by Kaylea Cross
Beckett glanced away, staring out at the water. Yeah, because I want to do bad, bad things to you and it would ruin everything between us and our families. He refused to jeopardize that. For him the consequences were too high.
“Just been busy, that’s all.” Damn, with her so close it was harder and harder to hold back his feelings. Impossible not to imagine what it would be like to slide his hands into those thick, shiny waves, hold her still while he learned the shape of that sexy mouth. Her taste. Find out what little sounds she would make as he stroked and teased and caressed. Learn every curve and hollow of her fantasy-worthy shape.
Shit. What would it be like to get her naked, find every sensitive place on her body and then sink inside of her? Stay locked there and absorb the warmth she surrounded him with just by walking into the same room?
He mentally shook himself. Nope. Noah’s little sister. She’s your friend, dickhead. You don’t fuck your friends. Because that would fuck up everything.
She tipped her head to the side, considering him. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded rough.
She narrowed her eyes. “Not sure I believe you. You’ve been…distant and kind of gruff with me. For the past few years, actually.”
Since the divorce and finally admitting to himself that he wanted her. But shit, in keeping his distance he hadn’t meant to hurt her. He wasn’t sure what to say.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Yeah, you suddenly turned from Noah’s sister into the one woman I can’t stop fantasizing about. He also knew and adored her, and that made it so much worse. “No.”
Her expression said she didn’t buy it. “I hate feeling like you can’t stand to be around me.”
That’s what she thought?
He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable as hell. While he wanted to put her at ease, he couldn’t tell her why he’d tried to keep her at arm’s length this whole time. If she was interested in him—and he was pretty sure she was—admitting it would be a disaster.
“You haven’t done anything. I’ve just…got a lot going on right now. Sorry I made you feel that way.” He hoped like hell she would let it go, because with every question her hurt cut into him a little deeper and put him one step closer to blurting out his feelings.
“All right, then. So we’re still friends?” She gave him a coaxing smile, a teasing light in her eyes.
He wanted to be a hell of a lot more than that. But he also didn’t want to lose her or potentially damage his friendship with Noah if things didn’t work out. Life experience had taught him there was a good chance they wouldn’t.
It stirred up his emotions, his worst fear looming bright in his mind. He wasn’t going to do anything that posed a risk to his friendship with her and Noah. They and their parents were his alternate family. With his dad’s time running out, Beckett already faced a bleak future alone. Without the Buchanans, his life would be totally empty.
He shoved the agonizing thought aside. “Of course we’re still friends.”
“Good.” Finally she sat back and sipped her wine.
“I’ll even go back to calling you squirt, if you want.”
Sierra shot him a dark look. “Don’t you dare.”
His lips quirked, remembering that day. She’d been just a kid, not much older than Ella, but she’d insisted on tagging along with him and Noah to the beach to dig for clams for a clambake they were planning that night. “I thought it was funny.”
“Of course you did. That clam squirted me right in the eye when I picked it up.” She aimed a gratified smile at him. “I got the last laugh, though, because I ate him later. So don’t call me squirt. Makes me feel nine years old all over again.”
Would be a hell of a lot better if he could still see her as nine in his mind. “All right. I’ll try not to give into the temptation.” Of calling her by the old nickname, and this new, powerful temptation she posed simply by being near him.
“You better not.”
He exhaled a quiet breath, grateful for the reprieve, but unable to find peace with her so close yet frustratingly out of reach.
Instead he watched the ocean, took a measure of solace in the rhythm of the rolling waves, aware of everything about her. Her scent. The lines of her profile. The way the breeze tousled her hair.
He tightened his grip on his beer bottle, his free hand curling into a fist on his thigh to stem the urge to reach out and touch her. He couldn’t have her, didn’t dare consider it, and besides, his track record with relationships was shit. Christ, just look at his failed marriage, and him and Carter. A man he’d served on the front lines with for years. Their relationship was now broken beyond repair.
The darkness inside him began to spread, pulling his mood toward the edge of the black pit in his soul.
Sierra was sweet and gentle. Risks to their friendship and family dynamics aside, why the hell would she want to get involved with him?
He might be eight years older chronologically, but his soul was ten times older than hers. He was a combat-hardened soldier with all the issues that brought, and lugging around a ton of baggage on his conscience.
She didn’t need that shit. Wouldn’t want him if she truly understood how damaged he was inside.
Beckett clung to his resolve, a sense of relief washing over him. Those were damn good reasons to remain firmly in friendship territory. Because if his control around her slipped, he would be in a shitload of trouble. Sierra was everything he had ever wanted in a woman, and he knew himself.
And so he knew that if they ever crossed that invisible line, there was no way he would ever let her go.
****
“Did you hear Hollister has a dog now?” the waitress said to the customer in the next booth.
What?
“No, really?” a lady said. “I didn’t know he even liked dogs.”
“Oh, it’s the cutest story,” the waitress gushed. “I saw him as he brought the dog into the vet clinic this afternoon and heard the whole story. It’s an old mutt that looked like it was on its last leg. Apparently he rescued it from the shelter at the last moment before closing yesterday because his little neighbor had fallen in love with it.”
“Tiana’s daughter?”
“Yes. Isn’t that the sweetest story?”
The woman sighed. “Lord, if I was twenty years younger, I’d go after him myself,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s so nice to have a hero like him living in Crimson Point.”
Hero.
That word triggered the deep, burning rage that was getting harder and harder to contain. The whole fucking town saw Hollister that way. They glorified him without knowing the facts.
The women’s conversation faded into the background. It was suddenly hard to draw in air, the unfairness of it all fueling the rage, stealing the ability to breathe.
That damn dog was just another reason for the people of Crimson Point to worship their hero. But they didn’t know him. Not the real him. They didn’t know all the dark, dirty secrets he hid.
But I do.
It wasn’t the original plan, but the dog might actually help make this easier. Might provide an easier way to get to him. Yeah. Rather than a brute assault, make it look like a coincidence. Maybe meet up with him at the park or something while he was out walking the dog, or along the beach near his house.
Trying to surprise Hollister at his parents’ house was too risky. He was too well trained and battle hardened, nearly impossible to sneak up on.
But a familiar face could get up close.
A familiar face could get close enough to catch him totally off guard when he was relaxed, in a place he felt safe. Trained as he was, he could still be attacked by a person he felt safe with.
The rage receded slightly, replaced by a steely resolve. Time to go home.
Front Street was teeming with people tonight, families and tourists out enjoying dinner and the sunset. Beyond the buildings along the point, brightly-colored kites fluttered in t
he crimson and peach-tinted sky.
The idyllic scene only made the pain and anger grow hotter. Deadlier. I’ll never have any of this. Not now that Hollister has destroyed my life.
Did he ever think about what he’d done? What he hadn’t done? The cost of it, to the people he’d hurt?
No, of course not. Meanwhile everyone here in this stupid fucking town was happy to keep perpetuating the myth of their hometown hero.
Not for long, though. Soon enough Hollister would get a reminder of what he really was—a traitorous failure.
He’d turned his back on a fellow brother-in-arms. That was unforgivable. And for that he would die.
But before that happened, some psychological torment was called for.
Chapter Ten
Molly fought the urge to tap her foot on the floor as she sat in the doctor’s waiting room with her husband. A man who was now pretty much a stranger to her in every way. They’d driven to Portland at first light to be here for this emergency appointment with the specialist.
This had to work. If it didn’t, she had no idea what to do next.
Carter paced the small room like a caged lion, occasionally raking a hand through his too-long hair. It was impossible for her to gauge or even guess at his true mood. Before his injury he’d had his hair cut short every four weeks religiously. Now he didn’t seem to care about how he looked. Didn’t seem to care about much at all except how bitter he was about everything, who had wronged him, and what the world owed him for his service and suffering.
He’d never once stopped to think that she might be suffering as well.
She didn’t bother telling him to stop pacing and sit, since that would just get her snapped at and she was sick of it. She’d tried so hard to stay optimistic throughout this whole thing, be the sunshine to Carter’s constant gloom. That wasn’t possible anymore.
Her happy mask was slipping, and the small ray of hope she’d clung to for so long was fading every day. Just when she thought Carter had finally hit rock bottom, he’d reach a new low. Like getting fired from his job by the man who had gotten it for him in the first place.
The doctor finally arrived. A middle-aged man in a lab coat and holding a clipboard. He smiled at them. “Mr. and Mrs. Boyd. Hello.”
Carter finally stopped moving and stepped back to lean against the wall, his massive arms folded across his chest, a wary expression on his still-handsome, unshaven face. His eyes looked bruised underneath, a hollowness to them that stirred unease in the pit of her stomach.
The doctor sat in his chair beside the small desk. “I understand you’ve been having more problems regulating your emotional state.”
Carter didn’t answer, merely continued to stare a hole through the man, his hostility obvious, so Molly jumped in to defuse the tension. “Yes. The meds you’ve got him on aren’t helping. He’s not sleeping and he’s not eating. He’s losing weight and…” She glanced at Carter, decided to hell with it and told the whole truth. “There was a confrontation at his work the other day. He lost his job.”
The doctor frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He focused on Carter. “Are you still having nightmares? Flashbacks?”
“What do you think?” Carter snarled.
“I’m asking you.”
“Yeah, every damn night.”
“What about suicidal thoughts?”
“Every damn day.”
Molly swallowed, forced herself to sit still. The tension pouring off Carter alarmed her. He was like a volcano inside, building up to an eruption. She understood the frustration, but the lack of control over his anger was totally out of character and frankly frightening.
“And what about your relationship?” the doctor asked them both. “Are things better between the two of you?”
Molly was uncomfortable going there, it felt like a betrayal to Carter, but he clearly wasn’t going to answer, so she had to. “No. Things have been…more and more unstable.”
“In what way?”
She drew a breath. “He’s angry. Really angry, all the time. Every little thing will set him off.”
The doctor appeared alarmed, glanced between the two of them. “Has there been any violent episodes?”
Molly hesitated. “A few times. Not toward me, but…yes. Some broken lamps, thrown dishes. Things like that.” She risked a glance at Carter, flinched inside at the look on his face. Rage. Betrayal.
“I see.” The doctor scribbled some notes down on the clipboard. “Well, we can increase the dosage of the—”
“I don’t want any more of your fucking drugs,” Carter snapped, making her and the doctor tense and look at him sharply. Above his untrimmed beard, his cheeks were a dull red, his eyes glittering. “They don’t help, and I already can’t function as it is. I can’t even get it up anymore. Is that any kind of life? Huh? I can’t even fuck my wife now.”
Blood rushed to her face. “Carter,” she whispered, horrified.
He cut her a savage glance. “What? He wanted to know how I’m doing.” He turned his searing gaze to the doctor. “I’m fucking losing my mind, all right? I’m dying inside, bit by bit.” He thrust an accusatory finger at the man, rage and frustration pulsing off him in palpable waves. “You said you would help me. That all these damn drugs you’ve got me on would help, but they’re not.” His face got even redder. “Why won’t you fucking help me?” He whirled and slammed his fist into the wall so hard it cracked the drywall.
Molly gasped and shot to her feet, lunging for him as the doctor scrambled back against the far wall. She grabbed hold of Carter’s wrist, her heart in her throat. “Carter. No. Don’t do this. Please.” The muscle and tendons under her fingers were like steel cables drawn too tight. Ready to snap. She could feel the rage seething inside him and it brought the sting of tears to the back of her throat and eyes.
Her plea seemed to reach him because he relaxed a fraction and lowered his arm. His knuckles were split and bleeding, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.
The doctor was pale as he collected himself. “You need an increased dosage of the mood stabilizers. And we’ll do another CT scan to see what’s going on in your brain.”
Carter’s jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring. “I told you, I don’t want any more fucking drugs. Unless you’ve got something else, maybe a magic wand you can wave and cure me with, then I’m outta here.”
The doctor stared back at him a moment before shooting Molly a sympathetic glance that made her stomach drop. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to—”
“We’re leaving,” Carter snapped, wrenching his arm free of her grip and turning to stalk out the door.
She stood there a moment, fighting tears. Fighting the need to call him back. Beg him to stay, to try what the doctor suggested. “I’m sorry,” she blurted to the doctor, and rushed after Carter.
He was already out in the parking lot by the time she reached him, pacing back and forth beside his truck.
“Are you sure you want to leave?” she asked softly.
He stopped, nodded once. “Yeah.”
The faint ray of hope she’d brought with her this morning extinguished. She got into the truck with him.
“If you still want to separate, go ahead and file the paperwork.”
His words shocked her so much she was sure she’d imagined them at first. When he remained deathly quiet she glanced at him. “Carter…”
“Just do it, Moll.” He stared out his window, his posture and tone radiating defeat that broke her heart. “I’m not going to get better. It’s time we both admitted that. I don’t want you to wind up like that wall one day.”
An icy chill spread through her belly. She darted a glance at his bleeding hand, curled into a fist on his thigh. He was the strongest man she’d ever known. And the most protective. Those hands had been a source of safety and pleasure for her since the day she had met him. In stark contrast, now the strength and violence they were capable of scared her.
The rest of the
drive home passed in a tense silence. He got out of the truck as she was putting it into park and stalked into the house. Molly sat there for a few minutes, gathering herself. Maybe he just needed to process everything, and then they could talk about this more rationally.
Her marriage was over. She’d known it for a while now, but had stubbornly clung to the hope that things would get better. Now she realized they never would.
She definitely wanted out, and that made the guilt twist inside her like hot blades, carving her up. If she left Carter, he wouldn’t have anyone. Beckett had been forced to let him go. Jase was there to help, but only out of obligation. Carter had slowly destroyed everything good in his life.
Wetness on her cheeks startled her. She wiped the tears away impatiently, steeled herself before getting out of the truck and heading inside, unsure of what she would find. Sometimes after an episode Carter would crash in the guest bed and not come out for more than a day. Others he would yell and throw things.
The house was quiet when she walked in. Too quiet.
Her feet were silent on the wide plank floor as she made her way through the kitchen.
She stopped, her heart lurching up into her throat when Carter’s big silhouette appeared in the hallway ahead. She stood there, unmoving, like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights.
Carter stepped out of the shadows and into the light. The shattered look on his face drew a sharp gasp from her. He had a packed duffel in one hand.
He was leaving. She should be relieved, but all she felt was devastation and grief.
“Where are you going?” she blurted.
His other reached behind him to withdraw a pistol from his waistband.
Every drop of blood in her body froze. She couldn’t tear her eyes off the weapon in that far too-capable hand.
He gave the pistol a half turn and held it out to her by the barrel. “Take this.”
She shook her head, backed away. She hated guns. Had spent her training to become an ER nurse at one of the busiest hospitals in Chicago, where she saw multiple times a shift the damage firearms did to a human body. Carter knew how much she loathed them.
