A Different Blue(93)

I shrugged, not arguing. It was better if Mason doubted me. He would make less of a fuss. I

handed him the summons Jack's brother had prepared.

“I didn't come here to make trouble, Mason. I didn't come here to fight. I want to give the

baby up for adoption. This explains termination of rights. You need to show up at court on this

date, sign on the dotted line, and you're done. You never have to see me or my big belly again.

”

Mason glanced at the paperwork and for a minute I thought he would rip it in two.

“I gotta work. I can't make it.” He scowled, tossing the paper aside. It fluttered to the

ground, and we all stared at it, waiting for someone to make a move. After a second, I stooped

to pick it up.

“I understand,” I said, sweetness dripping from my voice. “You're definitely gonna want to

hold onto that job. Because if this adoption doesn't work out, I'm going to file a paternity

suit and sue for child support.” I kept my face blank and my eyes innocently wide.

Mason swore, and Wilson bit back a grin. He gave me a thumbs up under his folded arms. His grin

faded when Mason proceeded to call me an F-ing whore.

“Watch yourself, chap,” he bit out, and Mason eyed him warily, most likely recalling the kung

fu from their last meeting.

“You aren't getting a damn dime from me, Blue.”

“Show up on Thursday, and I never will,” I pressed the paper against his chest, holding it

there until he reached up and grabbed it, wrinkling it in his fist. “See you, Thursday.”

I turned and walked away, not glancing back to see if Mason watched or Wilson followed. I slid

into the passenger seat of Wilson's Subaru and fumbled for my seatbelt, needing to feel secure,

needing to reassure myself that I was safe. Safe from Mason's anger? From his palpable sense of

betrayal? Maybe. I just knew I felt scared and inexplicably sad. Wilson climbed in beside me and

started the car. My hands shook so badly that the clasp slipped and ricocheted back against the

window, smacking the glass with a sickening crack. Wilson leaned over and pulled the seat belt

across me and clicked it without comment, but I felt his eyes on my face as he pulled away from

the curb.

[page]“You're shaking. Are you all right?”

I nodded, trying to swallow the shame that filled my mouth and made speaking difficult.

I could feel Wilson's eyes on me, studying my profile, trying to peel back my mask. I wished he

would just let it go.

“Do you love him?” The sympathetic query was so unexpected that I laughed, a harsh bark that

held little resemblance to mirth.

“No!” That was easy. “I'm embarrassed and I'm ashamed. Love has nothing to do with it. It

never did.”

“Does it make it easier . . . not loving him?”

I pondered that for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. It does. I'm just glad he didn't offer to

make an honest woman of me.”

Wilson smiled wryly. “Yes . . . there is that.” He turned up the radio and The Killers

streamed out into the Vegas night, “Miss Atomic Bomb” making the dashboard vibrate. I thought

the conversation was over when Wilson reached up and punched the knob, silencing the music.

“What if he had?”

“Had what? Asked me to marry him? Get real, Wilson.”