice was back. Hands tugging at her clothes. “Ashlyn.” They gripped her arms and the room spun as she was rolled onto her back. “Ash, are you okay? Look at me. Are you hurt?”
Mason’s worried face blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again. Ashlyn shook her head and flames raced over her scalp, but at least her vision cleared. Her thoughts sped up.
“I’m okay.” They were sprawled together on the floor, a tangle of bodies and limbs. A quick mental inventory double-checked her claim. Besides the pain in her head and a dull ache where her hip hit the floor she seemed to be fine. “Are you?”
Mason didn’t answer. He just stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Are you crazy? You could have died! You stupid,” tears rushed into his eyes and she felt an answering sting in her own, “reckless—”
“He was going to shoot you! I couldn’t let—”
Firm lips pressed against hers. Mason’s kiss wasn’t soft or sweet or gentle. It wasn’t any of the things she’d come to expect from him. It was hard and demanding . . . and maybe a touch angry. His fingers dug into her jaw, holding her in place, refusing to let her go. He tasted like coffee and the slight bitterness of fear. Their tongues tangled like they were at war. She hadn’t even realized her fingers were in his hair until she tugged, trying to get him even closer and he groaned into her mouth.
Holy hell. She’d kissed boys—more than a few—but never had she experienced anything like this. A small strangled sound escaped her throat, feeling as though she were coming apart at the seams.
“Never again.” Mason broke away panting as hard as she was. “Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”
His voice slammed into her, solid steel and powdered glass. Ashlyn nodded. She had no intention of being shot at again in this lifetime.
Dropping his forehead against hers, Mason breathed deep. Eyes shut, he held her close. Ashlyn’s hands slid down his chest and she took a moment to revel in the fact that she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her palm. He was alive. They both were. It made no sense, but they were. Nothing else mattered.
“I love you.”
Mason had to have felt the way Ashlyn stiffened, but he chose to ignore it, his fingers tracing a delicate path from the corner of her eye to her cheek and back again.
“I think I’ve always loved you. I was just too much of a chicken shit to—”
“Stop.” Ashlyn’s heart careened out of control, slamming up against her ribcage so loudly that the sound of sirens barely registered. It was too much. Roger, Mason, the gun, that kiss, now this? His words pressed against her soul, but she refused to let them in. He was saying things in the heat of the moment. Things he didn’t mean. Things that would destroy her when he took them back “You don’t mean that. You don’t have to—”
“I absolutely do.” Mason’s gaze drifted to where his finger prodded gently at her forehead. A sudden sharp pain caused Ashlyn to flinch and Mason winced in sympathy before moving his hand to her cheek again like he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching her. And that was alright with Ashlyn. “I almost lost you. Right here. Right now. And the thought of never getting the chance to tell you how I feel is unbearable.” Sharp eyes bored into hers, making her mind swim. Or maybe that was the head injury. “I. Love. You, Ashlyn.”
Feet thundered up the front steps. “Police! Let’s see your hands!”