Chapter 6: Where It Hurts the Most
The next morning didn't bring clarity. It brought chaos.
Marissa lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of her apartment, still wrapped in the echo of Mason's voice. I'm fighting now. The words had settled under her skin like ink, refusing to fade.
She hadn't slept. Not really. She'd closed her eyes and let memory flood her, let every breath she shared with him last night stretch into her bones. How was it possible to hate someone for leaving and still crave the exact same hands that broke you?
Love, she realized, wasn't simple. It never had been.
It was messy and raw and complicated—and the way Mason looked at her last night made her feel like maybe… just maybe… she was allowed to be all those things too.
Her phone buzzed.
Mason: I'm outside. Coffee. Talk.
Her heart jumped. He was giving her space, yes. But he also wasn't going anywhere.
She opened the door to find him standing there, hoodie over his head, holding two cups like a peace offering.
"You're relentless," she said, lips curling into something between sarcasm and surprise.
"You're worth it," he replied without blinking.
They sat on the fire escape, side by side, watching the city wake beneath them. She sipped the coffee. It was exactly how she liked it—black, strong, no sugar.
He remembered.
She tried not to let that mean anything. Failed miserably.
"So… what now?" she asked, eyes never leaving the skyline.
"You tell me."
She turned to him. "What do you want from me, Mason?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Everything. But only if you want me too."
Silence. Not awkward. Heavy.
"I don't know how to trust you again," she said quietly.
"Then let me earn it. Day by day. Look, I'm not perfect, Riss. I mess things up. I run when I should stay. But I meant what I said—I'm not running this time. I'll take your anger. Your fear. Your fire. All of it."
She looked down at her hands. "And if I break you in the process?"
He smiled, that lopsided grin that used to undo her.
"Then I'll break beautifully."
Tears stung her eyes before she could stop them.
And that was the moment she realized: Mason hadn't come back just to say sorry.
He came back to choose her. All of her.
Even the versions of herself she didn't know how to love.
Later that evening, they found themselves walking through the old part of the city. The streets were quieter here. Faded brick buildings, string lights above, and the smell of rain still clinging to the cobblestones.
They passed the bookstore where he first kissed her.
They passed the alley where she once yelled at him for letting her down.
Ghosts of them lingered everywhere.
"Do you ever wish we met at a different time?" she asked, fingers grazing his as they walked.
"No," he said. "I just wish I'd been brave enough not to lose you."
She paused, staring at him. Her walls weren't down yet but they weren't steel anymore. More like glass. Fragile. See-through.
And just like that, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her knuckles soft, reverent, as if she were something precious.
And for the first time in years, she believed she was.