Page 44 of Beckett
“Coop?” She looked at the phone, then back at me, tears streaming down her face now. “Is that a person? A contact in your phone?”
The smallest movement that might have been a nod sent agony through my neck. The darkness wasn’t creeping anymore—it was rushing in like a tide, threatening to drag me under completely.
“Call,” I whispered, though it was more breath than sound. “Coop.”
She fumbled with the phone, the cracked screen not responding to her shaking fingers. “It’s locked. I need your passcode or—wait, your thumb? Can you?—”
I couldn’t move my hand from her arm, couldn’t manage the coordination. But she was smart, resourceful. She worked mythumb free enough to press it to the sensor, had to try three times before the phone recognized the print and unlocked with a soft click.
“Coop,” she muttered, scrolling through contacts with trembling fingers, her tears dropping onto the broken screen. “Cooper? Ryan Cooper? Is that him?”
The smallest movement. Yes. That was all I had left to give.
“Okay. I’ve got it. I’m calling him.” She looked at me, those hazel eyes wide with fear but also fierce determination. “Just hold on. I’m calling Coop. He’ll know what to do. He has to.”
The phone in her hand, my lifeline to someone who could help. She understood now. She would call him, and Coop would come, and maybe this time I wouldn’t destroy everything I touched.
Jet pressed harder against my leg, whining low in his throat. I could feel Audra’s pulse beneath my fingers, rapid and frightened. The taste of dust and blood filled my mouth. Rodriguez’s voice echoed in my head over and over, asking why I’d let him die.
The darkness flooded in like water through a broken dam, and I let it take me, knowing I’d done all I could. Got the phone to her. Got her Coop’s name. The rest was out of my hands—hands that still couldn’t let her go.
The last thing I heard was her voice, urgent and scared but determined. “Please pick up. Please, God, let him pick up…”
Everything went black.
Chapter 14
Audra
“Please pick up. Please, God, let him pick up…”
The phone rang once, twice. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it. Beckett’s grip on my arm had gone slack, his body lax on the ground. I dropped with him, trying to cushion his fall with my free arm while keeping the phone pressed to my ear.
Three rings. Four.
His eyes had rolled back, showing only white. The strong, capable man who’d been oiling hinges just minutes ago was gone, replaced by someone drowning in memories I couldn’t see. My throat felt raw from holding back sobs. This was my fault somehow. Something about that crash in the barn had triggered this, and I’d been the one making noise in there, searching for the pitchfork that had fallen?—
“What’s up, asshole?” The voice through the phone was casual, warm with the kind of affection men showed through insults.
“This isn’t— I’m not—” My voice cracked. “My name is Audra. I work at Pawsitive Connections with Beckett. Something’s wrong. Really wrong. He’s?—”
“Where is he?” The warmth vanished, replaced by sharp command. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”
“He’s on the ground. His eyes are rolled back. He was gripping me so tight I thought he’d break my arm, but now he’s barely conscious. He kept saying something about Rodriguez and covering fire and—” A sob escaped despite my efforts. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help him.”
“Listen to me, Audra. Listen very carefully.” Coop’s voice cut through my panic like a blade through rope. “Beckett’s having a PTSD episode. A bad one, from the sounds of it. You’re not in danger, but he needs specific help. Can you follow my instructions exactly?”
“Yes. Yes, anything.”
“First, is he breathing?”
I leaned closer, felt the warm puff of air against my cheek. “Yes. Fast and shallow, but yes.”
“Good. Don’t try to restrain him or hold him down. But keep your hand on him—his shoulder or his arm. Maintain that physical contact if you can. It helps ground him. But only do it if he’s not violent or hurting you—if he’s violent, get away. It’ll have worse long-standing effects if he knows he hurt you.”
It was a little too late for that, but neither Coop nor Beckett needed to know that. “He’s not violent now.”
“Okay, good. Keep talking to him. Use his name. Tell him where he is. Montana. Pawsitive Connections. Keep repeating it.”
