She gives a small shake of her head and swallows. “No. Mason, I love you . . .”
“I love you too,” I say in a wary tone, because I sense a “but.”
“But I’m afraid of screwing this up by trying to have too much too soon. My life is not exactly blessed with an abundance of free time. I mean, it’s been almost a week since we saw each other.”
“Baby, a week is nothing. I think the question is whether it’s enough for us until we can figure out how to have more.”
“Is it enough for you?”
“I walked into that, I guess,” I say with a chuckle. “Honestly, I’d prefer it if we could have this every night, but I need to be realistic. I have Zoe, and I need to make sure the house is set up for Mom when she’s ready to come home. And I can’t just live on nothing . . .”
“You need to get your life back,” she says, turning to look me in the eyes. “You don’t need me distracting you.”
For a moment my heart plummets into my stomach, but I grit my teeth and stare back at her. “Don’t go there, Callie. What I need is you in my life. I’m free for the first time in a long time, so I get to decide what kind of life I’m going to have. Obviously there are a few things that are beyond my control, but if I have any choice about the part you play, I’m not about to let you walk away.”
“Mason, I don’t think you understand. My career is demanding. I accepted when I chose it that I’d have to make sacrifices. I already lost one relationship because I wasn’t willing to compromise.”
I almost laugh out loud at that, but manage to just shake my head as I cup her cheek. “You lost that relationship because you were with an asshole who didn’t have a goddamn clue what he had. I’m not going to make that mistake. I want you, no matter how demanding your career is. I’m here for you, got it? And if you decide you want to move to fucking Timbuktu to keep practicing medicine, I’ll figure out a way to pack Zoe up so we can go with you. Do you get that’s how serious I am about holding onto you?”
The tears are back, but she only stares at me as if I’ve grown another head. Like I must be crazy to still want her. But I’d have to be crazy not to.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispers.
“Trust me, baby, I’m not that easy to get rid of. As long as you’re good with all my baggage, I’m good with yours.”
“Well, your baggage is way cuter than mine, but point taken.”
She leans in and kisses me, then rolls over and sits up at the edge of the bed. She reaches for the bag she dropped on the floor when we came in, pulling out a pair of jeans, followed by fresh underwear and a shirt. There’s something seriously wrong with this picture. I need to do everything in my power to keep her naked for the rest of the night.
I sit up and reach for her, grazing my fingers along her spine. “What needs to happen now is you agreeing to get back into this bed and stay the night. Just tonight, baby. I’ll drive you to work tomorrow if you want. I’m going anyway.”
She shoots a skeptical look over her shoulder. “I actually need to sleep. It’s been a long week.”
“Zoe sleeps through the night. She’s pretty quiet even when she wakes up, unless her diaper needs changing.”
“It isn’t her I’m worried about waking me up.”
I hold my hands up, prepared to offer any concession she needs just to get her to stay, when a knock sounds on the front door.
“Who the hell would be stopping by this late?” Callie asks.
I glance at my phone. It’s just past 10PM. I’m not expecting anyone, but I climb out of bed and throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt anyway.
The porch light is still on, illuminating the silhouettes of two figures beyond the frosted glass of the front door. When I peek through the sidelight and catch a glimpse of green khaki Marine Service Alpha uniforms, my blood goes ice-cold.
42 Mason
“Is Mrs. Marcella Santos home?” the Marine on my doorstep asks. I’m still too busy processing this visit after opening the door to register the question. The casualty assistance calls officer is accompanied by a chaplain, and he holds an envelope in one hand.
At first, I think something happened to Marco during a SEAL mission, but no, these are Marines, not Naval officers standing outside my door. That means they’re here about Dad.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” I blurt. The men just look at each other before the first one—whose name tag reads “Sark”—tries again.
“Sir, do you live here? We’re looking for Marcella Santos. Is this her house?”
“Mason, is everything okay?” Callie calls from behind me. Her hand brushes my back when she reaches me, but her touch does little to warm the ice running through my veins.
“Marcella’s not available. I’m her son. Whatever news you have, you can tell me.”
Sark frowns and slips a piece of paper out of one pocket, glancing down at the list of names on it. “My understanding is that all the secondary next of kin—three living sons and one daughter—are already being notified. We’re here to speak to Mrs. Santos. May we come inside?”
I nod and step aside, letting the pair of them in.
Callie, for her part, grasps the seriousness of the visit quickly and starts brewing coffee while I lead them into the small living room. There’s still some confusion about my identity, though, a hiccup I didn’t foresee: They think J.J. Santos is dead.
“If Mrs. Santos isn’t here, can you please tell us
