Editing Playing For Keeps

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<span style="color:#800000">'''''A page from Mason McAllistar's life in a pivotal moment.'''''</span><br> <br> <br>



He dropped her off at her house and forced himself not to think. All the way back to his place, he forced his mind to be blank but for the details of the road. He parked his car and walked back into his house, walking directly to the bar to pour himself a      stiff drink. He slammed it back and held the glass in his hand looking around the living room. The faintest whiff of her perfume still drifted in the air, the delicate fragrance of hibiscus teasing his nose.<br><br>

She was deaf. ''Too close to a car bomb?!'' Jesus Christ!<br><br>

He’d tried to play it cool, but she’d floored him. Not just with her matter-of-fact presentation of it, but with her teasing too. Had she really not known that he’d planned to ask her to marry him that summer?<br><br>

He poured another drink and drank half of it in one swallow then set the glass down and raked his hands through his hair in agitation. ''A fucking car bomb!''<br><br>

His insides felt like they were being turned inside out with terror. She’d damn near been blown up and he hadn’t known. No one had told him. ''Why'' hadn’t her mother said anything when he called?<br><br>

His mind came up with blood-drenched images. He’d picked up body parts of men killed by roadside bombs and IEDs. War was hell, and three years in Iraq and another in Afghanistan made him no stranger to the horrors of explosions. The thought of Caroline so close to one made him want to shoot something. Tear apart something. Kill someone.<br><br>

Mason sucked in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. He had to get a grip. It was years ago now, and she wouldn’t thank him for getting this pissed. He paced the living room like a caged tiger.<br><br>

She’d deliberately cut him loose. It was the only explanation. The letter… that goddamned letter. It was sent after the explosion. Had she still been in the hospital then? Certainly she’d been deaf at that point. What the hell had she thought? That he’d…      what? Not want her because she couldn’t hear? Did she really think he was so shallow?<br><br>

It pissed him off beyond belief. Swiping up the glass of bourbon he took another swallow to finish off what was in the glass, putting the back of his hand against his mouth. The rage that simmered in his belly was eating a hole in his heart too. She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t hear music, she couldn’t hear his voice. She would never hear her child cry or sing or … He threw the glass against the wall, shattering it into a billion tiny shards, and raked his hands through his hair again.<br><br>

He should have been there. He should have been able to hold her, to tell her it didn’t matter to him. Instead she’d cut him off at the knees and sent him a fucking Dear John. She’d made it sound like their time together had been… casual. It had never been      that. Not from the first time they’d come together.<br><br>

His jaw clenched. She’d finally come home. He’d kept it light tonight. He’d told her the truth – there’d been women. A number of them, really. He was no monk. But laying eyes on her again had made him realize that he wasn’t over her. He didn’t think he      ever would be. And this time he was damned if he was letting her go this time.<br><br>

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