Butneitherof those things happened. Instead, Mason walked in from the garage the same as usual and dropped his suitcase by the door. Wordlessly, he walked into the kitchen, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
Willow and I were sitting at the kitchen table – not doing homework, but finishing up a giant jigsaw puzzle of frolicking puppies.
At the sight of Mason, Willow jumped up from her chair and hurtled herself into his arms. Watching, I felt my eyes grow misty, wishing I could do the same.
And wishing I could slap him silly.
But the way it looked, somebody already had.
Just as Arden had predicted on the phone, Mason had one heck of a shiner around his left eye. Unfortunately, it did little to diminish his appeal.
Our gazes met for the briefest instant before I looked back to the puzzle. Still, from the corner of my eye, I drank in the sight of him as he crouched down to return Willow's hug.
His hair was tousled, and his face was grim, even as Willow clutched him tight.
When Willow pulled back, she asked, "What happened to your eye?"
With a ghost of a smile, he replied, "Eh, I was wrestling with Chase and must've banged it."
Banged.
God, how I'd come to loathe that word.
And not too long afterward, I came to loathehim.
The real loathing started later that night, after I put Willow to bed. With my heart in my throat, I wandered back downstairs in search of Mason, figuring we'd need to talk sooner or later, unless we were planning to pretend that nothing had happened.
And me? I wasn't good at pretending.
I found Mason in his home office, going over some paperwork behind his massive desk.
When I knocked on the edge of his open door, Mason looked up and frowned. "Yeah?"
I hesitated. "Don't you think we should talk?"
With a look of utter indifference, he replied, "About what?"
I stared from the open doorway. "You know. About everything." I hesitated. "And my job."
He returned his attention to his paperwork. "It's still yours if you want it."
"Sorry, what?"
He was still looking at the papers. "The job. Stay or go. Your choice."
I stiffened. "Gee, how flexible of you."
Finally, he looked up. "It was your idea, not mine. So, like I said, you choose, and I'll handle it."
Oh, I'd give him something to handle, alright.I slipped into his office and shut the door quietly behind me. "That issucha crock," I said. "You practically fired me."
With a stiff smile, he said, "I did more than that."
I drew back. "What'sthatsupposed to mean?"
"Youknowwhat it means," he said. "So, are you staying or quitting?"
"Oh, that's nice." I did my best Mason impression. "So, are you firing me or not?"
