WINGS

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mason came in a little earlier than usual that Friday morning. He wanted to try to see if he could iron out some of the animosity between him and his supervisor. He turned on his monitor when he saw a small memo had was waiting in his inbox. He clicked open the email, his eyes skimmed over the words when he felt the weight of the world crumble around him. Devastated, he hurried over to Rockwell's office. His lovely assistant, Sharon, sighed closing her eyes. Clearly, she had been expecting him.

"Where is he?"

"I'm sorry, Mason. He won't be in until late this afternoon."

"Okay," he said, intimidatingly winded. "When will he be back?"

She shook her head. "Mason, I hate that this happened, but Mr. Rockwell was very specific when he said, you were not to be here when he returned. Please, I don't want to have you escorted out."

His eyes shuffled in confusion. "I can't believe this is happening. He said...his memo said something about me making idle threats? And he fears for his life?"

She held empathy for him. She'd always thought he was one of the sweetest employees she'd ever worked with. Then she understood the absence in his eyes, in his panicked breath. "Oh-no. You don't know do you?"

The double take he did at her confirmed it. "Know what?"

"A gentleman came by last night. A broody looking soldier in a uniform. I saw the two of them arguing in Rockwell's office. It looked pretty heated. And whoever that was ranting in your defense..." she tried not to smile as she leaned over her desk in a hushing whisper, "I have to say, left Mr. Rockwell pretty shaken up by the time he left. The bright side?"

"The bright side?" he asked.

"I was able to talk him out of pressing charges."

Mason was silent, his eyes still searching with a hand curled into a fist over his mouth. The other, clung to his left hip as he turned and paced a couple of times before he halted still. No way. Brent wouldn't do that. Would he? It would have explained his excuse for coming home so late. "I'll clear out my desk. Thanks, Sharon." Mortification shut down his anger, leaving him without any defense and no room to argue. Mason simply turned and walked away.

***

Brent walked in the door, noting the fancy little table that sat by the wall. There sat what appeared to be a hand carved, wooden bowl with Mason's keys. He smiled, dropping his in as well. "That's new. Babe, I'm home!" He craned a look into the dining room as he moved past, hung up his ranking office coat. His government required shoes galloped across the wood floor. "Babe?"

Like most nights, he tore away his service dress uniform piece by piece. He yanked at his tie from around his neck and laid it over the hanger with his coat. Then, he headed for the living room as he undid the top two buttons on his dress shirt. The room was barely lit up by the single floor lamp. He spotted Mason on the sofa. "Oh hey, babe. Why didn't you answer when I called?" he asked at the unexpected welcome. When he saw Mason's forehead leaning against the drinking glass he had in his hand, he paused, disliking the disturbing dark liquor, settling at the bottom of the ice cubes. Brent squat down in front of him. His hands consolingly placed over each of Mason's thighs. "Mason."

Mason's eyes shot up as he held an uncharacteristic mocked grin. "Oh, so, we're not visiting anyone this evening?"

Brent noted the hostility. "You're drunk. You don't drink. What's going on?" He pried the drink from Mason's fingers, who already appeared three sheets to the wind, and set it down on the end table.

"Wh-what?" Mason hiccupped "You didn't hear the good news?"

"What good news?" Brent asked worriedly, "Baby, tell me what's going on."