Page 20 of Beckett
I nodded, not trusting my voice. These men would back any play I made, no questions asked, no hesitation. That kind of loyalty was rare in the civilian world, sacred among those of us who’d learned its value in places where trust meant survival.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I managed.
“You do that,” Coop said, clapping me on the shoulder with enough force to rock me forward. “And Beck? Maybe consider that not everything has to end like Rodriguez. Sometimes you get to save people. Sometimes they save you right back.”
He left before I could respond, which was probably for the best since I had no idea what to say. I stood on the sidewalk outside Draper’s, watching my friends head to their vehicles, Coop’s words echoing in my head and mixing with memories I couldn’t shake.
Rodriguez bleeding out in my arms, his blood staining the Afghan dirt. The weight of failure crushing my chest. The promise I’d made to never let anyone down like that again, apromise that had turned into walls so high I’d forgotten what it felt like to let anyone in.
And now Audra, with her haunted eyes and careful movements, her obvious fear and stubborn determination. Someone who needed saving, whether she admitted it or not. Someone who made me want to try again, despite knowing how badly it could end.
I’d failed before, and the cost had been everything—a life lost, a family destroyed, my own soul fractured in ways that would never fully heal. But Coop was right about one thing: not every story ended in blood and guilt. Sometimes, if you were very lucky and very careful, you got a second chance at redemption.
Whether I deserved one was another question entirely, but maybe this wasn’t about what I deserved.
Maybe this was about what Audra needed.
Chapter 7
Audra
The next morning came too fast. I’d spent half the night listening to every creak and groan of the old shed, jerking awake at sounds that turned out to be nothing more than wind through the gaps in the walls. My sleeping bag held the chill despite my layers, and my back protested the concrete floor’s lack of sympathy.
But I’d made it through another night. Alive. Undetected. That counted as a win.
I slipped out before dawn, moving through the trees back to where I’d hidden my car. The walk took twenty minutes in the dark, every shadow a potential threat, every rustle in the underbrush making my heart slam against my ribs. By the time I reached the logging road, sweat dampened my shirt despite the cold.
The car started on the second try. I drove toward town, then circled back the long way, approaching Pawsitive Connections from the main road like I’d just arrived. Like I hadn’t spent the night three hundred yards away in a drafty shed.
Beckett was already up and about. Of course he was.
He stood by the main barn, coffee mug in hand, watching my approach with those storm-gray eyes that saw too much. The morning sun caught the angles of his face, highlighting the scar through his eyebrow. He didn’t move as I parked, just tracked my progress with that stillness that made me think of predators waiting to strike.
I needed to be extra careful today. Yesterday’s comments about the shower had been too pointed, too knowing. The last thing I needed was Beckett Sinclair deciding to dig into my life.
I grabbed my backpack—lighter now without the sleeping bag hidden inside—and headed for the barn.Don’t make eye contact. Don’t engage. Just get to work.
“Morning.” His voice carried across the space between us.
“Morning.” I kept walking.
“Sleep well?”
My step faltered for half a second before I caught myself. “Fine, thanks.”
I ducked into the barn before he could ask anything else, my hands already reaching for the feed buckets. The dogs greeted me with enthusiasm that helped steady my nerves. Duke shoved his massive head against the kennel door, demanding attention. Rosie’s whole body wiggled with joy.
“Hey, guys.” I measured out kibble, focusing on the routine. “Ready for breakfast?”
Jet watched me from his kennel, tail wagging in those slow, hopeful sweeps I was starting to recognize. When I reached his door, he sat politely, brown eyes fixed on mine.
“Good boy.” The words came out without thinking, warm and genuine in a way I hadn’t been in months.
I fed him, then moved on to the others. Focused on the work. Ignoring the weight of Beckett’s gaze through the window.
By the time I finished the dogs and moved to the cats, my stomach was cramping with hunger. I’d eaten the last of my bread last night, nearly scraping the peanut butter jar clean. Even the horses’ grain was starting to look appetizing, which probably meant I’d hit a new low.
“Fernando’s looking judgmental this morning.” Beckett’s voice made me jump. He stood in the doorway of the cat building, shoulders filling the frame.
