Page 111 of The Lonely Road

While I polish off the lasagna and two coffees, I tell her most of it—the job, Wildflower Canyon, Taya, the case, the supplemental decree, and what I did with it.

I trust Lana, and this doesn’t border anywhere even remotely close to national security. It borders on me being an idiot, which she is fully qualified to assess.

“Ouch. If you were going to torch your career anyway, why give Jessup the decree?”

“Now they won’t come after her.”

She gives me the look, which has said you’re a dumbass in various ways since we were children. “They’ll just win the preliminary hearing. She’ll keep fighting.”

“Maybe she won’t. Maybe Clara Whitman will see this loss, take the money they give her and walk away. I don’t know, buy a condo in Aspen and live her best life.”

I don’t believe it. The woman I met, those kids—the people in Wildflower Canyon—they’re there not for the riches but for integrity and legacy.

“In any case, I bought her safety with this. They won’t come after her.” And if they do, I will dismantle Jessup piece by piece.

Bored with our conversation, Søren hops off the counter and parks himself on his bed on the floor, still glaring at me with the expression of a sentient being who has arrived at a verdict.

Even the fucking cat has an opinion about me, and it is most definitely negative.

“He doesn’t believe you,” Lana drawls.

She pours herself another glass of wine. She’s drinking a Loire Valley Cab Franc. Taya would like that wine—she likes her wine slightly musty.

Damn it!

Is this how my life is going to be?

I’m going to smell her and think about her all the fucking time?

No way. People get over shit like this, don’t they?

I will, too. Of course, I will.

I don’t believe that either.

Lana tilts her head back and sighs long and loud. “You’re an idiot.”

“No, I’m not.”

“An extraordinary, professional-grade idiot.”

“I did what I had to do.”

Her eyes narrow with barely contained irritation. “You ran from her. She asked you to stay. I…that lady has some balls. She has courage. You, on the other hand….”

I pick up her wine glass and take a long sip. “You can’t make me feel any worse than I already do.”

“You stayed longer on this job than you normally do because of her.”

I drink some more of her wine. She refills her glass and pushes it toward me.

“You had an exit, and you kept not taking it. You could have given Jessup whatever he needed in week one and been gone. But you didn’t. And now you’re sitting in my kitchen looking like something the cat dragged in”—she gestures at the large gray cat, who does not acknowledge being mentioned—“because you made yourself fall in love with a woman and then ran away from her.”

“I didn’t make myself⁠—”

“Mason.” Her voice is gentle in the way it gets when she’s being genuinely serious rather than performing it. “You’ve been waiting your whole life for something to feel like it was worth staying for. You found it. And then you left.”

I let out a low growl. “I did the job, and then I left.”