FRACTURED HONOR

by Kaylea Cross

  Three weeks had passed since the failed op in Syria, and it still haunted him no matter how hard he tried to shake it. That day had somehow broken the lock on the vault where he kept everything he wanted to compartmentalize, and he couldn’t shut the lid anymore.

  Nights were the worst, when his subconscious ravaged him with dreams that were a combination of nightmare and flashback. So many times he woke in a cold sweat with his heart in his throat, his conscience accusing him that he was the reason those men had died.

  Two of the hostages killed had been single, but Cole Goodman had been engaged and planning to be married just after Christmas. His family and fiancée would never know the truth about how he died.

  The incident was classified. The government would either have told them nothing, or made up some bullshit story about his death to cover up the truth when they released his body to the family. Today, eleven days after burying Goodman, they had spent Thanksgiving knowing he was gone forever, without any answers to help give them any sense of comfort or closure.

  Not that the truth would have given them any comfort, but rather the opposite.

  Beckett knew what had happened out there, and his conscience was still grappling with it. With the guilt.

  It told him he didn’t deserve to be back here in his beloved Oregon Coast today. Didn’t deserve to enjoy the holiday when helpless men had been murdered on his watch.

  Then there was the news he had received this afternoon, the entire reason he’d come home for a short leave in the first place. Right now it felt like he was one more kick away from crumbling, and for a man who prided himself on his inner strength, that shook him to his core.

  Beckett consciously relaxed his taut muscles and exhaled. He wasn’t good company right now, and looking at that cozy front entry before him, part of him didn’t want to intrude on their celebration. Hard enough to see the idyllic Buchanan family portrait he was sure he would find inside. A hundred times harder to see it today with everything going on inside him and come face-to-face with the forbidden woman he’d wanted for too damn long now and could never have.

  Get moving, soldier.

  He made himself pick up the gift on the passenger seat anyway, his lower back protesting with a sharp twinge as he slid out of the truck. Years of carrying heavy rucks up and down mountains and other punishment had taken its toll, leaving his body with a daily physical reminder that his service had changed him forever.

  A gust of sharp, salt-scented wind hit him as he hunched against the driving rain and strode up the walkway to the front door painted a cheery red and decorated with a dark evergreen wreath for the holidays. Mixing with the wind, the muted roar of the ocean came from behind the house, positioned on the bank just a few hundred yards up from the beach.

  On the front porch, sheltered from the rain, he listened to the murmur of voices and muted laughter coming from inside. He could picture the scene so easily. Everyone would be eating and talking around the large table, enjoying each other’s company. And Sierra would have her beloved camera with her to document it all for posterity.

  On the other side of that door, warmth and life beckoned to him, while he stood outside cold all the way to his soul.

  Steeling himself, he rang the bell.

  Footsteps sounded in the entryway, then the door swung open. The happy Thanksgiving greeting he had ready died on his tongue as he stared at the vision before him. He’d thought he was prepared for what the sight of her would do to him, but he’d been wrong. A hard pressure hit him in the center of his chest, like he’d just taken a round to the heart.

  Sierra wore a raspberry-red dress that hugged every delectable curve, her long, chestnut-brown hair falling in loose waves around her shoulder. Her face lit up at the sight of him, her deep blue eyes widening in surprise. “Beckett!” She stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck in a warm hug, pressing that luscious body against him. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

  He returned the hug, a little stiff and awkward. She was only eight years younger than him but most of the time he felt ancient compared to her. She was warm and open; he was closed and cynical.

  And so empty inside that right now he forgot what happy felt like.

  “You too.” He released her immediately and leaned back, putting some distance between them.

  Every damn time he saw her, the attraction got stronger. He didn’t like it. Wasn’t even sure when he’d first seen her as a desirable woman instead of his best friend’s little sister, but somewhere over the past three years since his divorce had gone through, he could no longer see her in the platonic way he had before.

  Now Sierra Buchanan was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on and his body and mind didn’t care that she was practically his family. Good thing his heart—or what was left of it—did.

  She stepped back, gave him another high-wattage smile that in spite of everything going on began to thaw the icy void inside him. She’d always done that for him, warmed him from the inside out even on the days when the wind blew the coldest. “Come in.”

  He thought about simply handing over his gift, saying a quick hello to Noah and the other guests before leaving, but his feet were already taking him onto the rug in the entryway.

  Sierra shut the door against the cold wind and faced him, the top of her deep red dress dipping down to reveal the sexy cleavage he shouldn’t be noticing and was trying his damndest not to stare at. “Are your parents here too?” he made himself ask.

  “Yes, they flew in a couple days ago. Guys, Beckett’s here,” she called out over her shoulder, then faced him again. “I wish you’d let us know you were coming home, we would have invited you. Come on, take off your coat and stay awhile. I’ll get you a plate,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “We were just putting all the leftovers away.”

  “I can’t stay,” he said, stopping her in her tracks. It was too hard to be here now.

  Not that his argument had any effect on her, because she shot him a frown and shook her head. “You can stay for a plate.” She grabbed his hand and towed him behind her.

  His lifelong best friend Noah appeared in the kitchen doorway dressed in casual clothes instead of his sheriff’s uniform, a towel over one shoulder, his parents behind him. “Hey, man,” he said with a big smile, and pulled Beckett into a quick, back-slapping hug. “Didn’t know you were back.”

  “Just got in the other night.” Only his father had known he was coming back.

  “Beckett, hi. It’s wonderful to see you again,” Mrs. Buchanan exclaimed, an older version of her daughter as she drew him into a Chanel-scented hug. The top of her head barely reached his collarbones and her familiar smell triggered a cascade of nostalgic memories, of family dinners and summer vacations the Buchanans had included him in. Since it had been just Beckett and his dad for most of his life, the Buchanans had been the extended family he’d never had.

  “You too.” He let her go and shook Mr. Buchanan’s hand. “Sir.”

  “Great to see you, son.”

  Noah wiped his hands on the dishtowel. “You here on leave, or…?”

  “Yeah. Just for a few days,” Beckett answered.

  “So short?” Mrs. Buchanan said, sounding disappointed.

  Beckett nodded. “I had some things to take care of here at home, but they want me back asap.”

  She studied him a moment, but when he didn’t say more, took her husband’s arm. “Let’s get this boy a plate before he fades away.” They retreated into the kitchen, leaving him alone with Sierra and Noah.

  Sierra tilted her head to study him, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “Everything okay?”

  She still read him well. Too well. “I came to tell you both I’m getting out. It’s time.”

  “Out of the Army?” Noah asked, clearly surprised. “Will you be moving back for good, then?”

  He nodded. “I’ve got a little over three months left to serve, but yeah, that’s the plan.”

  “Oh, that�
�s great,” Sierra said with a smile. “Bet your dad is excited about that. Did you guys have Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “No.” Not even close.

  “You should call him, invite him over here for something to eat. We’ve got plenty. You guys can help us put up the Christmas tree after.”

  She had no way of knowing how her words twisted him up inside. “Thanks, but he’s not up for company right now.” Neither am I.

  She and Noah both looked at him sharply. “Why, what’s wrong?” Noah asked.

  There was no point in hiding it. They would find out soon enough, and they were like family to him. “Terminal cancer.” The words still shook him, made the ice come creeping back.

  Sierra gasped, one hand going to her mouth. “No.”

  He nodded, still stunned by the news. “He’s got six months left, they think. Maybe more. Could be less.”

  Her eyes filled with sympathy and understanding and she lowered her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Jesus, I had no clue,” Noah said with a shake of his head.

  Beckett shrugged. “He didn’t want anyone to know he was sick.”

  “Is that why you came back?” Sierra asked.

  “Yes. He got the initial diagnosis last week. I wanted to be with him at the appointment yesterday when they gave us the prognosis.”

  “What about treatment options?” Noah asked, frowning in concern.

  He shook his head. “He doesn’t want to go through any of that if it would only buy him another few months at most. Not after seeing what my mom went through.” Cold spread through his gut at the memory. He was about to face all that again, and he dreaded it more than anything.

  “I’m so sorry,” Sierra said.

  “Me too,” said Noah.

  “Thanks.” Tough as it had been to get that news and a hard timeline on the remainder of his father’s life, at least Beckett would never have to regret not being there with him when it was handed down.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Noah asked.

  “I would sure appreciate it if somebody would check in on him over the next few months while I’m gone.”

  “Of course, we’ll take care of it.” No hesitation, and Sierra nodded her assurance too.

  “Thank you.” It meant a lot to him.

  “It’s the least we can do, man.” Noah clapped him on the shoulder, squeezed. “You guys are like family to us.”

  “I know.” God, he needed to go.

  “Beckett, better get in here and start on this mountain of food my wife’s piled on this plate,” Mr. Buchanan called from the kitchen.

  He wasn’t really in the mood to eat, even if he was hungry, and being around his second family tonight was bittersweet. He would stay for a little while, maybe see if he could take his dad home a slice of pumpkin pie to cheer him up a bit. “Okay.”

  “Come on.” Sierra gave him a little smile and took his hand, leading him into the kitchen, her citrusy scent trailing in her wake. Her camera sat on the island, no doubt full of pictures of their family holiday.

  He did his best to be sociable and visit while he ate, even if his heart wasn’t in it. He’d missed them all, especially Noah and Sierra. Well, he’d missed Sierra too much, and couldn’t seem to stop his thoughts from going where they shouldn’t where she was concerned. Her in that dress was forever etched into his mind now. As well as the fantasy of peeling it off her.

  “You’re gonna stay and help us with the tree, right?” Mrs. Buchanan asked. “It’s tradition.”

  He put on a smile. A tiny part of him was tempted to stay. To escape his reality for a little while longer and spend time in this cozy, loving place with people who cared about him. “Wish I could, but I have other plans. Do you think I could steal a piece of pie for my dad?”

  “Of course you can. In fact, you can have a whole pie. We made one too many. And I’ll pack you up a container of whipped cream for it, too.”

  “You’re the best.”

  She rose and patted his cheek. “I love you, and I’m so glad you came.”

  His whole chest tightened, all the emotion he kept carefully suppressed pounding against the sides of the vault with the busted lid. “Love you too.” She’d been like a second mother to him after his own had passed away when he was eleven.

  As if she sensed his distress, Sierra stepped in. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Thank you.

  He said goodbye to Noah and Mr. Buchanan then followed Sierra, trying and failing to keep his eyes off the sweet curve of her ass outlined by the dress. Damn, perving over her made him feel like shit. He’d known her since she was born, for Chrissake. She had always been like a little sister to him.

  But something had changed all that, and he didn’t know how to shut off these new feelings.

  In the foyer while he slipped his boots on Sierra paused in front of him and glanced at the gift he’d brought. “What’s in the box?”

  He’d wrapped it before heading over. “Oh. It’s for you.”

  “For me?” Grinning, she picked it up, gave it a little shake, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “It’s heavy. Can I open it?”

  He prayed she had no clue he wanted to bury his hands in her thick, shiny hair and kiss her, stroke his tongue into her mouth to taste all that warmth and sweetness. Lose himself in her, take that memory with him when he went back overseas. “Sure.”

  She undid the paper and opened the box, a little gasp leaving her throat. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, pulling out the hand-woven blue-and-white blanket.

  “I saw it at a market during my last deployment in Afghanistan and thought you’d like it.” He’d bought it because the deep blue reminded him of her eyes. Not that he was telling her that.

  She hugged it to her, and he wished it was him instead of the blanket. God knew he would love to be wrapped around her like one. “I love it. Thank you.”

  He fisted his hands against the urge to reach for her. “You’re welcome.” He had to go. Right the hell now.

  But Sierra set the blanket aside to search his eyes for a moment, and he had the eerie feeling she saw through his gruff exterior, all the way to the wall of ice around his heart.

  Then she reached her arms up to encircle his neck, pressing her sweet curves to him in a tender hug that made his entire body react. “Happy Thanksgiving, Beckett,” she said softly.

  Because she couldn’t see his face, he allowed himself a moment’s weakness and squeezed his eyes shut as he hugged her in return. Savoring the contact, her platonic love and affection. Knowing he could never have more than that. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “You too.”

  “Here’s some leftovers to take with you,” Mrs. Buchanan announced, hurrying from the kitchen with a bulging bag in her hands.

  Becket quickly stepped back from Sierra. “One pie?” he asked, the side of his mouth kicking up. There was way more than pie in there.

  Mrs. Buchanan shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. “And a few other things.” She held out the bag to him. “You say hello to your dad for us.”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her about the diagnosis. Noah and Sierra could tell their parents once he left. “I will. Goodnight.” He bent to kiss her on the cheek, then stole one last look at Sierra, planting the sight of her into his memory so he could take it with him, and walked out into the cold, driving rain.

  He climbed back into his truck with the feel and scent of her burned into his brain, and the certainty that he’d made the right decision in leaving when he had. The pull she had on him was too strong. And it was time for him to face the stark reality awaiting him.

  Except he now had another problem looming on the horizon.

  Crimson Point was a small town. He couldn’t avoid her forever. When he moved back here for good in another few months, for both their sakes he had to somehow figure out a way to stay the hell away from her.

  Chapter Three

  Four months later

  Sierra eyed her friend f
rom across the hospital cafeteria table in concern. A low buzz of conversation filled the room, the place busy enough that she didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing them if she kept her voice low. “Is everything okay, Moll? No offense, but you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

  “Yeah, that’s kinda part of being an ER nurse,” Molly Boyd teased in her light North Carolina drawl with a wry smile that didn’t quite reach her gold-green eyes.

  Sierra put down her fork. Molly wasn’t fooling her. There was way more to it than just being tired, and it bothered her that her friend was trying to hide whatever it was.

  They’d been friends ever since Molly and her former Green Beret husband moved to Crimson Point from North Carolina, so Carter could work with Beckett’s father at his custom renovation business. He’d needed a job and had been struggling to fit back in to civilian life after being medically discharged for a traumatic brain injury that had left him permanently disabled.

  “No. Tell me what’s wrong,” Sierra insisted. Molly and Carter had been having problems for a while now, and she suspected things were getting worse.

  Molly sighed. “I meet you for lunch so we can spend time together and have a nice visit. Not to bitch about my problems and ruin your day.”

  Ruin her day? Insulted, she sat up straighter. “Sorry, but as your best friend that offends the hell out of me. Start talking. Is it Carter?”

  Molly leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, staring at Sierra for a long moment before speaking. “Yes. He’s getting worse.”

  Dread curled in the pit of Sierra’s stomach at Molly’s grave tone. “How much worse?”

  “You sure you want to talk about this?”

  Sierra frowned. “Of course.”

  “Okay, then, it’s kinda like living with Jekyll and Hyde. On any given day I never know which Carter I’m getting.”

  That didn’t sound good. She pushed aside the spike of annoyance that Molly hadn’t told her before now, because this wasn’t about her or her feelings. “How long has it been like this?”