Page 23 of Beckett
I looked at his hands then, really looked. Tiny scratches covered his fingers, some fresh, others healing. Battle scars from Operation Chaos.
Carefully, I reached out. Chaos hissed, ears flat against his orange head.
“Hey, little guy.” I kept my voice soft. “It’s okay.”
Chaos was having none of it. He twisted in Beckett’s hands, claws out, clearly ready to defend himself against this new threat.
“Maybe not today,” I said, pulling back.
“He’ll come around.” Beckett settled the kitten against his chest, where Chaos immediately calmed. “Just takes time. And patience. And occasionally some blood loss.”
“You have pets?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Something shifted in his expression. “Not anymore. You?”
“No.” The word shot out of me. Pets meant staying in one place. Meant vet records and registrations and all the traces I couldn’t afford to leave.
“Never? No childhood dog or goldfish or anything?”
“We had a cat when I was little.” The memory surfaced unexpectedly. “Mittens. Super original, I know. He liked to sleep on my brother’s head.”
Too late, I realized what I’d said. Brother. Past tense. Details I shouldn’t share.
Beckett’s eyes sharpened. “Your brother didn’t mind?”
“He pretended to.” I focused on Chaos, safer than meeting those searching eyes. “But he never made Mittens move.”
“Sounds like a good brother.”
My throat closed. I managed a nod.
Beckett shifted Chaos to one hand, reaching out like he might touch my shoulder. I stepped back instinctively, the movement as automatic as breathing.
He let his hand drop. “I know you have secrets, Audra.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “Everyone has secrets.”
“True.” He studied me with those storm-gray eyes that seemed to see straight through my skin to all the broken pieces underneath. “But not everyone’s running from them.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are.” His voice stayed gentle, matter-of-fact. “I’ve seen it before. In war zones. In victims. Hell, in my own mirror some days.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the afternoon sun. “I should get back to work.”
“I know I’m not the easiest person to talk to.” He said it like a confession. “I know that. But if you need help—any kind of help—I’d like to try.”
“Why?” The question escaped before I could stop it. “You don’t even know me.”
He was quiet for a long moment, absently stroking Chaos’s orange fur. “Because I feel like I do. Somehow. Like we’ve met before, or should have, or…” He shook his head. “I’m not explaining it well.”
My chest ached. He felt it too, that connection. The echo between us, the ghost of something coloring every interaction.
“Anyway.” He shrugged. “Whatever you’re running from, you don’t have to face it alone.”
“Some things you do have to face alone.” My voice came out raw. “It’s the only option.”
“Nothing is ever the only option.”
