“You okay? You have seen snow before, right?”
“Not in real life, no,” I say, still unable to tear my eyes away until she waves a hand in front of my face. I look down at her delighted grin and grin back, unable to help myself. “Can we go out in it?”
“You want to go play in the snow? Are you sure you’re thirty-one years old?”
My eyes narrow at her mild taunt, but I know what she’s fishing for. “Yes, goddammit. I want to go play in the fucking snow.”
24 Callie
Mason’s broody, serious demeanor transforms once we bundle up and head outside shortly after breakfast. His playful side was briefly evident after his arrival at my door yesterday, but after delving into his past, our night was fraught with complicated feelings I’m still not sure how to process. But out in the snow for the first time, it’s like he’s not only shed his worries, but about twenty years as well.
We jog across the street to Commons Park. The tree-dotted landscape bordering the river is a pristine, white expanse, sparkling beneath the morning sun like a freshly cut diamond. A few local residents are out walking dogs or jogging, their breath puffing out in clouds. We’re the only ones who venture farther off the recently shoveled footpaths into the virgin snow.
He jogs ahead, kicking snow into little plumes with his boots like a big kid, then bends down and grabs a handful. Next thing I know a giant snowball hurtles straight at my head.
“Hey!” I yelp, dodging just in time to take the hit on the shoulder rather than square in the face. A chunk of it lodges under my scarf and melts down my neck. “You ass!”
Mason laughs out loud, bouncing on his heels.
Oh, it is on. I grit my teeth and bend down to scoop up a big handful and pack it into a ball, lobbing it back at him as hard as I can. He laughs and twists, the snowball splattering against the back of his black woolen peacoat.
We run around laughing and throwing snowballs at each other for the next fifteen minutes, during which I get hit more often than I land one.
“It’s not fair, you’re faster!” I complain.
“All right, sore loser,” he calls from several yards away. “I’ll let you get a few in for free.” He stands still, legs wide and arms outstretched, making himself a larger target.
Out of the corner of my eye, I barely register a snowball sailing in, smacking him square on the side of the head. His eyes go wide and he whips around. Wyatt is ready with a second snowball and lets loose. That one splats against the center of Mason’s chest.
“You let your guard down, brother!” Wyatt calls. “You should know better!”
Mason dodges the next one, bending down to scoop up more snow as he runs. Meanwhile, I craft another, but this time I aim it at Wyatt while he isn’t looking. Nina cries out a warning as she jogs in from the path.
“I’ve got your back!” I call to Mason as I let loose, hitting Wyatt in the back of the head.
Mason hoots. “Yeah, baby! Good arm! Who let his guard down now, shitbird?”
Then Nina stops beside Wyatt, laughing as she squats down to craft more ammo. I sprint over to Mason, using him as a human shield just as Nina lets fly.
“We can take ‘em,” he says over his shoulder. “Just follow my lead. See that tree? You go there. I’ll take the park bench. They’ve got the high ground, but there’s no cover. Build an arsenal, and on my word, nail ‘em. Got it? Now go! I’ll cover you.”
“Aye, aye, captain!” I wait a beat until he winds up to throw, then run for it. Behind the tree, I scrabble in the snow, crafting snowballs as fast as I can until I have a nice little pile. Snow cakes onto my kneecaps, cracking when I move to peer around the tree, waiting for his signal.
Mason is behind the bench and peeks up, only to have to dodge a snowball from Nina that barely misses the crown of his head. He glances back at me, then at them, his eyes lit up with excitement and devious fun.
The other two are crouched in wait behind a picnic table, just uphill from the bench Mason uses for cover. Both of them wait for him to reveal himself again, but neither one is paying attention to the tree I’m hiding behind.
Then he grins at me, holding his hand behind his back, three fingers stretched out, then two, then one. I grab two snowballs and ready myself. When he yells, “Fire!” I lunge out, aiming first at Wyatt.
Mason jumps out at the same time, distracting them both and taking fire, but it only takes me two solid hits that strike true in the center of their chests while the pair of them are focused on him.
“Woohoo! We win!” I yell, charging up the slope to Mason, who high-fives me, then hauls me up into a spinning embrace.
But when he lets me down, we’re barraged by snowballs from our laughing friends and our fight devolves into chaos. We fend off blasts of snow, throwing back more as fast as we can, cursing and laughing in equal measure.
I’m elated and energized, my attention wholly occupied with avoiding Nina’s attempts at shoving snow down my pants. The loud crack doesn’t quite register for a second.
Mason throws me to the ground with a yell, his heavy body covering me. The scent of damp wool fills my nose from his jacket pressed against my face. An icy chill unrelated to the snow shoots up my spine, a rush of adrenaline following instantly.
Someone screams, and a deep accented voice yells, “You don’t fuck with Amador, asshole!” as another crack sounds.
Oh my god, were those gunshots? Another scream galvanizes me into action. I smack at Mason’s shoulders. “Let
