MASON (Second Chance Novels Book 2) (28 page)

Hearing praise is as difficult right now as being reminded of her moments of defeat.
Any
emotion is one too many. Drawing her from her closed-off, self-contained, inner fortress is straining for both of us. I hate seeing this shattering reality in her eyes, but I'm compelled to continue.

"Listen to me, Sofia. You
fly,
and you do it with fierce color," I say, staring her strongly in the eye. "The very definition of intelligence rests in you. Everything important and awe-inspiring
surrounds
you, and you carry yourself with an elegance I've never seen before. You are something entirely unique."

She shakes her head again and looks away. I tilt her face to me again.

"Sofia, I love you. I have from the beginning. You know this. I love you with devout reverence and I'll fall on my knees at your altar. You're my phoenix.
Nothing
can change who you are. Nothing.
Sei sopravvissuto. Ceneri non possono tenerti.
"
 

You survived. Ashes can't hold you.
 

She sobs. My beautiful phoenix sobs and allows me to hold her as she clutches my chest painfully, two of her nails piercing my skin. I have killed for this woman, and I'd die for her; this pain is nothing. She only inspires my arms to pull tighter. I can't describe the aching elation of being relied upon by her as she works to regain herself. I don't stroke her hair or gently comfort her. I don't kiss her head or whisper loving words. She'd probably kick my ass if I tried. I simply hold her steadily and keep her strongly against me. I offer her a foundation she can stand solidly on for as long as she needs.

My phoenix remains in her ashes. I'll keep her tight in my arms in this rare moment of vulnerability until she rises again. She won't be long, and her fire won't burn me when she flies. I'll do my best to soar beside her.

She allows herself endless time to sob. Her body racks violently as the fear, pain, and devastation release with pressurized force. Sounds of grief and betrayal escape strongly from her lungs, all while tears etch lines of anger down her beautiful cheeks. My chest catches those tears, and they singe. I'll take every tear from her, and all the pain they represent.

Slowly, finally, her sobs ease. Shortly after, she cries quietly. One last tear falls against me before she collects herself and looks up, both broken and reborn. My phoenix is blinking, trying to rise again. I don't wipe her tears and she doesn't thank me for holding her. She rests quietly for a few moments, her tears drying and her body resting with little tension left in her frame. She simply takes a deep breath and lifts her hand to rest against my cheek. One very soft press of her palm eases her into healing.

We spend three more days at the cabin. The time is comfortable and quiet, and life has been breathed into my phoenix again. At times she rests in my arms while we sit on the couch. Once we jogged the trails together, both silently enjoying our solitude. Sometimes she asks for time alone to sit on the back deck and watch the wildlife. I use those moments to keep in touch with Ledger and once with Bash. According to Ledge, Sofia and I are both supposed to make statements and to follow up on the murder of five thugs under a bridge. Knowing they can't tie us to the scene, I almost chuckle at their investigation.

As for Bash, he doesn't waste my time with details yet, and he doesn't have to. I know from experience that he is hitting this as hard as we have been. Whether or not this is personal for him makes no difference. He takes it on as his own fight, simply because it's mine. Bash goes after everything in his world as Sofia and I do.
 

I don't share any of my new information with Sofia. The minute she's ready to go back to the world, I'll prepare her for what's waiting for us. In the mean time, my only goal is to help her get ready to fly. I offer her calm distractions, helping her away from her semi-catatonic state this week. We walk the trails and even rent a canoe one afternoon. Quiet activity offers more healing than silence and stillness.
 

The evening of the sixth day, Sofia turns to me. "It's time to go," she says softly, but with a strength and determination behind her words that fills me. I can see she'll be ok, and finally she's ready to accept that truth, too. "Let's go back in the morning."

I nod, so proud of her. For the first time since I saw her lying broken in the hospital, a small smile graces her beautiful face. She walks into my arms and rests her head on my chest. This is pure connection, and nothing more. This proves I am with her in a way no one else will ever be. Her attacker may have stolen her body, but her soul and her heart belong only to me. The true Sofia is mine. I hold her head gently against my chest so she'll hear my heart beating only for her.
 

She walks me to the bed, but this time, she reaches around to hold
me
as she lies on her side. She draws my head to her chest and runs her nails through my short hair. I allow her to wrap me up, giving her whatever she needs, and accepting what I need, too. I'm ready as ever to stay strong for her, but her attack has weighed heavily on both of us. I smile at the opportunity for us to be strong for each other. I hold her with equal love. I feel my phoenix prepare to fly.
 

"Mason," she says, sounding cautiously content. "I know how hard it must have been for you this week. I know what happened broke you, too."

I hold her tighter as she continues her loving comfort. I try to tell her that I'm ok, but she cuts me off short.
 

"I want you to lean on me, too. If you're hurting, if what you did is heavy on your shoulders…" she says, her unspoken words hanging loudly between us.
 

"There is not an ounce of me that regrets what I did. I wish I could do it again," I say with quiet strength. "And I
do
need you. And I
am
hurting, but only from seeing you hurt."

"I'll be ok," she says thoughtfully, "but I'm not sure I understand how. I know it, but I don't feel it."

"I feel it enough for both of us."

She falls asleep like that, holding me, but all I can think of is returning home in the morning to fight until the war is over.

The next morning her stress is gone, replaced by resolve. We pack in silence and I see her take several deep breaths as we go. Her beautiful wings are stretching. I am so damn proud of her. We drop our suitcases in the bed of my truck again and Sofia reaches for my keys.
 

Hell yeah, she did.
 

My woman will drive herself right back into the fight, knowing there will be questions by the police, pitying looks from co-workers, and the difficult task to make the entire project go away, solved, with us as victors. Her strength is beyond measure. Truthfully there is very little left to do other than topple two very corrupt councilmen, a bank CEO, and the goddamn-fucking-son-of-a-bitch-asshole mayor. I want to kill him as badly as the men he sent after her, but I would have no chance of escaping prosecution for that crime. Only the need to stay with Sofia keeps me restrained from that course of action.
 

I take my own deep breath before I broach the subject of the easiest way out. I have no doubt she'll hate the idea, but the plan is the fastest, safest way to go.
 

"Sofia," I start, looking over at her beautiful face as she drives. Nearly all her bruises are healed or yellowed. Apparently she can hear in my voice that I'm about to speak of something she might not want to hear.

She looks over at me with than keen stare of hers. How I've missed that look in her eye, and I'm so damn happy to see her intelligence and determination shine from her again. Her hurt remains obvious, of course, and I don't know how many months or years that hurt will be close to the surface. Her issues make no difference to me, however. What we have is love, plain and simple, and stronger than I ever knew was possible between two people. I'm so distracted by her, but her voice brings me back to the topic at hand.

"Go ahead," she says. "Whatever it is, just say it."

I take a deep breath. "We can finish this today you know."

She glances over to me with her eyes narrowed.
 

"You're not suggesting what I think you are," she says with warning in her voice.
 

"Think about it, Sofia. We go to the reporter I vetted. We hand him everything. Let his articles and public opinion take the bastards down."

"No," she grits out. "No! God damn it, Mason!"

I brace myself for the backlash from my suggestion. I knew this wouldn't go over well at first, but I didn't expect such a strong reaction. Truthfully, I expected a frustrated discussion only.
 

"What the hell, Mase? Where's your fight?"

"Sofia—"

"Don't. Just don't. We didn't get this far…we didn't
endure this much
to let it go! We don't let anyone finish this but us! Fuck you if you think I'm backing off."

"Listen to me! It doesn't matter
who
finishes this! We need it to
end
. I'm not risking any more damage to you by holding onto a vendetta that could cause your life to get any worse. No fucking way."

Angry tears form in the corners of her eyes. A subtle tremble rolls through her body. A near-hateful voice comes from her throat. "The only way my life gets worse is if you try to coddle me. You take this away from me and you might as well tattoo the word 'victim' across my forehead and 'weak' across my chest. I will fucking finish this, and I hope to hell you're strong enough to do it with me. But I'll tell you one thing for certain: this will remain a fucking fight until I win. If not, I might as well hide at that cabin forever."

I drop my head back on the seat and clench my jaw. "You are not a victim and you sure as hell aren't weak. I'm not fucking coddling you. I'm ready to start a life with you. I'm ready to fucking
marry
you. How can we move forward until this ends? How long do we let all of them stand in our way?"

"As long as it takes," she grits out. Then, surprisingly, her body eases a hint of its tension. Her voice smooths the sharp edge from a moment ago. Still raw, though, she speaks. "And I
will
marry you, the very minute this is over. But please, don't ask me again to drop this. That hurts worse than the rest combined."

"I'm not trying to hurt you," I say.

"I know," she says. "But let's finish this right. We gather evidence. We take the system they try to control, and we use it against them. That's the poetic triumph we've been working toward. Don't give that up."

"Fine," I acquiesce, defeated by her logic and resolve. "Then when we get back, we hit it harder than we have yet. We go strait to the precinct to give our statements. If you want to do this, we don't waste a minute."

She nods her head, satisfied. Then she almost chuckles. "Fucking marry me? Hell of a proposal, Mason."

After giving bare-minimum statements, and answering a few questions about five thugs, half of which I answered with,
Who?
, we've taken care of our requirements. They questioned me for a long time, trying to intimidate and break me. I've endured truly violent and painful interrogations. This is pathetically easy to deal with.
 

When we return to the house, Sofia walks directly to the board, proving to herself and the entire world that she's ready. She doesn't tug her hair or pace. I know she hasn't healed…she's simply
ready
. We fall into our routine, scanning new intel to aid new strategies. I walk to the computer and search the latest round of phone and credit card records from the few targets we haven't eliminated with the help of the District Attorney.
 

She checks our email from the DA's dummy account, updating us on a new player. He's concerned about a new businessman in town who is Bennett's new acquaintance. We know, of course, that Bash is the new man in the mayor's life. The DA, however, isn't in the loop. Our best chance of benefitting from the "Halden Fells" character is if everyone around believes he's real. Bash has been spending two weeks now playing the role of Mr. Fells, getting close to our final targets and earning trust, doing what he does best. Any cult leader would be jealous of his charisma. Manipulation is Callen's gold medal event.

My thoughts are interrupted again as I notice the strong grace of Sofia's fingers as she reaches for a set of credit card records. There is no hesitation in her reach, no weakness in her grip. I'm filled up again. Her keen gaze rolls over the lines of text, hoping something may pop as important.

As for myself, I hold little hope that anything on these pages will help. I print the most recent logs from the Mayor's cell, and I'm frustrated. I scan many familiar numbers. Wife…District Attorney…dentist…unknown number I quickly memorize to check on next…and the Planning Commissioner who seems to be out of the circle, but we're checking everyone at this point.

I toss those pages down and pick up the next, and scan those for a few minutes. I check the records from a few more people, including the Sanitation Director. He seems clean, ironically, but we're leaving no stone unturned. When I get to Amber's records however…