I always thought Mason Henson and I should have been enemies, bound by a hatred carved into bone.
But instead, I loved him.
After I was released from prison, Mason looked after me, driven by guilt.
Until the day of his engagement, when he told me there was no road left for us. We both needed to start over.
Mason gave me a plane ticket and more money than I could count. He drove me to the airport himself, sending me away from the city I'd called home for years.
What he didn't know was that the plane was headed straight for death.
Five years later, when we crossed paths again in Coral Bay, I learned that Mason had spent every one of those five years searching for me.
……
The day I walked out of prison, the sky was clear and the sun burned red overhead.
Under that blinding light, my gaunt, colorless face looked even more worn than it was.
I could feel the man behind me. Still following.
I frowned and quickened my pace without thinking.
I walked for what felt like a long time before stopping in front of an old apartment building.
This used to be my home.
Too many memories lived inside these walls. Every single one of them hurt.
I turned around and stared at the man in front of me, my expression flat and cold.
Mason wore a tailored suit that looked like he'd rushed straight from some important meeting.
He stepped closer. Seven years apart, and all that remained between us was distance, hatred, and a dull, shapeless ache.
"Bridget Simmons, if there's anything you need, anything at all, come to me. I owe you that much. For all seven of those years."
I listened without expression. Said nothing.
I stopped looking at him and turned to look at the apartment instead.
Once, I used to lean out that window and holler at the top of my lungs:
"Mason, come eat dinner!"
And he'd always come back with that irritated look on his face.
Back then, I was louder than anyone, talked more than anyone.
Now, standing in front of the man I'd spent my entire youth loving, I couldn't find a single word to say.
I pushed open the rusted iron gate. It screamed on its hinges.
Inside was exactly what I expected: dust everywhere, thick in the air.
Seven years without a soul living here. Everything sat exactly where I'd left it.
Mason walked in behind me without asking.
He shut the door.
He went to the bathroom, found a mop, and started cleaning.
I watched him scrubbing away and let out a cold laugh.
Guilt.
How disgusting.
I went into the bedroom and locked the door behind me.
I sat on the bed. The mirror across from me reflected a body that looked like it belonged to a ghost.
Seven years ago, my cheeks had been full, my stomach soft. A little chubby, even.
Now there was nothing left but skin stretched over bone, held together by a single stubborn breath.
The moon hung alone in the sky.
I opened the door. Mason was asleep on the couch.
I looked at him, cold and still, while his phone rang and rang on the cushion beside him.
I picked it up. The contact name read: Melody Fox.
Something pulled at me, and before I knew what I was doing, I answered.
"Mason, are you coming home tomorrow? I miss you!"
The woman's voice on the other end was sweet, wheedling.
My fingers went white around the phone. I said nothing. I hung up.
Hatred swallowed me whole.
My gaze drifted to the kitchen knife on the counter, then back to Mason, defenseless and sound asleep.
I clenched my teeth. For a reason I couldn't name, something in my chest ached.
If I didn't love him, we would be nothing but enemies, and I would have killed him without hesitation.
But I loved him. Fifteen years I'd loved him.
I lay down on the bed, exhausted.
As the memories came, thin and slow, I realized that in seven years behind bars, not a single person had visited me besides my mother.
Mason never came. Not once.
