He swallows heavily. “I would never think that of her. I was just . . .” his voice trails off as he rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, I was . . .”

“You were mad and upset, and you said some shit you didn’t mean.”

He releases a stiff breath, nodding, his jaw locked tight.

I squat beside the bed. He looks at me, the pain searing in his eyes. The guilt. I’m happy it’s there. He should feel really fucking sorry for this.

He made me commit a felony.

“And Brooke was upset, crushed actually, and said some shit she didn’t mean,” I tell him, watching his nostrils flare, his throat shuddering with the breath he takes. “We all have people in our past, Mason. Some of us more than others. I say, who the fuck cares? I know Billy’s been with other men. But you know what? I fucking have him. They don’t. He chose me. Brooke might’ve made that tape with someone else, but she never gave anyone what she gave you. To be honest, she never even came close. Forget about the tape and think about that. You got her. She chose you. Everyone else? Fuck em’.”

I stand to my feet, Mason’s eyes following my movement. I glance once more around the room. “You know, I always pictured you as a neat guy. This is quite a disappointment. Unless this is all the aftermath of Friday night then, okay, I can understand that. I’ve wallowed in filth when I’ve been on the outs with my man. Pretty normal reaction to heartbreak.” I look down at him. “The tent I still don’t get though. You’ve lost me there.”

He shifts on the bed, turning onto his back and immediately clutching at his head and wincing in pain, his breath seething through his teeth.

“Brooke joked once about camping in here instead of outside. That’s where I’ve slept the past two nights. Pretending she’s with me.”

My chest tightens.

Oh, my God. If I wasn’t so irritated with this man, I’d give him the kiss of his life right now.

Smiling, I move away from the bed. “Aw, that’s sweet. I appreciate your misery. I do. I am a full supporter of karma, and you deserve that bitch’s wrath right now.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Anytime. Oh, and Mason?” Halfway out the door, I turn back, waiting for him to look up at me before I speak. “She loves you. Fix it, or you will have me as your enemy. And I can get all kinds of crazy up in here. Breaking into a business is nothing. You won’t have one when I’m finished.”

He gives me a troubled look.

I wink, pulling the door shut behind me.

God, I am fucking fabulous. Someone should really write a book about me.

MASON

The door closes behind Joey.

Wincing through the pain tightening in my skull, I try and sit up, try and get out of this godforsaken bed and into the shower I desperately need, but the knife prying my head apart twists an inch deeper, lighting a fire along my scalp.

“Fucking hell,” I groan, grinding the heels of my hands into my eyelids and falling back onto the bed.

This bloody hangover. I can’t remember ever having one this awful before. Not even during the three years I spent at university.

Think you’ve outdone yourself, mate. And over the woman you love. Good on ya.

I close my eyes, hard, needing to see her, giving into this agony. I can’t fight it. I don’t want to.

Brooke touches my hand, looking up at me, smiling the way she always does with those dimples caving in her cheeks and that warm flush blooming across her face. Her big hazel eyes burning, the gold flecks dancing in the sunlight. She slides her hand along my palm, moving her fingers between mine and squeezing.

Squeezing.

Taking and laying claim.

Mine, she’s saying.

My breath grows thicker, slow moving in and out of my lungs. My pulse is wild. I need to hold her.

Reaching out, lifting her chin so I can see that sweet face again, I startle at her appearance.

Big tears fall down her face, her lip trembles. She lets go of my hand and we’re suddenly feet apart. I’m at the door, my hand on the knob, my body shaking so badly the hinges rattle. I hear her voice behind me, words broken apart by sobs, telling me I never mattered and that this meant nothing. She hates me.

“I will hate you for this!”

My eyes flash open. Wetness beads on my lashes. I wipe it away and flip over, groaning into the pillow and breathing anxiously against the sheet.

She said it. I didn’t imagine that. She said it after confirming my biggest fear, that she never loved me. That it was all a lie, and I believed her.

Hell, it makes sense. Brooke was fighting me from the beginning. We wanted different things. She knew what I was after, and she figured out what she had to do to get the one thing she cared about.

Only . . .

It felt different. Pretty early on, it felt like maybe sex wasn’t the only thing she cared about.

She wasn’t pushing it. She wasn’t grabbing my hand and hurrying us, getting what she wanted and getting rid of me. She was holding on and standing still, letting me lead her, trusting me, hesitating at first but finally opening up and slowly becoming the one to reach out. Saying things to me I was feeling. Even when I limited what we did because I knew my willpower with her was and always will be shit, she kept our pace. She was with me. She was willing.

She was mine, or she was a damn good liar.

Why would she tell me I never meant anything if it wasn’t true? Because I hurt her? Because I reacted?

That disc. God, fuck, that disc. I never should’ve picked it up. Never should’ve played it, not without asking Brooke what it was first. Just knowing about it, I could’ve gotten past that and enjoyed my night with her. I could’ve pretended it didn’t exist.

Maybe.

The truth is, I don’t like thinking about Brooke with anyone else. Ever. I don’t want to know about it. I don’t want to run into some drunk tosser who’s been with Brooke and makes it bloody known he’s been with her, and I sure as fuck don’t want to see it happening.

Watching her with some other bloke, seeing his hands on her, touching what’s mine, thinking in that moment he has her when he never fucking came close, yeah, I reacted. I reacted how anyone would react seeing something like that.

Seeing someone you love taking pleasure you aren’t giving.

I was angry. Murderous. Rage running in my blood, and the pain, fuck, that was the worst of it. I ached in my bones. There was a hole in my chest, I was sure of it. Bile singed the back of my throat. I couldn’t breathe.

I looked at Brooke and all I could see was her with him.

I looked at Brooke, and all I could see was the woman on that disc, not the one I knew.

Not the soft, vulnerable woman I had in the alley. Or the shy one giving me a first in that photo booth. Not the Brooke who laughed and played with me, or the one who told me she loved me and that she was mine.

“Yours,” she said that day. “I thought I was yours. I want to be.”

Did I imagine it all? Did I imagine the hold she had around my heart and the tie I felt to hers? Did I imagine this Brooke?

I looked at her, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I gave her my anger and my pain. I spoke without consideration. I reacted.

I reacted, asking something I was sure of minutes before.

I was sure.