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He fell asleep holding me as if I might try to run away in the night. It breaks my heart to know when he wakes up in a few hours, he’ll be waking up alone, but I have to do this.
I have to save him.
If he taught me anything in our time together, it’s that love isn’t just selfish. It’s selfless when it needs to be. You give your heart to another person and beg them not to beat it black and blue, but in the end, sometimes you have to do it, just to make sure they’re going to be okay.
The fucked-up part about love that no one ever tells you about is how you have to learn to be careless and careful at the same time. You can’t worry about every movement, worry that at any time, the person you’ve given your soul to could up and leave because, let’s face it, feelings change. You also can’t take themfor granted because you never know how much time you have left.
Mason could have died.
Ian and Puke, too.
I can’t have their blood on my hands.Hisblood.
Mason said he’d bleed for me a thousand times, but he forgot, I’ve never bled for him. He’s given everything to keep me safe and if love was enough, then I wouldn’t be here trying to force myself to slip from the bed. I’ve been so happy to accept his protection when I have the greatest shield of all time, right within myself.
Turn myself in and he’ll be free.
So . . . that’s what I’m doing.
I glance at the clock behind his head. Half past midnight. Everyone else in the house has been asleep for hours.
It’s time to go.
Carefully, I slip from Mason’s arms, the chill of the night settling deep in my bones when I stand from the bed and quietly slip towards my bag on the floor. I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll back out of this and I can’t do that.
This is not his fight.
I riffle through the bag, trying to pick out something to wear. What is the dress code when you’re heading to the gallows?
Leggings? Jeans? Khakis?
I settle on the jeans for warmth because I have no idea where I’m going and the denim scratches my thighs as if it’s reminding me this will be the final time I’m ever going to see him.
I hope, after I’m gone, he can find someone who understands him. Who won’t take his love for granted, like I did for so long. Who will do everything in her power to show him whatreal happiness is because, after everything he’s been through, he deserves it more than anyone.
Maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe I’m just in love.
I pull on a t-shirt and some sneakers and tug a hoodie over my head. I don’t bother with anything else. What good would it do?
Once I’m dressed, I silently creep back to the bed to lay my note on the pillow beside his. My pillow. He doesn’t stir and I take the moment to pause and soak him in, memorizing the strong features of his face until he’s burned into my brain.
Fuck, this is going to hurt.
Silently, I slip my gun off the nightstand and into the pocket of my hoodie. It’s Mason’s hoodie, so it’s huge. Luckily, the gun is well concealed.
Leaning down, I place a soft kiss to his cheek and commit his scent to memory. Leather, smoke, forest, him.
“I love you,” I whisper, hastily wiping the tear that slides down my chin. Quietly, I slip from the room and shut the door behind me with a soft click, taking one last glance at Mason Carpenter. My life. My soul. Myeverything, before the door shuts.
And then I leave him.
For California in early September, the air is chilly as I walk through the night. The streets are dead. I’m not surprised. It’s well past one in the morning, but even the street lights seem dimmer.
Maybe I’m just creeped out.
I’ve got to hand it to Monica, Santa Monica—funny—seems cozy. If I didn’t like home so much, I would definitely consider moving here.
And then it hits me.
