Page 33 of Unmasked

“Six years ago,” he said, reading Knox’s mind. “You got drunk, and I took you back to the barracks.”

Oh, God. Knox remembered that day. He had been messing around online, skimming the internet for her name the way he occasionally did. Rarely, if ever, did anything come up. But that day her name was a headline in black and white, linked to another man as they celebrated their recent nuptials.

He wasn’t entirely sure what happened after that. He remembered hitting the bar and tossing back drinks, wondering just how many he’d have to ingest to take away the pain. The next thing he remembered was waking up in his bed the following morning, his head and heart aching in equal measure.

“You called out for her then. I know you still care for her.” Knox’s body vibrated with barely restrained fury as Mason continued. “I don't know⁠—”

“You're right. You don't know anything,” Knox spat as he stood abruptly, sending the chair rolling backward and slamming into the wall behind him. He didn't spare it a second thought as he leaned over the desk and glared at Mason.

He knew nothing about Knox’s situation with Everleigh. “You have no idea what happened, so you can save your psychobabble.”

Mason rose slowly, his eyes locked on Knox’s. It pissed Knox off even more to see the tinge of sympathy there. He didn't want Mason’s pity. He didn't want anything. He refused to discuss this. As rage overflowed every cell of his body, he swiped up his keys and phone, not bothering with the files. They could wait. He rounded his desk, intent on leaving. But Mason just had to keep pushing.

“Just think about it.”

“There's nothing to think about.” Knox whirled toward him. “There is nothing that can fix what happened. Nothing.”

Mason nodded. “Okay.”

He said it to pacify Knox, like he didn't believe it. Knox was too pissed to stand there and debate it with him, and he stormed toward the door.

“Just so you know,” Mason said to Knox’s retreating back, “he came for her again.”

Knox’s steps halted, and he threw a look over his shoulder at him. “What are you talking about?”

Mason crossed his arms over his chest. “Our photographer has escalated. Everleigh went for a run yesterday, and a car came up behind her, ran her off the road.”

The thought immediately made Knox see red. “Why am I just now learning about this?”

“You haven’t exactly been receptive for the past couple of days.” Mason shrugged. “I took her to the police station this morning to make a statement. I just thought you should be aware.”

Aware of what? That he had let her down again? Without another word, Knox threw open the door and stormed out, passing by his sister without a glance. He drove home in a cloud of rage, Mason’s words playing on repeat and taking up residence in his mind. I know you still care about her.

He slid to a stop in the driveway and hopped out, slamming the door behind him harder than necessary. Inside the house, he ripped off his suit jacket and tossed it over the couch, then made a beeline for the fridge. He grabbed a beer, popped the top, and downed it. Another dozen of those and maybe it would begin to dull the pain. But he knew from experience it wouldn't.

His fingers itched for the familiar weight of a cigarette, and he could practically taste it, feel the calm spreading through his body as the nicotine hit his system. No. He refused to give in that easily, just as he refused to let Everleigh burrow under his skin.

There was hardly a childhood memory that didn't involve her. He had loved her so much. And she had broken him. He despised her so much for that, and he hated himself for still wanting her. She had walked right back into his life like she deserved to be there, and it enraged him. A metallic clang filled the air as he threw the empty can in the trash.

He shoved open the back door, heedless of the way it slammed in its frame. It was just one more thing he’d need to fix. He drew in a deep breath as he stared out at the line of trees circling the backyard, skimming the backyard and the woods beyond for any sign of Everleigh. But everything was silent and still. He didn't know if that was a good thing or bad thing. Part of him was relieved that she had followed his instructions and stayed away. The other part of him was disappointed.

He was furious with himself for even entertaining the thought. It was unacceptable to even be the slightest bit disappointed at her absence. The woman affected him too much as it was, and the rage inside him boiled over, exploding into an inferno. The love that could have spanned a lifetime had instead been cut short by the ultimate betrayal. And it had all started with that stupid tree.

His gaze slid to the pile of kindling stacked by the back door, the ax propped against the side of the house. Irrational hurt and anger bubbling in his veins, he snatched up the ax and stormed toward the forest. He might not be able to get rid of Everleigh physically, but he couldn't bear to live like this anymore. He was going to cut her out of his life once and for all, get rid of every reminder of the things they had shared.

Dead leaves and pine needles crunched softly beneath his boots as he headed deeper into the woods, his body moving on autopilot. Then suddenly it was before him. He stood in front of the oak tree and stared at the decades-old carving. He hated this tree and everything it represented: the best moments of his life, but also the worst.

Hefting the ax over his shoulder, he swung as hard as he could. The blade embedded itself in the hard wood, and he wrenched it free. Re-positioning it, he swung again. And again.

Splinters flew into the air as he chopped at the tree, each strike cutting away the wood and clawing at his heart. A strange feeling welled up inside him. He didn't remember crying at his parents' funeral, but he couldn't hold it back anymore. A hot trail slid down his cheek, and he lifted his face to the sky just as a raindrop splashed onto his cheek. Shame and guilt swirled in his gut. The heavens were crying too—either for what he had lost or what he had just done, he wasn’t sure.

He dropped the ax. “It wasn't my fault!”

The rain picked up, falling harder than before, and an agonized sound welled up from his throat. Grasping the hair at the back of his head, he bent at the waist and vented his rage. The howl spiraling toward the sky was almost indiscernible over the blood rushing in his ears, and he dropped to his hands and knees as all of the pent-up anger and hurt he had been holding back for two decades left his body on a ragged scream. His agony. His utter despair. He punched the soft ground over and over, praying it would take the pain away. It didn’t.

She had done this. She had broken them. Why couldn't she just stay away? He was so mad at her. For coming home. For reigniting all those old feelings. For making him realize once again that she was the only woman he would ever love.

How was it possible to loathe someone, yet love them so much it hurt? He would have done anything she asked of him—he still would. Even after everything she had done, he knew he would never get over her.