What She Didn't Know (What She 1)

“In what ways is he a psychopath?”

She tsked. “You’ve seen the scars, Mason. You know what he’s capable of.”

“I’ve seen Lynn’s scars. I’ve never seen yours.” I leaned toward her. “Where are they?”

“On my soul,” she whispered dramatically.

Her phone chimed in her pocket and she pulled it out, frowning as she responded. “Got to go,” she sang out.

“Wait.” I sat forward. She couldn’t leave yet.

She heaved another sigh. “What, Mason? Hurry up. I’m needed elsewhere.”

“Is she all right?”

She bobbed her head from side to side, pretending to think about it. “Yes and no.”

“What’s wrong? Does she need me?”

“Mason,” she tsked again, “if you were what she needed, she’d be with you right now.”

“She’s not hurt?”

She shook her head.

“Did I do something?”

She stared hard at me. “Yes.”

“What was it?”

“Think hard, Mason. It’ll come to you.” Her phone chimed again. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered as she responded to someone. She finally looked up. “I can’t leave Ash alone for a second. Always getting into one scrape or another.”

Alarm shot through me. “What has she done?”

“She’s about to be locked up.” She put her coat on and wound Lynn’s scarf around her neck.

“Why?”

“Who knows?” She turned to leave, tossing the words “Ta-ta” over her shoulder like confetti.

“It’s going to be all right,” Malcom said, trying to placate me.

I jerked my thumb toward the door where Shelly had just left. “With that bitch in charge?” I asked. “Nothing is all right. I need my wife back. Now.”

“Dude,” Malcolm said, “the first time you ever saw Ash, what did you think of her?”

I’d met Ash right after I met Jamie. She blasted into my life like a bomb going off. And that bomb was still going off, every time she stepped back into my life.

24

I was whipped. I knew it. Lynn probably knew it. I showed up at my mom’s clinic so often that people probably assumed I was a patient. But I knew that was where I’d find Lynn. Well, Lynn or one of her friends.

I passed my dad in the hallway, and he stopped to glare at me. “What?” I asked. I stopped, because I was only eighteen and Dad still ruled my world.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I grinned. “Can’t a son come to see his father once in a while?”