Thirty-Five and a Half Conspiracies (33 page)

“What?”

His eyes hardened. “The first time you went to him, you weren’t doing it to save my life or even yours. You went to get your money back. Money I tried to give you.” He got to his feet. “And I can forgive you for that too. I know how stubborn and pigheaded and …” He released a loud groan and pushed out a sob. “But you went to that damned auction, Rose. You went there thinking you were pregnant with our baby!”

Oh, God.
I clambered to my feet and grabbed his arm, frantic. “I was desperate, Mason. I know it’s no excuse. None.”

He looked down at me, his face twisted with heartbreak. “I was the assistant district attorney, Rose,” he said, his voice cold. “I was your boyfriend. Why wouldn’t you come to me?”

I took a step back. “I don’t know.”

He broke down again, covering his forehead with his hands and crying for several seconds before he dropped them and stared at me. “I can forgive you for everything else, but I don’t know if I can forgive you for that.”

“Mason!” I broke down, anew. “I’m so sorry.”

“You keep saying that, Rose.” He put his clenched fist over his chest, trying to catch his breath. “You keep saying you’re sorry, but my heart is still broken.”

I fell into my chair, trying to settle down. “Mason.
Please
. I’ll do anything. I don’t want to lose you.”

He shook his head. “I think it’s too late.”

“No.” I stood again and grabbed his arm with new determination. “Don’t say that. You said you love me. Remember?” I smiled through my tears. “It
can’t
be too late.”

He gently pushed my hand off his arm and took a step back. “Maybe love isn’t enough.”

I broke down again. “Mason, just please give me another chance. I can’t lose you.
Please
.”

He started to cry. “I need time. I need more time to think this through.”

I grabbed onto the sliver of hope he gave me like a drowning man to a log. I nodded, trying to catch my breath. “Okay. Time is good.”

He stared at Bruce Wayne’s desk. “I’m going by the farm to pick up some of my things.”

His words sunk deep into my bones. This was really happening.

But maybe Joe was right. Maybe it was time for me to face the consequences of my actions. And maybe Jed was right too. Something better would be built from the pieces. Even if it ripped my soul to shreds. “Will you stay with your mother?”

“That might be kind of awkward with Neely Kate there.”

“She can stay with me.” To my chagrin, I started to cry again.

“No,” he said quietly. “I’ll just stay in a motel for a few days. I’m upset with my mother too.” He turned to face me, looking like he was about to say something, then shook his head. “I need to go,” he said, wiping his face. “If you need me, you know you can call me. And if you find yourself in a dangerous situation, call Joe.”

I didn’t answer. I just watched him walk out the door. He needed time, and I’d give it to him.

For once, I hoped time was on my side.

N
ew York Times
and USA Today bestselling author Denise Grover Swank was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomadic gypsy, living in five cities, four states and ten houses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn't lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.

Y
ou can find
out more about Denise at
www.denisegroverswank.com

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