Page 85 of The Golden Hour

“Honey, baby, please,” Mason says. “Let’s get in the car and go home.”

Honey nods, and Mason keeps himself between Felicia and Honey as he guides his wife toward the open door on the back passenger side. The car gives them a little shield, and Mason uses his body to block Felicia as much as he can.

“Mason! You fucking asshole!” Felicia screams, sounding enraged now. “You should be on your knees, grateful I gave you a chance.”

Mason doesn’t even glance over, just presses a hand to Honey’s back as he opens her door.

“You could have had me!” Felicia shrieks. “Enjoy your ugly, fat wife!”

Mason feels more than sees Honey flinch, but the words are swirling around his head.

For a second, the rage is so intense he can taste it. Sour and bitter, coating his tongue and sitting in his throat like an uncomfortable pill. His skin itches. His fists clench. Everything in him wants to turn around and make Felicia Lewis regret the day she learned Honey’s name.

How fucking dare she talk about Honey like that?

Felicia Lewis couldn’t even compare to Honey Carpenter on her best day—in looks, in heart, in anything that mattered. His wife is a stone-cold trillion out of ten, and Mason is the lucky one. He has always been the lucky one.

But the look on Honey’s face twists Mason’s stomach into knots and does not extinguish the rage so much as temper it into something sharper. She’s looking down at the ground, like she’s ashamed, and his brain is firing on all cylinders.

Did she say something about Honey’s body to her?

Melissa doesn’t have his restraint and ignites like a bomb.

“Keep walking, you little bitch!” Melissa roars, taking one step toward Felicia. Mason watches as she cowers behind the guards now. “You say anything to my daughter again, they’ll have to take you up to surgery to remove my size 9 from your scrawny ass! I’ll fucking put you down like the dog you are!”

TJ’s face turns red as he tries to smother his laughter, while Miles looks like he’s seriously considering a new career as they finally wrangle Felicia to the garage, her shrieking fading to nothing.

Mason’s eyes are all for Honey.

“Honey?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“Stop,” she says, shaking her head almost frantically.

He knows he should.

But fuck, he cannot let this simmer in her mind. Honey has already had such a tough time. She has already been cut open, ignored, humiliated, and almost fucking died. He cannot let her drown herself in false negative thoughts.

“Honey, did she say⁠⁠—”

“Mason,” Honey gasps, finally raising her shimmering eyes to his. She pleads, “Please stop.”

“Honey, please,” Mason begs. “Tell me what she said to you.”

Honey sighs, the sound weary enough to make him feel like an asshole for asking.

“She gave me a helpful recommendation to the plastic surgeon here,” Honey says. “To lift my breasts back up.”

The words hit Mason like a shockwave, only fueling the fire in his chest.

There are moments in time you always think back on and realize you should have acted differently. Mason has had those moments a lot lately, more than he can count without feeling physically sick. And now he remembers all the times Dr. Lewis made passes at him. All the times he could have gone down to HR to file a report.

If he had done the right thing, then Felicia never would have gotten the opportunity to spew that poison at his wife.

He could say that nothing happened between them. He could say he was sorry again. He could say he wishes he could go back in time and kick his own ass, or better yet, let Melissa and Phil do it.

But—and this fucking kills him—he can’t go back.

No matter how fucking desperately he wishes he could reverse time, take care of Honey the way she deserved, protect her and cherish her as she deserved, and do everything right.