FRACTURED HONOR

by Kaylea Cross

  “I’m worried about him,” his dad continued. “He’s slipping.”

  Beckett exhaled, wanting to change the subject. Seriously, his dad didn’t need any more shit to worry about, least of all this. “I know. I’ll talk to him.”

  Again. For like the ninth time over the past few weeks.

  He’d thought about moving Carter out of the project manager position and just making him part of the crew, but that would mean a pay cut and the demotion might make things worse. Carter’s behavior was putting him in an impossible position.

  His dad shook his salt-and-pepper head. “You’re gonna have to make a tough call soon, son. Everybody in this town knows us. Loyalty or not, you can’t let him jeopardize the business and your reputation.”

  He grunted. “Just eat your donut, will you? I’m on it.”

  His father lifted the donut to his mouth, took a tiny bite to appease him. Beckett’s heart sank. Before he got sick, his old man would have polished off most of the bag by now. Now those sunken, deep brown eyes were filled with regret. “I’m sorry I’ve dumped all this on you. I know it’s a lot to ask of you when you’re trying to get your life together.”

  “What are you talking about,” Beckett grumbled, stuffing more donut into his mouth. Conversations like this made him itchy as hell. “You haven’t dumped anything on me, and you know I was gonna get out of the Army anyhow. I needed something to keep me busy once I got home, and I’m happy to help you out.”

  He wiped his hands on a napkin, handed one to his dad, and changed the subject. “Anyway, have you been thinking any more about your list?” A bucket list of sorts. Items that his dad wanted wrapped up before he got too ill to be able to tackle them.

  His expression turned thoughtful. “I guess backpacking through Europe’s definitely out, huh?”

  Beckett forced a grin even though it hurt his face to do it. “I think for now, yeah.”

  “Then just business and estate stuff, and we’ve got almost all of that buttoned up now.” His gaze strayed past Beckett to the window that overlooked a small park. The sky was pure blue today, a few fluffy clouds drifting by on the breeze, the sun glinting off the waves rolling onto the beach off in the distance. “I sure do miss being out there. I miss the water most of all. The smell of it. The way it sounds.”

  A hundred bittersweet memories hit Beckett at those words. Countless hours spent out fishing with his dad in their aluminum boat. Walking for miles and miles up the beach, picking up shells or driftwood or bits of sea glass to add to the garden his mother had made. Bonfires on the beach in the evenings throughout the summer and fall, when they’d roast marshmallows and hotdogs or steam a pot of mussels and clams they’d gathered and share them with friends or neighbors.

  The sea, the coast, were part of them and their heritage. It wasn’t right that his father should have to spend his last days cooped up in here, away from the ocean that gave him such peace.

  His dad paused. “I miss home. There’s no place on earth like Crimson Point.”

  Beckett didn’t answer. They had talked about keeping his dad at home and bringing in a private nurse to look after him, but that would have run through their savings and lines of credit before they knew it. This was the best they could do.

  He ran through some ideas in his head. He’d have to talk to the medical staff, but if his dad was up to it in the next little while, Beckett wanted to get him out of here for at least a few hours. Do something together that they used to enjoy, just the two of them. Give his dad some fun, something happy to focus on and a new memory to cherish instead of lying in here day after day waiting to die while his body slowly failed him.

  His dad remained quiet, his gaunt gaze growing unfocused. He lowered the unfinished donut to his lap, and moments later his eyelids began to droop.

  Beckett reached out to take the donut, then wiped his father’s fingers clean while a boulder-sized lump formed in his throat. Cancer was a shitty way for a good, kind man like him to die. Every single day Beckett got with his father now was a gift, and he wouldn’t forget it.

  “Sorry,” his dad said with a weary smile that was a shadow of its former self. “Tired.”

  “Sugar crash,” Beckett said, his tone a lot lighter than the weight in his chest. “I’ll let you nap and leave the rest of these here for you just in case.” He set them on the side table and stood, pain twisting inside him at the sight of his father’s now frail form lying in the bed. “Gonna head into the new jobsite to check on everything, but I’ll have my cell on me. Call me if you need anything, okay? I can bring dinner by if you don’t feel like eating what they give you.”

  “Will do.” Those familiar deep brown eyes met Beckett’s, a distressed expression in them. “Love you, son.”

  The hitch in Beckett’s chest was so sharp it was all he could do not to wince, let alone draw in a breath. “Love you too, Dad.” The hitch turned into a deep ache as he walked out into the hallway. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing him, but it didn’t matter because that day was coming up fast whether he liked it or not.

  And when it did, he would have no one.

  Chapter Four

  After a long day spent running back and forth from the office to the three project sites the company currently had on the go and then a meeting with a prospective new client, Beckett finally got to drive home. The sun was just beginning to set, scattering swathes of red and gold over the calm ocean.

  Rose-tinted light glistened on the wet sand and cast a warm glow over the restored clapboard and shingled buildings he passed along Front Street. Seagulls circled overhead, their cries reaching him inside the truck. People had started to put more money into the town within the last decade, sprucing up the shops and restaurants to draw in the tourists that flocked here from late spring to fall. It was still the place he’d known as a kid, and he’d missed it while he was gone.

  Turning right off Front Street, he drove half a mile down and turned onto Salt Spray Lane. The narrow lane sloped down through a band of forest as it wound back around toward the water. Until five years ago it had been a dirt road, worn by years of traffic. As a kid he’d ridden his bike through here every day, and he still knew every path that branched from it, knew exactly where they led through the thick forest or down the sandy dunes to the beach.

  At the top of the rise, his childhood home came into view.

  Beckett smiled. The 1890s Queen Anne-style house stood perched atop a cliff overlooking the prettiest piece of the Pacific coastline in the state. The cedar siding sported a fresh coat of blue and green paint, little bits of cream accenting the scalloped shingles in the upper part of the high turret and in the gables.

  It had been in Beckett’s family since 1906, and over the years its various owners had left their mark on the Victorian beauty. His childhood bedroom was tucked up in the attic that his father had renovated just for him.

  The landscaper was just pulling out of the driveway in his van when Beckett reached it. His dad had preferred to cut the grass by himself, but after Beckett’s mom passed away, tending the garden beds on the property had gotten to be too much, so he’d hired Paul to tend them once a week.

  Beckett waved at him as he passed by. The garden looked amazing thanks to Paul’s care. Beckett’s mom would have liked that.

  He parked out front of the detached garage, grabbed all his stuff and headed for the wraparound porch. As a kid he had raced barefoot across the lush green grass beneath arbors dripping with honeysuckle and clematis, past the white picket fences that bordered the property where climbing roses scrambled in a riot of color all summer long. When it was warm enough he’d slept in a hammock out on the front porch, guarded by mosquito netting.

  After he’d moved back here he had intended to rent a place of his own, but his father had insisted he stay here and the truth was Beckett loved this place and all its memories.

  Heading for the back steps, he passed a rosebush just coming into bloom and stopped short when he saw the eig
ht-year-old blond girl sitting on the porch swing. She didn’t look up at him, focused on writing in the notebook in her lap.

  Beckett sighed. He’d been looking forward to a cold beer and some solitude on the back porch, but she was a sweet kid and wasn’t any trouble. He was pretty shitty company right now though, and he had no idea why she kept wanting to hang out here.

  “Hey, Ella.” She and her single mother lived in the house at the far end of the lane and in the past few weeks she had taken to hanging around his place after school from time to time.

  She looked up, her face brightening. “Hi, Mr. Beckett.”

  He kinda liked it that she called him that. His boots thudded lightly on the wooden porch steps as he climbed them. “Your mom at work?” Ella was so young. Didn’t the law say she couldn’t be left alone until she was around ten or something?

  “Yes, until six.”

  Who was supposed to be watching her? The mom’s new boyfriend? “Do you have a babysitter, or someone who watches you after school until she gets home?”

  Ella gave him a sidelong look. “Sometimes.”

  He let it go for now. “Whatcha working on? Homework?”

  “No. I’m making a list of all the reasons why Mom should let me have a dog.”

  He hid a smile. “Yeah? She hasn’t backed down yet?”

  “No, but we found one at the dump last week and took him to the shelter, so I’m starting a campaign to get him.”

  A campaign? Now he was intrigued. “Really. What’s involved in this campaign?”

  “This list is the first part. My friends and I are going to come up with more ideas tomorrow.”

  He angled his head to read it. Apart from a few spelling mistakes, he was surprised by the points she had listed. I’m responsible. I will give you my allowance for a year. I will walk him before and after school. I will feed him and give him water. I will pick up his poop.

  Beckett eyed her. Her mom was tougher than he’d thought, to keep holding out against this much adorable determination. “It’s a really good list, Ella.”

  “Thank you.” She frowned in concentration. “How do you spell empathy?”

  He spelled it out for her, watched as she wrote it down under the other points. Having a pet teaches kids empathy.

  Christ. Her mom was in for a whole page of emotional manipulation when she got home tonight. Beckett almost felt sorry for her. “Dogs are a lot of work, you know. You have to be around a lot for them, you can’t just take off and do what you want, and you have to exercise them too. What about a goldfish or a hamster or something instead? Maybe your mom would be okay with one of those instead.”

  Ella wrinkled her nose. “You can’t cuddle a fish, and when they die you have to flush them down the toilet. Plus my friend had a hamster, and he bit us all the time. I want Walter.”

  “That’s the name of the dog you took to the shelter?”

  “Yes. It was on his collar. Someone took him to the dump and left him there. It’s horrible.”

  Yeah, that was a shitty-ass thing to do to any animal. “Well he’s lucky you found him, and now he’ll get adopted out into a good home.” Theoretically.

  “But if a family doesn’t adopt him in time, the shelter will put him to sleep.”

  Wow, no pulling the wool over this one’s eyes. “I’m sure someone will take him home.”

  “But I want to take him to my home.” Her big blue eyes were so earnest, it tugged at his few remaining heartstrings. “I promised him he would be mine and that I would take care of him. He’s counting on me to change my mom’s mind.”

  Beckett didn’t know what the hell to say to that, and thankfully was saved from having to make up something by his phone ringing. Weaver. “Hey, man.” Good timing. “What’s up?”

  “Got a situation happening at the new house,” Jase said.

  Beckett bit back a groan of frustration. Lemme guess… “Carter there?”

  “Yep. Got a call from the homeowner. He’s pretty upset, threatening to dump us and find another builder.”

  God dammit. Beckett had already sunk a hundred grand into ordering supplies for the custom job. “I’ll handle it.”

  “Want me to go talk to Carter?”

  “No. I’ll do it.” He was the boss, and Carter’s former commanding officer. He didn’t dodge his responsibilities, no matter how shitty they were.

  Damn. There was no way around it; he was going to have to let Carter go. And if it had been any other employee but him, Beckett would have fired his ass a long time ago.

  “I’m heading over there to see him now, then I’ll call the homeowner,” he said to Jase, then hung up, watching Ella, who was still working on her list and seemed in no hurry to go home. It felt weird to just leave her sitting out here on the porch all by herself. Crimson Point was about the safest place he could imagine, but it still felt wrong to leave her. “I have to go take care of some work things. You want me to drive you home?”

  She looked up at him. “I’d rather stay here for a while and work on my list, as long as it’s okay with you.”

  What was he gonna say, no? To that face, when she wasn’t doing anything wrong? Nuh-uh. “As long as it’s all right with your mom, then it’s okay.”

  “It is.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Did she say that?”

  “Yes.”

  Beckett wasn’t sure if he believed her, but he didn’t have time to argue about it right now. She was safe here and he would talk to Tiana about it later. “You wanna stay out on the porch, or would you rather watch TV inside?”

  “Out here’s fine. It’s pretty.”

  All right then. He turned toward the stairs, hesitated. “There’s a key under the stone that’s painted to look like a raccoon in the garden bed beside the back porch if you change your mind. I’ve got some bottled lemonade in the fridge and you can help yourself to some snacks.” What did he even have in there right now?

  “Thanks, but I’ll just wait here until my mom comes home.”

  “All right. See you. And good luck with the campaign.”

  “Thank you. Bye, Mr. Beckett.”

  “Bye.”

  As he drove up the driveway toward the lane, he glanced in his rearview at the little blonde sitting on his porch swing and found himself wishing he could sit out there with her instead of dealing with the bullshit he was about to face.

  Sometimes adulting sucked ass.

  Ten minutes later he parked out front of the two-story shingled house they were renovating, geared for battle. This part of town was a half-mile north of the main strip, a quiet, residential spot. Traffic was light, the sidewalk empty except for Mrs. Olsen, whom he waved at, and a woman walking her dog.

  “Is this your house?” the unfamiliar woman called out from down the sidewalk.

  He turned toward her, suppressing his irritation. With the improving weather and warming temperatures, the tourists were already starting to trickle in. Not that he had anything against tourists—they were the lifeblood of this community.

  He might not be in the mood for small talk right now, but he also couldn’t afford to be an asshole to people, residents or tourists. “No, I’m the contractor doing the renos on it.”

  “Oh.” She gazed up at the roofline, a hat and sunglasses shading her face, her dog poised beside her. “It’s beautiful. Will it be for sale, or does someone already own it?”

  “It’s owned.”

  “Darn.”

  Be polite. You’re a businessman now. Fake it if you have to. “You looking to buy in the area?”

  “I’m thinking about it. Do ocean-view properties come up for sale here very often?”

  Despite his best efforts at making small talk like a normal human being, his mind was already on the coming confrontation once he saw Carter. “From time to time. You might have better luck with a cottage you could remodel. You can ask for more real estate info at the tourist center on Front Street.” And I really couldn’t give a shit about any of this
right now, so…

  She seemed to take the hint, gave him a polite smile. “All right. Thanks.”

  While she carried on down the sidewalk with her dog in tow Beckett strode up the newly-bricked walkway leading to the project house’s front door to find Carter. Wasn’t hard. His project manager was stalking around upstairs, his heavy, angry treads thudding against the newly-laid wood floor planks.

  Bracing himself, Beckett jogged up the stairs. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but he simply couldn’t put it off any longer. Not when the reputation and wellbeing of the business his father had built over the past thirty years was at stake.

  Carter stopped when he saw him, a pile of flooring in his arms. “Hey,” he muttered, his bearded face dark as a thundercloud.

  “Hey.” Beckett stayed where he was, folded his arms and waited as Carter set the reclaimed heart of pine planks on top of the others stacked against the far wall. “Heard there was an issue today.”

  Carter dusted his hands off and turned to face him. “Guy’s a fucking asshole.”

  “Who’s paying our salaries at the moment.”

  “So?”

  He fought for patience. “So you can’t get into a fight with the guy who’s funding this whole project. He’s our customer, and like it or not, in the civilian world the customer is always right.”

  “Not in this case.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  Carter threw him an annoyed look and set his hands on his hips. He had a rugged face and was built like a bear, but whatever was happening to his mind was starting to show on the outside.

  His dark brown hair was too long and from the length of his beard he hadn’t shaved in weeks. Dark purple smudges lay beneath his eyes like bruises. Vertical creases marked the center of his forehead to the bridge of his nose, giving him a permanent scowl. He’d lost more weight, his jeans hanging low on his hips. “Not really. If I thought it was important enough to bother you with it, I would’ve called.”

  Talking to his former engineering sergeant now was like handling a live grenade with no idea of how many seconds he had left on the fuse. Beckett never knew what was going to set him off these days, or what Carter would do when he lost it. “Well it’s important enough that I got a call from Weaver about it.”