“Mmm…” He stirs. “I was waiting for you. What time is it?”
“Just after nine,” I tell him. “You fell asleep early.”
“Pretty sure I fell asleep the moment I walked into the house,” he says with a half smile, his eyes still closed.
“Did you eat something?” I ask.
“I downed a couple of sandwiches, but I skipped dessert. Get your ass on my face.”
I burst out laughing. “Smooth.”
He finally peels open his eyes. “Did you girls have fun tonight?”
Nodding, I grin, thinking about our discussion. “Yeah, we did. Ate dinner, chatted, talked with our parents.”
“Oh yeah? Did you tell your folks about me yet?” Mason smirks, knowing how strict and religious they are.
“Totally. Confessed that I’m living with you in sin, and we’re now fucking regularly. They told me to give you an attaboy!” I playfully punch his shoulder, and he grins.
“Well, we’ve already discussed wedding vows, so it’s best they’re caught up to speed here.” He sits up and pulls me onto his lap. Mason brushes his fingers along my cheek and tucks loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Then I can tell them all about how much I love their daughter and would do anything for her. How I’ll provide for her, care for her, and love her until my dying day. I gotta compete with Hunter now, so…” He smirks, but I know his words are true.
I laugh, but my eyes fill with unshed tears at his admission. “You’re too sweet to me,” I tell him softly, leaning my forehead against his.
Mason cups my cheeks and kisses my lips, soft and quick. “I mean it, sweetheart. Until my dying day.”
Nodding, I choke back my emotions. “I know you do. It’s why I love you so damn much.”
Chapter Nineteen
Mason
Sometimes I really hate my fucking job.
I knew what I was getting into, but days like today are really hard. Crime scenes with children are my hard limit, but I know I don’t always have the choice. Suicide is another for me, but I use my experience to get through it, knowing the family will want answers. The why and the how usually, and even though it’s not something we can always give them, I strive to. They want closure.
But today was an act that doesn’t hit close to home, rather it hits right in the gut. As I sit in an office and peruse the case files, I’m disgusted by how much politics and our government control the healthcare system. It’s one of the many reasons my father and I butt heads so much. Our views differ greatly, and nothing he says will ever convince me that money and power are worth more than a human life.
An elderly man in his seventies shot his wife of forty-eight years and then called 911 to let them know he was going to shoot himself. He said she was sick, and they couldn’t afford her prescriptions or hospital bills. The gentleman also had his fair share of health concerns, and the financial burden was too heavy for him to carry. He was his wife’s caretaker, and somehow, he got it into his head that killing her and then himself was the best solution.
Sadly, his story is only one of many.
Without their medications, they would’ve eventually died, but probably while alone and sedated in a hospital bed. At least this way, he could make their own fate without suffering. I don’t get how our own system could fail so many people, and on some level, I understand this man’s thought process as painful as it is to admit.
“The letters are the saddest shit I’ve ever read,” my colleague Jada says as we file. “And I’ve seen some sad shit.”
Jada is one of my mentors, and I admire her greatly. She’s in her forties and tells it like it is, something I also appreciate. There’s never any guessing with her.
“You can tell his hand was shaking when he wrote some of them,” I say, looking over the photographs we took. “As if he was questioning his decision for a bit but then found the strength somehow not to change his mind.”
“In the last few notes, his writing became sloppier as if he had his mind set and just wanted it to be over.” Jada frowns, looking over the pictures. “It’s a tragedy.”
Nodding, I agree. Filing is grunt work, but I also get more responsibility now. Some days, I’m grateful for it, and other days, like today, I’d rather not have to think about the hardships of life that bring someone to killing themselves.
Ever since revealing my past to Sophie and being in the field at work, Emma is on my mind more than before. For years, I’ve blocked it out, not wanting the memories to surface. However, now I like thinking about her—when she was happy—when we were happy. Sometimes, it seems like a lifetime ago, and other times, I remember it like it was yesterday.