Page 106 of Beckett
Three Weeks Later
Audra
I knelt in the grass beside the training pen, my hand resting gently on Scout’s broad head. The golden retriever mix watched me with those intelligent brown eyes, waiting for my next move with the kind of trust that still took my breath away. At barely two years old, he was still learning that the world could be a safe place again.
“Easy, boy,” I murmured as he shifted his weight, eager but patient. “We’re not going anywhere.”
His previous family had surrendered him after a house fire left him with severe anxiety—the kind that made him shake at sudden noises and hide from strangers. But beneath all that fear, Scout had the gentle soul that made perfect emotional support dogs. He just needed someone to show him he was safe.
Just like I’d learned I was safe.
Jet pressed against my other side, his slight limp barely noticeable now as his tail swept lazy arcs in the dirt. The bright-blue “Hero Dog: Now Specializing in Hugs” vest looked perfect against his black coat, the white star on his chest catching the light. Three weeks since the bridge, since Reggie’s attack and arrest, since our world had shifted back into focus.
Three weeks of healing for all of us.
“See how his ears are forward but relaxed?” I said to the invisible audience I always imagined when working with the dogs. “He’s interested but not stressed. That’s what we want when training emotional support animals. They need to be calm and focused.”
Lark and I agreed that training people to unofficially train dogs would be a great way to expand Pawsitive’s reach. I was still practicing, still building my confidence, but I would get there.
Dogs like Scout needed patience, understanding, time to trust again. Time to learn that not every unexpected sound meant danger. I had all three in abundance now.
Scout’s tail gave a tentative wag as I reached for the training lead. No sudden movements, no pressure. Just the quiet invitation to try something new with someone who wouldn’t push if he wasn’t ready.
“That’s it,” I praised as he took a step forward. “Good boy.”
The sound of boots on gravel made me look up, but not with the sharp panic that had defined me for so long. Just curiosity, maybe anticipation, because I knew that particular stride. Beckett moved toward us carrying two steaming mugs, his hair still damp from his morning shower.
And little Chaos on his shoulder.
I still wasn’t quite sure how that tiny menace had become a part of our family, but somehow the kitten had taken over as Jet’s protector in the early days of his healing. When Jet couldn’t do much but lie around the barn as I worked, Chaos had planted himself in front of the much bigger dog and hissed at anything that came near them.
Now they slept in the same crate every night, cuddled together.
“The new trainer looks good out there,” he said, stopping at the fence with a smile that made my chest warm.
“She had a good teacher.” I accepted the coffee gratefully, breathing in the rich scent. He’d remembered the extra sugar, just like he remembered everything that mattered to me.
He grabbed Chaos from his shoulder and placed him down next to Jet. The kitten rubbed against his legs for a second, while Jet’s tail did its happy dance.
Beckett’s eyes moved to my ponytail, to the scar on my neck that I no longer bothered to hide. The raised tissue from the burn wasn’t gone—it would never be gone—but I wasn’t going to hide it any longer.
“You’re wearing your hair up,” he observed, his voice soft with something that made my heart skip. His gray eyes held mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“Jet has scars.” I scratched behind the German shepherd’s ears, Chaos hissing at me. “You have scars. I have scars. They’re proof we’re strong enough to survive whatever tried to break us.”
Scout chose that moment to nose against my free hand, seeking attention. I laughed, the sound bright and unguarded in the morning air.
In the distance, other dogs barked their morning greetings. Rosie demanding breakfast, Rex announcing the arrival of the feed truck, the new rescue puppies tumbling over each other in their play yard. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. The soundtrack to a life I was finally allowed to live.
Beckett checked his watch, and I caught the reluctance in the gesture. “I should head out. Hunter wants the team in early for a client briefing.”
“New case?”
“Nothing dangerous. Corporate security consultation. Boring stuff.” He opened the gate and stepped inside the pen, closing the distance between us. His hands found my waist, pulling me closer as Scout and Jet watched with patient interest. “I hate leaving you in the morning.”
“You’ll be back before I know it.”
“Not soon enough.” He leaned down to kiss me, and it wasn’t the quick peck of a man running late. It was slow, thorough, the kind of kiss that said everything words couldn’t quite capture. When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine.
