Trix
My dad’s birthday party is in full swing. A yard full of kids and a few dozen friends from church all huddle around, laughing and eating cake. Mason showed up about an hour ago and was nearly tackled by my brothers and sisters the second his feet hit the front porch. Even Isaac seemed eager to get Mason outside to throw the football. With a quick hug and kiss to my forehead, he indulged my siblings.
It’s selfish, but part of me is ready to get back to Vegas so I can have him all to myself again. I plop down on an old swing my dad hung from a tree back when he brought Svetlana and me home for the first time. My fingers absently trace the letters “S&B” that we carved into the edge after they brought Isaac home from Thailand. We’d never had anything that was just ours before and wanted our new brother to know it was off limits.
What we didn’t expect was how much we’d love him. We mothered that poor kid every chance we got and continued with every other child that my parents welcomed into our family.
Mason runs across the yard, the football tucked under his arm, as at least ten kids descend and wrap around his legs. He drags them along, taking big wide slow steps while they squeal and giggle themselves silly.
“Lana, what should I do?” I whisper to no one, but hope she can hear me. “Everything is so confusing.”
Before, finding Lana’s killer was all that mattered. Now, my plight seems completely pointless.
It’s only been weeks since I met Mason, but he’s fallen right into my life and clicked into place like a missing puzzle piece.
Lana is gone. Nothing done on this earth is going to bring her any peace. It’s me. I’m the one who’s been searching for something that I thought I’d find in my quest for vengeance.
But now, that empty place in my heart, the hole I’ve been so desperate to fill after Lana died, doesn’t feel so empty anymore.
Maybe my dad was right, and I should just leave Lana’s case unsolved and allow God to sort out the rest.
“That was a sick pass!” Isaac high-fives Mason, both men laughing as the team of little football players tries to take out their legs.
“He’s a really good guy, Svetlana.” I breathe in deep, taking in the cool mountain air and desperately searching for my sister’s presence. “Tell me it’s okay to move on. That I’m not letting you down.” I cast my gaze toward the sun and close my eyes, needing her guidance now more than ever. “Please . . . tell me what to do.” A sign, something. Anything.
A twig snaps and my eyes dart open.
Mason.
His hand extends toward me. “You ready?”
I blink up, taking in his peaceful smile, soft eyes, and the sun shining behind all that blond hair that makes him look like an angel. “Is it time?” To move on?
“Yeah, baby,” he whispers.
I suck in a shaky breath and grip the big wooden seat. “I think I am.” I brush my fingers along our carved initials. I’m scared.
The warmth of his hand slides behind my neck, coaxing me off the swing and into the solid strength of his chest. “I know it’s hard to say good-bye.”
He has no idea.
I sniff back tears that threaten to spill and simply nod.
“Bea, we gotta go or you’ll be late,” Isaac calls.
Mason looks over at Isaac, and whatever my brother reads in Mason’s expression softens his face and he nods. “I’ll load up your stuff.” He walks away, leaving me in the capable arms of my boyfriend.
“Do you want to stay for a few more days?” His hands sift through my hair, and the caress soothes my aching heart.
“No, I’m ready to go back to Vegas.”
“Want to talk about what’s got you so upset?”
I shake my head and peek up at him. The truth is I’m not upset as much as I’m feeling the weight of defeat. His blue eyes, heavy with concern and worry, fix on mine.
“I’m okay, just”—I pick at the neck of his tee—“ready to make some changes when we get back.”
Like giving up looking for my sister’s killer and starting fresh, fighting for a life of my own. With him. If he’ll have me.
His eyebrows pop. “Changes? Mind sharing?”
“I want to quit dancing. I don’t know . . .” I shrug. “Maybe take some classes, pick up more hours at the Youth Center. I think Sylvia—”
The wind rushes from my lungs as Mason lifts me into his arms and spins me around. “Yes!”
I wrap my arms tighter around his shoulders, giggling into his neck as he yelps in excitement before dropping me back to my feet. “Are you serious?”
“Safe to say you approve?”
“Approve? Fuc—er—heck yeah! Are you kidding?” His gaze sweeps along my face, my eyes, cheeks, settling on my lips. “I want to kiss you so badly right now,” he whispers. “Your dad would probably shoot me; all these church people would, for sure, think we were going to hell.”
I tilt to the side and see the yard full of people, and after Mason’s outburst, most of them have their eyes on us. “Mase? I don’t really care what they think.” Pushing up on my toes, I drag my lips along his, and he flinches slightly before his eyelids close and he sinks into a sweet and tender kiss.
It’s open-lipped, but no tongue and filled with more meaning than any sexual encounter we’ve had before. It’s a promise, a vow that whatever these changes bring he’ll be there.
He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed. “Let me take you home, Surfer Girl.”
The tenderness in his voice makes my chest feel like it could explode. I drag in a shaky breath. “Yes, please.”