Chapter Thirty-Four

Mason

The hockey player does, in fact, come through for Cassandra. She explained everything to him—from her old demons to the new ones. The past wounds that just won’t heal. And her fear of promising something she doesn’t have to give—a healthy, loving wife. To his credit, the guy was on the road in the first five minutes of the phone call and bundling her up in his truck three hours later. He’s a full head taller than me and good fifty pounds heavier. He could drop me with a flick of his pinky finger. But he doesn’t. He pulls me into a bone-splintering embrace and holds on as if for dear life.

“Thank you, man. Thanks for taking care of her. Thanks for convincing her to give me a chance to be there for her.”

“No problem,” I manage to gasp out.

He’s chuckling when he releases me.

“Sorry, man. I forget my own strength sometimes.”

“Yeah, I have that problem, too,” I quip, and then we’re both laughing.

“Okay, you two. Enough with the bromance,” Cassandra says from the passenger seat of the truck. “If we don’t get going soon…I’m afraid I might change my mind.”

“I’ve got her,” he says, for my ears only.

I pat his substantial arm. “Yeah, I know you do. But I think you’re smart enough to know that this is just the beginning. So if you ever need to talk to someone whose been there, I’m here for you. Day or night.”

He smiles and nods appreciatively. I think the big guy might be too choked up to speak, simply lifting a palm in my direction as he walks around the truck and starts the engine. I stand there, watching until they’ve disappeared around the corner, knowing, somehow, that I won’t see my ex again for a long, long time.

The phone calls start coming an hour or so later. First Ryan, then Pete. Then Shayna the publicist. And finally, my father. All of them have variations on the same questions: Is it true? Are you and Cassandra back together? Did you dump Walker for Cassandra?

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds and a Google search to unearth the pictures and video that have gone viral. Cassandra hanging all over me at the airport bar. Cassandra kissing my face while I close my eyes against her bourbon breath—though, here, it definitely looks as if I’m relishing the feel of her lips on my face.

It occurs to me that the only people I haven’t heard from are my mother, who’s on another continent at the moment, and Walker, who is not. I try to call her but go straight to voice mail each time. I consider calling the pub but, if these pictures are as widespread as I think they are, no one there is going to give me the time of day. Not over the phone, anyway. I have to go there and explain in person. It’s the only way.

So I grab my phone and keys and go flying out the front door, smack into a group of reporters. Suddenly there are flashes exploding around me and microphones being shoved in my face. The questions keep coming.

“Mason, is it true that you and Cassandra got married in a secret ceremony in Vegas last month?”

“Mason! Is it true Cassandra is pregnant with your twins?”

“Where is Walker O’Halloran, Mason? She seems to have gone into hiding!”

“Who said that?” I demand. “Who just said Walker’s gone into hiding?”

A squat, balding man raises his hand sheepishly. He takes a few steps back when I advance on him.

“Have you been chasing her?”

He shakes his head quickly.

“N-n-no! There are reporters at her house and the pub. No one seems to know where she is. Not even her family…”

I’m in my car so fast that they barely have time to get out of the way before I peel out of the driveway. When I don’t see anyone actively pursuing me, I breathe a sigh of relief. Which evaporates the second I hit the Mayhem town limits.

There are news trucks lining the streets. The sidewalk in front of O’Halloran’s Pub has been cordoned off with pylons and yellow crime scene tape, but that hasn’t stopped a small throng of reporters from toeing the line and accosting anyone going in or out of the pub.

I drive passed O’Halloran’s and down a few blocks before cutting over to an alleyway and doubling back to the rear entrance of the building. Which, for the moment, appears to be unattended. I hop out and jog to the unobtrusive door that I know leads to the back hallway of the pub. I try the handle but it’s locked. So, I knock. Softly at first. When there’s no response, I bang on it and say a prayer that Walker doesn’t come out with her bat swinging. But she’s not the one who finally throws the steel door open, missing my face by about an inch. Instead it’s the very large, very intimidating figure of Donovan.

“What the fuuuuudge—” he starts to snarl, then looks over his shoulder as if there might be a stray toddler lurking around before abruptly changing gears. “What are you doing here?” he growls at me.

“I need to see Walker.”

“You’ve got some nerve showing up here. What’s the matter? Your fancy little girlfriend find out you been slummin’ it? Yeah, I saw the video. You two got a lot of chemistry—hey, wait, isn’t that what you do? Aren’t you an expert in chemistry? Is that how you managed to convince Walker that you were on the level?”

I step closer. We’re about the same height. And though he’s got a bit more muscle on him than I do, he’s also got about five years on me, which I figure probably evens us up.

“I need to see her, bro,” I say in a low voice.

“I’m not your bro. And she doesn’t need to see you.”

“Hey, Don—it’s freezing in here. Would you close the door—”

Walker’s oldest sister, Hennessy, appears behind the cook.

Now her I’m scared of.

“You!” she shrieks, taking a run at me. Luckily, Donovan grabs her before she can claw my eyes out. “You…you fudging little bassbowl, jackhat—”

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey! What’s going on out here?” comes yet another voice from inside the pub.

Now it’s her husband, Bryan Truitt, who appears. Beheader of birds, tamer of toddlers. Maybe he can help me.

“Whoa. Oh…man…you really should not be here right now,” he says to me as he tries to extricate his wife from Donovan’s grip before she hurts him trying to hurt me.

“Dude‚ I didn’t do anything!” I protest.

“Oh no?” Henny yells.

“Please, please keep your voice down, Hennessy,” I beg. “I don’t want the reporters to come running back here!”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that last night before you threw my sister over for your little Hollywood harlot for the entire country to see!”

“Jesus! That’s not what happened!” I yell back, getting tired of being dumped on.

“Oh yeah? Then how do you explain your lips on hers? The photos don’t lie, buddy!”

“I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me!” I yell, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

In an instant, Hennessy has whipped out her phone and shoved it in my face. And there we are at the airport. Cassandra and me. Me and Cassandra. She’s got her arms wrapped around my neck and our lips are pressed together.

“She kissed me!” I repeat emphatically.

They’re all looking at me now and shaking their heads. This is bad. This is really, really bad. I turn around and pace a few feet, then head back, raking my hands through my already whacked-out hair trying to figure out what I can say—what I can do to make them believe me. But, without betraying Cassandra’s confidence, there simply are no words I can say to convince them.

With a single inhalation, I draw out every bit of energy I have from every cell that’s still alive and well in my body to find something that rings true to these people who are just protecting the woman I love. And there it is. There’s my argument.

“I love her,” I say quietly, calmly. “The thing with Cassandra is not what it looks like—I swear it. But I did fail her. I didn’t protect her from all this…this crazy. I didn’t protect her from my mother—who really means well, but sometimes seems to muck it up. You’re right. You’re all right—I don’t deserve Walker’s love. But I need it. So…please… I have to try to make this right…”

I swipe pathetically at my damp cheeks with the back of my hand as I stand there waiting for someone to do something. Call the police, slam the door in my face, throw a cleaver at me. Something. Anything.

“She’s fine, son.”

I hear the words, but they haven’t come from any of the people standing in front of me. At least, I don’t think they have. I didn’t see anyone’s mouth move. And besides, they’re all staring at something over my shoulder. I turn, slowly, to find the priest. Father Romance.

“I don’t…” I start to say but can’t quite get the rest of the words out.

He takes a step forward and puts a large, firm hand on my shoulder.

“She’s with Miss Lucy. I tell you that, so you know she’s in good hands—not so that you go rushing over there. Walker needs time to sort through all of this…and I suspect you do as well. So why don’t you just go on home before the jackals spot you. I promise, I’ll keep an eye on her myself. When she’s ready to talk to you—and she will be, eventually—she knows how to reach you.”

I ask the question I’m most terrified to hear the answer to.

“But Father, what if she won’t? I mean, what if she can’t…”

He squeezes my shoulder and smiles down at me.

“Son, I know you’re a man of science—of absolutes. But I’ve seen a lot of things in this world—many of them scientific impossibilities. Sometimes, Mason, you just have to let go. And have a little faith that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. Even…even if that’s not the way you’re hoping it will work out. Can you understand what I’m saying to you?”

He has the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re like small shiny pieces of coal. Or onyx, maybe. No…suddenly I know exactly what they remind me of—the deep, silvery-black of goethite. I find a strange sort of comfort in that.

I nod slowly and get back into my car.