FRACTURED HONOR

by Kaylea Cross

  Carter snorted. “I just knocked the arrogant asshole down a few pegs, that’s all.” He said it like it was no big deal.

  “Yeah, and that’s your problem right there. You think it’s all right when it’s anything but. I warned you about that shit before.”

  Carter’s almost black eyes widened in disbelief for a split-second, then hardened like bits of obsidian. A cynical sneer twisted his mouth. “So it’s like that? Over a decade of service together, and you’re going to take his side over mine without even knowing how it went down? Where’s your loyalty?”

  Beckett flexed his jaw. “You really wanna stand there and talk to me about loyalty, Boyd?”

  Carter’s chin came up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He knew exactly what it meant, but if Carter really wanted to get into this, fine with him. “We gave you a second chance by hiring you.” When no one else would. “You were in a bad place, and you needed steady work to give you an income and a sense of meaning and purpose. That’s why we offered you the job in the first place, because we wanted to see you back on your feet again.” Technically his dad had offered Carter the job, but he’d done it at Beckett’s request.

  “Yeah, after you sold me out and had me booted out of the Army with that report you wrote when I tried to come back after the TBI.” Bitterness and accusation dripped from every word.

  Beckett sucked in a sharp breath. Was he serious? “You weren’t fit to serve anymore, and you know it. There was no other option but medical discharge.”

  “Bullshit. You’d already made up your mind before I set foot back on U.S. soil. And this pity job you offered me meant my wife and I packed up, left everything and everyone else behind in North Carolina to come here to help your dad out.”

  Becket let out a humorless laugh. “I see. So you did me the favor, is that it?”

  Carter stuck his jaw out, his pose and body language screaming belligerence. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  This was such. Bullshit. Beckett shook his head. “What the hell’s going on with you, man? This isn’t you.” The man standing in front of him now was practically a stranger. The Carter he knew was fun-loving, hard-working and solid in any situation, including combat. The kind of guy you wanted beside you during a firefight, and someone who would give the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it.

  “This is the new me since my head got fucked up.” He spread his arms apart, a bitter smile on his face. “Embrace it, baby.”

  “Screw that. Where’s the guy I was proud to have under my command?”

  Carter gave him a look that sent a chill up his spine. “He’s gone, Beck. He died in the IED blast. Don’t you get it?”

  “Then you need to get more help—”

  “I’ve been getting help! What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Huh?” His face twisted with a heartbreaking combination of fury and pain. “You think I like being this way? Losing my mind to the point that my own wife is scared of me? That she cringes whenever I get too close now?”

  Wait, what? Molly was afraid of him? “What do you mean?” This was the first he’d heard of it.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it fucking does,” Beckett said, glaring at him. “If you were anyone else, I would’ve fired your ass weeks ago because of your behavior. But I’ve been holding on, trying to smooth things over every time you cause a problem, giving you chance after chance to get a grip on yourself because I know you’re going through a hard time. But I won’t do that anymore, not even for you. Do you know how many guys I’ve lost because of you? I can’t afford to start losing paying customers too. This town’s too small, and the company’s reputation is everything.” It’s all I’ve got left. He bit the words back.

  A humorless laugh. “So it’s my fault. Automatically it’s all my fault, right? Because I’m the crazy, brain-damaged fuck up.”

  Beckett fought the urge to roll his eyes. He hated when people played the pity card. Couldn’t respect it from one of his own, a fellow warrior, no matter how shitty Carter’s current situation was. “Nobody said you’re a fuck up.”

  “You just did.” Carter shook his head, anger or maybe frustration building in his gaze again. “The guys who quit because I wouldn’t put up with their shitty work ethic, and this customer who thinks he can walk all over me and say whatever the hell he wants just because he’s paying us. That’s on me, huh? I’m in the wrong?”

  “Yes. Because I need those guys to get the job done, and we need the customer to be happy so he pays us. You know this. Christ, we’ve been over it so many damn times over the past few months. What the hell is your problem? Do you want me to fire you? Because I’m right there.”

  Carter took a menacing step toward him, his fists clenched at his sides, face set. Beckett tensed and lowered his arms, ready to defend himself if they came to blows.

  Unbelievable. Was the stupid bastard actually going to attack him? Because if he did it wouldn’t be pretty. And Beckett really didn’t want to make Carter hurt any more than he already was.

  Thankfully Carter stopped a few paces away and shook his head slowly, the disgust on his face a punch to the gut. “You know what? You’re not worth it. I’m dealing with enough shit, I don’t need any more. I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I’m done.” He undid his tool belt, dropped it with a thud on the new floor and stalked past Beckett, heading for the stairs.

  Stunned, it took Beckett a moment to recover. “Boyd,” he snapped out, using his commanding officer voice.

  Carter stopped automatically in response, the muscles in his back taut under the fabric of his sweat-dampened T-shirt, but didn’t look back at him.

  “You walk away right now, like this, and you and I are done.” Not a threat. A promise. And he didn’t mean just the job. Carter had crossed too many lines with him already. If he crossed this one, Beckett was finished with him, period.

  Carter didn’t turn around. “Fuck you, Beck.” He walked away without looking back.

  Left there to stew with impotent rage boiling in his veins, Beckett sucked in a long, steadying breath and battled back the sharp edge of his temper. Fuck this whole thing.

  Carter’s truck engine roared to life out front, then the sustained squeal of tires came as he peeled away down the street.

  “Shit,” Beckett snarled, wanting to punch something. Ten years of friendship and trust had just imploded in front of him, and there was no fixing it now.

  It felt like he’d swallowed a belly full of concrete, the mantle of guilt settling across his shoulders making the ache in his lower back sharper. Now Carter had no job, which meant that soon he would have only his disability coming in. Molly would struggle to cover all their expenses on her own. And that comment about her being afraid of Carter didn’t sit well in Beckett’s gut.

  He whipped out his phone and dialed Jase as he jogged down the stairs. Jase had always been tightest with Carter. If anyone could neutralize this situation, he could. “Hey, shit hit the fan with Boyd and he just peeled out of here like a bat outta hell.” He needed to make sure Carter didn’t go off the deep end. To have any chance at that, he needed to talk to Molly.

  “Ah, shit. He going home, you think?” Jase’s tone was worried.

  “Dunno, but I want to be there for Molly just in case. Can you meet me over there in ten?”

  ****

  I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him for what he did to me.

  Yeah, Beckett Hollister was living on borrowed time, and he had no freaking clue.

  In the rearview mirror Hollister appeared on the sidewalk, locking himself out of the damn project house before climbing into his own truck and driving away in the opposite direction.

  Coward. Fucking coward, turning his back on the people who counted on him.

  The cold, hard rage had been building for months. Now it had solidified into a core of steel. Unbreakable. Unforgiving.

  Hollister had destroyed so many lives, yet here he was, alive
and well. He somehow got to carry on living his own life back here in his hometown, where everybody hero-worshipped him because of his service to his country. His sacrifice.

  Rage boiled to the surface, hot and out of control. What the fuck did he know about sacrifice? He didn’t know the true meaning of the word, or what real pain felt like.

  It had taken a long time to find out what really happened that day in Syria. The answer hadn’t come as a surprise. Now Hollister had quit the Army and moved back home, as lost as the rest of them.

  Crimson Point was claustrophobic. Everyone knew everyone, except for the flood of tourists that were already beginning to trickle in with the warmer weather. There was nowhere to hide here, nowhere to breathe.

  With his background, Hollister was a formidable target, even for someone with training. But every man had his weakness. Now I know his.

  Syria.

  More rage stoked the flames, the burning need for revenge. Hollister would die for what he’d done. Shooting him would be easy, but it also wasn’t enough. He had to suffer first. Had to know why he was dying. For whom he was dying.

  His life for the lives he’d so carelessly ruined. It was the only way.

  Calm down. Breathe. Breathe, like your shrink taught you.

  It was so hard to think through the anger. Damn near impossible to find the patience to wait, think this through and plan it properly.

  Hollister was best friends with the town sheriff. That made this a lot trickier.

  Even though it was hard to wait, there was no other way. So many long, agonizing months had already passed since everything had fallen apart. What was a few days more?

  Chapter Five

  Sierra let out her last patient of the day—a gorgeous Golden Retriever—and his visiting female owner onto Front Street, and sighed. She’d been in surgery all afternoon and had stayed late to accommodate the pup’s owner. Now she was starving and craving a night home on her couch with some takeout while she edited her latest set of photos she’d taken on the beach, but maybe that wasn’t a good idea since it gave her all kinds of time to be alone and think about Beckett.

  He’d been on her mind all day. What was his problem with her?

  Maybe he still thinks you’re too young for him to be bothered with.

  The thought was disheartening to say the least. She was eight years younger than him, less than a decade. Not that big a gap in her mind, but maybe it was in his, even though they were both adults.

  The logical part of her said it was for the best. She’d crushed on him for so long, had built him up in her head to the point of ridiculous. The reality was bound to be a dismal disappointment.

  Beckett had about as much romance in him as a rock. And he was also closed-off emotionally. She would never enter another relationship with a man who kept his feelings to himself all the time. It would make her insane, and eventually make her miserable. So in truth it was safer and healthier for her to just keep Beckett as fantasy material and nothing more.

  Her assistant Macy was still at the reception desk out front, breaking her out of her thoughts. “You can go on home,” Sierra told her. “I’ll lock up when I leave.”

  After finishing up her files for the day she shut everything down and had the key in the rear door of the clinic when the sound of squealing tires caught her attention. Startled, she glanced toward Front Street in time to see Carter’s dark blue pickup peel around the corner and race past her building, tires smoking.

  Frozen there on the sidewalk, Sierra caught a glimpse of his face in the instant before he whipped past. The rage in his expression made her stomach cramp, and brought with it a feeling of foreboding. Clearly something bad had happened. And if he was heading home…

  Worry for Molly kicked her into high gear. Given their recent conversation and since Carter had been acting unpredictable lately, Sierra wasn’t taking any chances. She had to warn her friend.

  She locked the door as fast as she could and ran around the side of the building to hop in her car. She headed straight for Molly and Carter’s place, calling her friend’s cell on the way, but Molly didn’t answer.

  Molly’s car was parked out front when she arrived at the rental house, and there was no sign of Carter’s truck. Breathing a little easier, Sierra went around back and rapped on the door, the evening air heavy and strangely muggy for this time of year.

  “Come on in,” Molly called out.

  The scent of something spicy and delicious hit her along with the mellow notes of old jazz the moment she pushed the door open. “It’s me. Something smells good.”

  “Chicken enchiladas.” Molly appeared around the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall with a warm smile, her curls pulled up into a ponytail, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “You hungry?”

  “I’m famished.”

  “Well get in here and I’ll fix that.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Sierra took off her shoes and started down the hallway. The two-bedroom rental bungalow had been all bland neutrals when Molly and Carter moved in, and her friend had since transformed it with bright pops of color.

  Now Molly’s bold and vivid personality was evident in every room, from the art to the rich paint colors on the walls. The kitchen and great room were painted a deep, jewel-toned teal, set off by crisp white moldings and cabinetry. Molly had managed to breathe new life into the neglected mid-century property, and now the entire place felt cozy and homey.

  “Long day?” Molly asked, glancing up as she pulled a casserole dish from the oven.

  “Pretty long.” She wanted to ease into this, rather than just blurt out what she’d seen. It might mean nothing. Then again, it probably did. “You heard from Carter tonight?”

  “No, why?” Molly placed the casserole dish on the counter in front of her, the cheese all melted and golden on top, the rich red sauce bubbling up around the edges of the enchiladas.

  “I saw him peel past the clinic as I was leaving. He looked pissed.”

  “So what else is new?” Molly muttered, cutting them servings.

  A little startled by the buried anger in her voice, Sierra let the subject drop. “Did you make this from scratch?” she asked instead.

  “Mostly. Except I used roasted chicken from the store instead of cooking my own.”

  Yeah, she’d made it from scratch. No surprise. “Close enough.”

  “Exactly. Wine?”

  “God, yes.”

  Molly pulled a chilled bottle of white from the fridge, poured them both a glass, and sat at the kitchen table with a smile. “Ten minutes, then we can eat. Carter was supposed to be here by six, but as you can see he’s not here again, so I’m not waiting for him.” She took a sip. “What brings you by?”

  She could lie. Make up some excuse like she’d just felt like dropping by and hanging out. Except she’d never done that on a work night before, not unless they already had plans. And Molly wouldn’t thank her for not being straight with her.

  “I was worried about you.”

  Molly’s expression softened. “I’m okay, Si.”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. In case he came here and…” She mentally winced at the last bit, unsure if she’d overstepped or interfered.

  “Took it out on me,” Molly finished.

  She nodded. “Right.”

  Molly lowered her gaze, her expression falling along with her shoulders. “I appreciate your concern, but if he was that mad he probably went straight to the bar.” She picked up her wine, took a big swallow, again not meeting Sierra’s eyes.

  “Maybe it’s nothing. God, maybe I overreacted.” She reached for Molly’s free hand. “I’m sorry, now I feel stupid. Do you want me to go?”

  Molly looked at her, put on a smile. “No, I’m glad for the company. And for knowing you care so much. After what I told you earlier, I can understand why you came over.”

  “Okay, good. I was ready to get up and slink out the back door,” she said with a light l
augh.

  “No.” Molly blew out a breath. “Now let’s eat.”

  “Let’s.”

  Molly was at the kitchen counter serving up helpings of the enchiladas when someone rapped on the front door. Both of them looked toward it as Molly called out her standard, “It’s open.”

  Sierra sat up straighter, her heart rate quickening when Beckett appeared in the doorway a moment later, Jase right behind wearing his trademark charcoal gray tweed newsboy flat cap.

  Beckett’s rugged face tightened for a moment when he saw her sitting there at Molly’s kitchen table. “Hi.”

  She gave him a bright smile. “Hi. I just dropped by to visit and Molly took pity on me and decided to feed me.” Oh, man, it couldn’t be good that both he and Jase were here together, but she loved seeing him again.

  Beckett nodded, shifted his gaze to Molly as the men entered the kitchen.

  Before he could get another word out, Molly faced him and folded her arms, spatula still in hand, a hard look on her face. “What did he do now?”

  FOR A MOMENT Beckett wasn’t sure how to answer. He was secretly relieved that Sierra was here and Carter wasn’t. Things were bad enough between him and his former teammate without adding more friction and hard feelings. At least now he had both Jase and Sierra here to help calm the situation if Carter showed up.

  Beckett glanced at Sierra, aware of her gaze on him and the way it made his skin tingle like low voltage electricity, then back at Molly. He didn’t want to do this with an audience. “Maybe we should talk alone.”

  Molly didn’t budge. “Nope. Whatever you guys came here to say, you can say in front of Sierra. And I’m guessing it has something to do with Carter screaming up Front Street in his truck as he passed her a little while ago. You want some?” she asked, changing subjects as she dug out another helping from the casserole dish.