were five-star accommodations while Mason could make do in a dusty hole in the ground, if need be.
“Investigated?” Mason said.
Dylan hooked a hand on his hip. “I wanted to know a little about my predecessor.”
“What for?” Mason said.
“So I could better understand the man who made Reese so unhappy all those years ago.”
Shifting on his feet, Mason rubbed his chin. His day-old growth was rough, and he hated that he felt scruffy next to the well-groomed fiancé. And the man’s steady gaze was making Mason uncomfortable. He didn’t fit in here. He didn’t belong here.
It was well past time for him to climb into The Beast and make tracks.
“I’m taking off now.” Mason bit back a grin. “That should definitely make her happy.”
Better than the lame engraved picture frame he’d brought as a gift.
“But you just arrived,” Dylan said. “There’s no need to rush off.”
Stunned again, this time the ability to speak took longer to return. Was he serious? Or was he just being polite? Or maybe he wanted him around so he could mess with Mason’s mind or something—like it wasn’t screwed up enough. But Dylan didn’t strike him as the type.
“In case you haven’t been informed, time has only increased my ability to make my ex unhappy,” Mason said dryly, surprised lightning didn’t strike him for uttering such a massive understatement.
“I’m not sure that’s even possible,” Dylan said in agreement.
Mason let out a humorless bark of laughter before going on. “I can only imagine,” he said. “I figure the best wedding gift I can give the two of you is my departure. Because Reese was adamant that I leave.”
An emotion Mason couldn’t interpret flitted across Dylan’s face, a slight tightening of the eyes that could have meant anything. “I can imagine she was.”
He eyed Mason, as if sizing him up. But not only was there no hostility, Mason didn’t sense any resentment, either. Just a wary curiosity from the man who was about to marry his ex-wife. At least his hellacious road trip here hadn’t been a total waste. If nothing else, he now knew that Reese wasn’t marrying a jerk. But did Dylan love her?
But the bigger question was, why the heck did Mason care?
The silence stretched, leaving Mason uneasy. Edgy. He should leave. Reese was not his concern anymore. What difference did it make how Dylan felt about her? It sure as hell wasn’t any of Mason’s business.
But no matter how hard he tried to push the past aside, seeing Reese had brought up some disturbing memories. Things he’d thought he’d buried long ago. Clearly he wasn’t going to get the resolution he sought. But, at the very least, he wanted to take a better measure of the man she was about to spend the rest of her life with. If he knew she was going to be treated well, then that was enough. He’d be content.
And content was as much as he could hope for these days.
Dylan nodded in the direction of a temporary basketball pole set up at the end of the driveway. “You play?”
“Yeah,” Mason said slowly. “Seems an odd thing to have had delivered days before a wedding.”
“Reese’s cousin, Tuck, is my friend and best man. It’s a long story, but he had it set up as a joke,” Dylan said, and then looked at him curiously. “You up for a little one-on-one?”
Mason leaned back on his heels and shaded his eyes from the sun, studying Reese’s fiancé. Playing basketball with his buddies had saved his sanity during the wearisome downtime in the choking dust of a sweltering Afghanistan desert. And there was nothing like a little friendly competition to take your measure of a man.
Dylan was probably thinking the same thing.
Mason couldn’t resist a cocky smile, the universal I’m-gonna-wup-your-ass grin that only a man could understand. “You’re on.”
THREE
The rhythmic thwack...thwack...thwack...that greeted Reese’s ears as she burst through the side entrance onto the brick drive didn’t sound like two men beating the living daylights out of each other. But her trek across the house had taken her so long that, by now, the adrenaline surging through her body was prohibitive to rational thought.
She’d gotten turned around in one of Bellington Hall’s endless corridors and wound up way on the other side of the massive home. And then she’d had to backtrack. Losing precious minutes. Her mind conjuring all sorts of horrendous possibilities, she’d scrambled to make up for lost time and nearly broken her ankle racing down the stone staircase in her four-inch heels.
Fifteen minutes had passed since she’d dashed out of the sitting room. Long enough for two men to kill each other several times over.
Picturing broken noses and bleeding lips, she lifted her skirt and picked up the pace, the tulle netting flouncing around her legs with every hurried step. Heart wedged in her throat, praying she wouldn’t wind up with blood on her dress, she rounded the side of the house and came to a halt.
Because there, both shirtless, bodies damp from exertion, were her ex-husband and her future husband...playing basketball.
Shock stuck her shoes to the pavement, and she stared, motionless, as she watched the two men, their faces set with determination. Sunlight shimmied on chests damp with sweat. Pectorals and biceps lengthened and bulged with exertion as they dribbled, and blocked, and alternately attempted a jump shot. A mesmerizing sight that most women would enjoy. A bubble of hysteria rose, and she almost let out a stunned laugh, fascinated by the disparate displays of masculine beauty.
Wearing nothing but athletic shorts, Dylan was taller, leaner, with muscles that showcased his love for running and swimming. His was an agile grace, all lithe beauty and nimble movements. Whereas Mason, in hip-hugging jeans only, was a touch shorter. More muscular. Raw. Oozing a kind of terrible power that was unsettling, disturbing. And dark. The kind of man that could strike with precision and take an enemy out before he recognized there was a threat.
When he turned, her breath caught, his back sporting a beautifully tattooed pair of angel wings.
After a failed layup, Mason grunted out something she couldn’t hear, and Dylan responded with a smile and words she couldn’t make out. But Mason’s answering bark of laughter echoed across the driveway.
Annoyed, she shifted on her feet and cocked her hip. Here she’d been, practically killing herself while making the journey to break up a potential fight, worried the men would at least be exchanging heated words. And they had the audacity to be having fun?
Dylan caught a rebound off the backboard and pivoted, finally catching sight of Reese.
As if the current situation was no big deal, Dylan said, “Hey, bright star.”
The nickname had started as a joke. Back in the days after her divorce when all she could do was mope. And when she’d finally thrown herself into her family’s favorite charity, The Brookes Foundation’s Home for
