desertion

153

LYDIA

Mason's hand brushed against mine for the third time that morning, and I swore my heart skipped a beat. It wasn't intentional-or at least, it didn't seem like it-but it was enough to send my mind spiraling.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was focused, leaning over a stack of files with his usual intensity. His arm rested on the edge of the table, just barely touching mine. The contact was subtle, almost nonexistent, but it was there.

It always seemed to be there.

Whether we were sitting side by side or walking side by side, Mason was always close. His hand would linger on the arm of my chair, his shoulder would brush against mine, and his knee would knock into mine under the table.

And I didn't mind it.

In fact, I liked it.

But then, the doubts would creep in-the quiet, nagging voice in the back of my head that wouldn't let me enjoy the moment.

It's only been a month, Lydia, it would whisper. One month since you and Miles broke up. What kind of person moves on that fast?

I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away as I focused on the case in front of me. A stack of photos was spread out on the table, each one carefully labeled with timestamps and locations. I picked up one of the photos, studying it closely, but my mind wouldn't cooperate.

I couldn't focus.

"Lydia?"

I blinked, realizing Mason was staring at me. His brow was furrowed, concern etched into his features.

"Huh?" I asked, setting the photo down.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice soft.

I nodded quickly. "Yeah. I'm fine."

But I wasn't.

This is what happened last time, I thought, my chest tightening. The spacing out, the inability to focus-it was the same thing that happened when my seizures came back.

It can't happen again.

I had good things happening in my life now. My dad was healthy, I had friends who loved me, and for the first time in forever, I actually felt like I belonged.

And Mason... God, Mason.

He was so much more than I ever expected. He made me laugh, made me feel safe, and even though he didn't say much about his feelings, his actions spoke volumes. The way he always touched my shoulder or leaned close to me-it was like he was telling me I wasn't alone.

I wasn't used to that.

I wasn't used to someone being so careful with me, like they actually cared about how I felt.

But I couldn't let myself get lost in him. Not now. Not when there was so much at stake.

"Lydia."

I snapped out of my thoughts again, realizing Mason was standing next to me now. His hand was on the back of my chair, his thumb brushing against the fabric.

"You're spacing out," he said, his voice low.

"I'm fine," I insisted, forcing a smile.

He didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

I nodded, but the look in his eyes told me he didn't believe me.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Mason's hand slipped from the back of my chair to my shoulder, his touch light but grounding.

"Take a break," he said softly.

"I don't need-"

"Lydia."

The way he said my name made me pause. It wasn't a command, exactly, but it was firm enough to let me know he wasn't backing down.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "Fine. Five minutes."

Mason smiled-a small, crooked smile that made my heart do that stupid fluttering thing again.

As he sat back down beside me, our arms brushed again, and I felt that same spark of electricity I always did.

This was it, I realized.

This was the life I'd always hoped for.

Not just the work, but everything else-the way my dad smiled at me when I visited him, the way my friends teased me over coffee, and the way Mason's laugh lit up the entire room.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn't just surviving.

I was living.

And as terrifying as that was, I couldn't help but think... maybe I was exactly where I was meant to be.