“Why? It’s my last night in Denver.” Her voice is tremulous, and I want to go to her, but don’t dare reach out and touch her. Instead I just stand with my fingers digging into the frame of the door, wishing I’d done things differently.
“Because I ruined things by punching your ex.”
“Mason, no. Oh god, no, you didn’t ruin things. You just frightened me, that’s all. Do you have any idea how scary you get when you’re mad?”
I feel sick, and a chill washes over me as the blood drains from my face. I swallow, then dip my head and nod. “Yeah, actually. I have a pretty good idea. I am my father’s son.”
It’s not difficult to picture Dad at his worst and remember how my brothers and I used to shit our pants in fear of him winding up in that state around us. But I don’t know how to explain to Callie that my worst fear is becoming that man when it’s already clear that it’s already happened.
Her expression softens, and she reaches out and takes my hand, tugging me inside. She closes the door behind me, but I remain statue-stiff, afraid of my own reactions and hating myself for every urge I have to reach out and touch her.
“Talk to me,” she says, unbuttoning my coat and helping me out of it like I’m a child. She stands there, looking into my eyes and holding my hands until I can’t take it any longer.
I clench my eyes shut and shake my head. “I wanted to see that bastard suffer for what he did to you. It was all I could do to hold back.”
“But you did, didn’t you? You did hold back. I could tell.”
“Not enough. I made him bleed, Callie. Why the fuck did you let me come home with you after that? I’m dangerous. I’m a fucking monster.” I hold a hand up, thumb and index finger poised with a small gap between them. “Did you know I came this close to committing murder just before leaving LA? How the fuck do I deserve to be a father after that? How do I deserve you any more than the son of a bitch you dumped?”
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “First, it’s my decision who does or doesn’t deserve my attention. I chose you, in case it’s escaped your notice. And so far, you haven’t done anything less than I’d expect of a red-blooded man who deeply, passionately cares about people. You protected me earlier today when men started shooting at us in the park. Did you consider that maybe your reaction to Barnaby was a holdover from that confrontation?”
“Does it fucking matter?” I bark. “How long until I lose my shit even worse? What if I do it to you? Or to Zoe? How fucking crazy do you have to be to stick around?”
Her eyes flash with anger and she takes a step back. “No. You do not get to blame me for falling in love with you. And you don’t get to blame your mother for staying with your asshole of a father, either. You are not him, Mason. It’s as clear as day to me and I wish you could see it, because it breaks my heart that you would even compare yourself to him.”
Her voice starts to shake and a single tear breaks free and trickles down along the side of her nose. Inside my chest, something cracks, but I can’t just let it go.
“You don’t know me, Callie. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“I know you’re capable of caring about the women in your life more than most men. Enough to risk your life. Was it your dad you almost killed?” When I don’t answer, she nods. “It was, wasn’t it? But I also have a feeling you knew how to do it, that it’s something you’re trained for, isn’t it? Yet you didn’t follow through despite that training and despite knowing full well the relief his absence would cause so many people. I, for one, would not mourn that man’s death.”
I shake my head and look away, spy the bottle of whiskey resting on the kitchen island, and frown at the urge to drink, something my dad fell back on far too often when things didn’t go his way.
“I should’ve fucking died that day. Everything would be different. Rafael and Emilia would be alive. You wouldn’t be risking your life by being with me. Zoe wouldn’t even exist . . .” My voice cracks, and I can’t conceal the regret I feel over speaking it. How can I regret my own existence, but not hers?
“Mason . . .” She closes the distance between us again, but I don’t meet her eyes until she places a gentle hand against my cheek and forces me to turn my head. Her pale blue eyes are anguished but knowing as she meets my gaze.
“As far as I’m concerned, J.J. Santos died three years ago. You are not him. You’re a man who deserves love, not in spite of who he is, but because of who he is. A protector, a brother, a father. Don’t let what happened today influence your opinion of yourself. If you keep doing that, I’m going to get insulted.”
I give her an incredulous look. “Why?”
“Because I have decided that I want more with you. So if you continue to claim you’re worthless, then that calls my own choices into question, and we all know I make perfect choices.”
Her self-righteous tone makes me snort. “You realize this isn’t helping make your case.”
“No? Well, maybe I’ve learned from past mistakes. You went as far as becoming a different man to atone for yours, so I’ll let you weigh the two against each other to decide who’s willing to go to greater
