Page 63 of Beckett
Chapter 20
Beckett
The late-afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the gravel as I walked from the kennels toward the guest house, my shirt stuck to my back with sweat from the training session. Atlas had finally mastered the perimeter sweep I’d been drilling into him for weeks, while Duke and Rosie had executed their tracking exercises flawlessly. Good dogs. Predictable. They did what they were trained to do, unlike the chaos that had become my life since Audra showed up.
The smell hit me first—meat searing, garlic, something sweet baking. My steps slowed as I approached the front door. Through the window, I could see movement in the kitchen. Audra was here, cooking.
I’d been reserved for the past couple of days. PTSD was a beast that didn’t take things like basic conversation into consideration. Didn’t care that today was my birthday. If anything, my PTSD liked to remind me that Rodriguez wasn’tever going to have more birthdays, so there was no way I should get to enjoy mine.
Audra had given me space to work through it. She hadn’t crowded me or pouted because I wasn’t paying her attention. She’d just offered her sweet smile when she caught my eye and still held me at night even when I was distant during the day.
And now she was here. I pushed open the door and froze. The small table was set with two plates, actual cloth napkins that hadn’t been there this morning, and a candle that looked suspiciously new sitting between them. The whole place smelled like a real home instead of the functional space I’d been inhabiting.
“Perfect timing.” Audra turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. Her smile was bright, but something flickered underneath it, immediately drawing my attention. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“What’s all this?” I moved deeper into the room, noticing the changes. She’d cleaned—really cleaned. The windows sparkled. The counters gleamed. Even the ancient coffeemaker looked like it had been resurrected from the dead.
“I made dinner.” She turned back to the stove, stirring something in a pan. “Rib eye steaks, baked potatoes, green beans. Hope you’re hungry.”
I was, but that wasn’t the point. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to.” Her shoulders tensed slightly as she plated the steaks. “It’s your birthday.”
The words landed like a punch. I hadn’t told anyone. Hadn’t mentioned it. Hell, I’d been trying to forget it myself—thirty-four years old and what did I have to show for it besides dead friends and nightmares?
“How did you?—”
“Coop.” She carried both plates to the table, movements precise and careful. “I ran into him at the grocery store. He mentioned it.”
There was something off about the way she said it. A tightness around her eyes, a forced casualness that didn’t fit. She set the plates down and gestured for me to sit, but I stayed standing, watching her.
“Coop needs to mind his own business.”
“He was just being nice.” She moved to pull something from the oven—rolls, golden and steaming. “We chatted for a minute while he was stocking up on protein.”
That flutter again, like she was editing as she spoke. My instincts, honed by years of reading hostile situations, started firing. Something had happened at the grocery store. Something she didn’t want to talk about.
“Everything okay?” I kept my voice neutral, moving to wash my hands at the sink.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Too bright. Too quick. “It’s your birthday.”
I dried my hands slowly, studying her reflection in the window above the sink. She was arranging the rolls in a basket, but her hands shook slightly. Just a tremor, barely visible, but there.
“Audra.”
She stilled and glanced out the window. “The steak’s getting cold.”
I turned, leaning against the counter. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.” She met my eyes, and the smile she gave me was beautiful and completely false. “Can’t a woman make a birthday dinner for someone who’s been kind to her without it being a thing?”
Kind. That word sat wrong between us.Kindwas what you called strangers who held doors or helped with groceries. Not whatever this was between us.
But I let it go. For now.
“Smells amazing.” I pulled out her chair first, old habits from a mother who’d insisted on manners even when we barely had food on the table.
She sat, that false smile wavering for just a moment before reforming. “Todd taught me this recipe. Said steak was foolproof for impressing people.”
