I feel weak in the knees. I knew Rebecca hurt him, but hearing it from his own lips shakes me to the core. No matter how I feel about Mason, it pains me to imagine him being hurt like that, because a part of me loves a part of him and always will.
“But the man who found his way back was broken,” he says, pushing a hand through his thick red hair. I watch his every move, ignoring how much he feels like Marus right now and how much I’ve missed him. “He was trapped in a nightmare, searching for redemption. That’s why Marus was so obsessed with being someone else and punishing himself.”
“And now?”
“He’s made peace with his guilt. He’s figured out who he is, and what he really wants.” He stands up and faces me.
I don’t speak, because I’m too confused and possibly frightened. I take a small step back.
“Nothing made sense in Marus’s life until you came along and loved him—loved me—unconditionally. I can’t go back to being Marus, but I can’t go back to being Mason either.”
I don’t know what that means or what he could possibly want from me. “So who are you?”
“I’m someone who truly loves you and wants to make things right. Especially now that I know about Russ. I should have been there for you, and I’m not sure how I’ll forgive myself for that.”
I hold everything in, including my breath. I wished for this. I dreamed of it. And then I rejected it all because I didn’t want to hope anymore. I didn’t want to have my heart broken again.
With earnest eyes, eyes that mesmerized me once, he lays a strong hand on my shoulder. His warm touch, his tall body close to mine, sets off vivid memories of how he used to make me feel. Electrified in his presence. I suppose I still feel it somewhere deep inside, though I’ll never allow myself to admit it.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant, Ginnie?” he says tenderly. “I would’ve helped. Even if I wasn’t in a good place, I would have figured something out.”
I don’t reply, but I guess the subtle shock on my face says it all.
He holds up a hand. “I’m sorry I said that. I know why. But going forward, simply know that you can ask anything of me, and you’ll have it—my help raising him, changing diapers, or giving you space, though I hope you won’t want it.”
At least he’s smart enough not to offer money. He knows I wouldn’t take it.
Mason exhales with a deep anguished grumble. “I fucking miss you, Ginnie. I never stopped thinking about you even when I was going through the worst of it, fighting to get my head sorted out. But I did it. I clawed my way back from a very dark place, because deep inside I knew you were right—I could choose. And I chose not to give up on being worth your time again. Not as Marus, not as Mason, but as a man you could love and who honestly deserved it.”
Oh fuck. I fight to keep calm and my breaths even. This is a lot and I mean a lot to take in. Far too much for a hormonal new mom who’s been trying her best to move on.
“I don’t know what to tell you.” I place a hand on my waist and shake my head at the floor. “The man I loved was Marus. I still love him. More than I can stand to think about. But you’re not—”
“He’s right here.” Mason takes my hand and presses it to his chest.
I gaze into those eyes, noting the hundreds of tiny blue speckles that make up their color. I stare at his supple lips, thinking about how soft and warm they are to kiss. “But you’re a completely different person.”
“No,” he says softly, shrugging those auburn brows together. “No, I’m not. I remember everything, Ginnie—what I felt when I was with you, what I said, and how badly I wanted you—still want you. But Marus was never a separate person. He was a part of me that was trying to be better. He was a coping mechanism for pain. And now that I’ve faced my demons, I’ve chosen what kind of man I want to be.”
I hold back the tears pushing me to let them out. “I-I can’t do this. I can’t forget what happened or how badly you hurt me. And it’s not fair to just show up like this, expecting me to give you another chance or trust you or any of that.”
“I know. And I knew you would say that, which is why I’m prepared to earn back your trust—no matter how long it takes.”
His words give me some comfort, mostly because it’s an acknowledgment. He’s not asking me to just pretend the last year didn’t happen. Because it did. It was ugly and hard. Asking me to forget would be a slap in the face, like saying what I’ve been through didn’t mean anything. But he’s not asking for that. He wants a chance to redeem himself.