by Kaylea Cross
He dropped the duffel and took a sudden step toward her, grabbing her right wrist. He pressed the pistol into it, forced her fingers closed around the grip. She knew without asking that it was loaded. “You know how to use this.”
She swallowed convulsively, her entire body cold. Yes, she knew how to use it, but even the feel of it in her hand made her shudder.
“Moll.”
Somehow she forced her gaze up to his, stared up at him while her heart pounded against her ribs.
“I love you, no matter what. No matter how bad things get or how this all ends, remember that I love you. Please promise me. I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. So fucking sorry.”
A sheen of tears blurred her eyes. Her heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, her throat too tight to respond.
“And if I ever…” His voice cracked and a small sob escaped her. “If I ever come after you or threaten you in any way, I want you to take this, point it at my head and pull the goddamn trigger,” he choked out.
She shook her head, tried to drop the pistol and break free of his grip.
Carter squeezed tight, forcing her to hold it. “No, listen.” There was so much torment in his face. So much fear. “You can’t hesitate, Moll. Promise me,” he begged, his voice full of agony.
Trembling all over, her insides quivering, she shook her head. “No. No.”
“Promise me, sunshine. Don’t ever let me hurt you like that. I’d rather die. I’d rather kill myself, but if for some reason I don’t, you’ll have to do it for me.” He let go of her hand.
The pistol clattered to the floor. She tried to back away but he grabbed her, dragged her against him and held her in a crushing grip for a long moment, his face buried in her hair.
Molly was too deep in shock to move or say anything as he kissed her forehead. “Love you. Always,” he whispered, then let her go, grabbed his bag and walked out.
Her knees wobbled as the back door clicked shut. A moment later his truck started up in the driveway.
She reached out a hand to steady herself on the wall. Backed into it and slowly slid down it to the floor, shaking so hard she thought she would be sick. The tears came but she didn’t even feel them, the pain inside her too much to bear.
That deadly black pistol lay in the middle of the hall where it had fallen. She closed her eyes, unable to look at it.
Carter was gone. And she was terrified he would do something drastic. Like kill himself.
With shaking fingers she pulled her cell phone from her pocket, managed to dial Jase. He and Beckett would help. They had to.
“Hey, Moll,” he answered, the sweet sound of his voice wrenching a sob free. “Moll? What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice anxious.
“Carter’s g-gone,” she said through chattering teeth. “You need to f-find him before he does something stupid.”
****
It didn’t take Jase long to find his old buddy.
“You called it,” Beckett said from the passenger seat, having been pulled away from work when Jase called him about Molly.
“Yup.” Carter’s truck was parked out front of a bar in the next town north up the coast, a couple miles from Crimson Point. Jase had met him here a few times for beers over the past several months.
“Okay, let’s do this,” Beckett muttered, getting out of the truck.
Carter was at a table in the far corner, shot glass in hand and a bottle of whiskey in front of him. His elbows were resting on the table, his head bent low. The very picture of defeat and it set off a twinge of sympathy in Jase despite how enraged he was about Molly. “Boyd.”
Carter looked up at them, scowled, and helped himself to another shot.
Jase and Beckett went over and sat down across from him. “So. I hear the appointment didn’t go so well.”
“What are you guys doing here?” Carter muttered, downing the shot.
Seriously? “Molly called,” Jase said with tried patience.
He nodded once, avoiding looking at either of them. “She tell you I left?”
“Yep. Right after you shoved a pistol in her hand and told her to blow your head off if you ever came after her.” It was so fucking unbelievable he wasn’t even sure how to process that.
Another nod, this one defiant. “Yup.”
All out of patience, Beckett gave an irritated sigh, grabbed the bottle and plunked it on the windowsill, out of reach. “Jesus Christ, Carter.”
Carter nailed him with a hostile glare. “Leave me the fuck alone. I didn’t ask either of you to come here.”
“Too bad, because here we are,” Jase fired back. He shook his head. What the hell was going on with Carter? The TBI was one thing, but the drastic, accelerated onset of mental illness he displayed was scary. “So talk to us.”
“I got nothin’ more to say.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Go.”
Jase looked at Beckett, resisted the urge to grab the back of Carter’s head and ram it into the table. Maybe another knock would fix whatever connection was loose inside that thick skull.
“Look, we’ve been through a lot of shit together,” Beckett said, trying a more diplomatic approach. “We want to help.”
“That’s nice.” Carter set his shot glass down with a thunk. “But you can’t. No one can. And that’s why I had to leave.”
“And go where?” Jase asked, frustrated.
He shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t care.”
“You need to check yourself into someplace safe, where they can monitor your meds and make sure you’re safe,” Beckett said.
“Like what, a VA psych ward?” Carter gave a bitter laugh. “No thanks.”
Jase was done pussyfooting around. “What the hell are you doing, man?”
Carter’s gaze swung to him. “Taking care of the situation.”
Jase shook his head. “Molly’s the best damn thing that ever has or ever will happen to you, and you’re going to lose her.”
“Mind your own fucking business.” He glared at Beckett. “And hand me back my bottle. I already paid for it.”
Jase refused to let this go. “Is that what you want? To lose her forever?”
Anger ignited in those dark eyes as Carter stared at him in taut silence. “Is it what I want?” he finally rasped.
“Well? Is it?”
“I left because it’s the only option I have to protect her. We’re both fucking miserable and I love her too much to do this to her anymore.”
“Help us understand what’s going on with you,” Beckett said.
“What’s happening,” he snapped, “is that I’ve lost my mind, okay?”
Beckett frowned. “Like what? Nightmares and flashbacks, depression and whatever else?”
Because we’ve all got those, Jase thought. A man couldn’t do what they did, see what they had for so long without suffering from PTSD. All of them had their own demons to battle. “So what’s going on with you?”
“I can’t control it,” Carter muttered, back to sullen now, his gaze fixed on the empty shot glass. “I can’t control my thoughts or my emotions, or my anger. Meds don’t help. It’s getting worse. I forget things. Have times where it’s almost like a blackout. Can’t remember a damn thing about it, what I said or did.”
Jesus. “And there’s nothing more the doctors can do?”
“Not except for loading me up with more drugs. And I’m not doing that anymore.”
“Well you can’t just quit them all cold turkey,” Beckett argued. “You know what that’ll do.”
Carter shrugged. “I’m not doing their dance anymore. I need to clean myself up, see if that helps.” But his tone said he doubted it.
“And what about Molly?” Jase said.
“What about her? She’s better off this way. She’ll file for divorce and move on with her life.”
Jase laughed in disbelief. “Seriously? You’re not even gonna try to fight for her?”
Carter straightened slowly, that unblinking gaze and slow, de
liberate movement telling Jase he’d gone too far. “You’re still hung up on her, huh?”
Shock blasted through him, temporarily rendering him mute. They’d never talked about it. Not once since Carter and Molly had gotten together, out of respect for one another. A respect that apparently Carter didn’t have for him anymore.
“Yeah, you are. That’s so fucking sad, man.” Carter gave a cynical chuckle that raked down Jase’s spine. “You had your chance the night we met her, and she chose me. Me.” He stabbed a finger into his chest. “Know why? Because I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
“That’s enough,” Beckett snapped as Jase paled under the verbal punch. It fucking hurt. “Jesus, Carter, happy now? Did lashing out at him make everything better?”
Carter raised an eyebrow. “Kinda, yeah. Because he knows it’s the truth. Molly’s mine and always will be.” He turned on Jase. “You’ve always had a thing for her but you couldn’t have her because she chose me. And you hate that, don’t you? You hate that she’s my wife.”
“She won’t be if she divorces your ass,” Jase shot back, aching inside.
That dark stare zeroed in on him like a laser, full of a sick kind of triumph that turned Jase’s stomach. “At least I had my years with her. How many did you get?”
Jase shoved his chair back and stood. He’d come here to try and help, but Carter was dead set on being an asshole. “You’re a mean fucking prick when you’re drunk, you know that? Always have been.”
“Yeah. Only this time, I’m not drunk.” He held out his hand, gestured impatiently to Beckett and the bottle just out of reach. “Give it here.”
Beckett stood, giving Carter a look so cold the air temperature dropped a few degrees. “Get it yourself, you self-destructive son of a bitch.”
Jase shook his head, sick inside, unable to believe it had come to this. “I don’t even like you right now, but I still hope you get your shit together. If you decide you want to get better, call us. Otherwise leave us all the hell alone—including Molly.” Without another word he turned and walked out, Beckett right behind him.
At the truck, Beckett clapped him on the back once on the way around to the other side. “Forget what he said. He was being an asshole.”
“Yeah.” But he couldn’t forget those angry, cruel words, because Carter had meant every one of them. And worse, he and Jase both knew they were the truth. Way back when, Molly had chosen Carter over him the night they’d met. He’d brought his best game, but the moment she met Carter, that was that.
She had no clue how he really felt about her. And that was the way it needed to stay.
Jase climbed behind the wheel in the bright spring sunshine, the blessed numbness of shock already wearing off and a sense of grief now trying to smother him. Carter was still alive, but for Jase it felt too much like his best friend was already dead.
Chapter Eleven
Beckett walked out of the newest renovation project and strode down the new concrete walkway in the sunshine to his truck with Sierra. Spotting the flyer tucked beneath his windshield wiper, he grabbed it before opening the door for her.
“Thanks,” she said, hopping in.
“Welcome.” He shut the door, started around the front of the hood and unfolded the paper. He stopped, cold prickling over his skin when he read the hand-printed message.
You have no honor.
What the hell?
He spun around, scanned up and down the street. He’d only been parked out here for a few minutes, just long enough to drop off the paychecks. The only people he saw was Mrs. Olsen and the woman with the Golden Retriever who’d asked him about the house. The sidewalk behind him was empty. Who the hell had put it here?
Crumpling it up, he shoved it into his pocket and got in the truck. He had enough shit to deal with. He wasn’t going to add anything to it. For the past three hours he’d been trying to get past the ugly confrontation with Carter. The things Carter had said to Jase were unforgivable. He had no idea if there was any truth to them or not, and didn’t really care. Carter should never have said them.
What a goddamn mess. Beckett didn’t understand why Carter was acting this way. None of them did.
“Did the nurses say your dad’s having a good day?” Sierra asked him as he pulled away from the curb. She’d come by the jobsite to surprise him and the crew with cupcakes from Sweet Spot bakery and had asked to come visit his dad with him.
He’d thought about saying no, for maybe two seconds before giving in.
Something had shifted between them last night and he wasn’t sorry, even if it put him one step closer to crossing the line with her. Last night was also the first night in weeks that he hadn’t woken up gasping and covered in sweat from a nightmare.
Instead he’d lain in bed in the middle of the night tormented with thoughts about her rather than his ghosts. Finally, to ease the unbearable ache in his cock he’d stroked himself off while imagining undressing her and burying his face between her spread thighs, fantasizing about her cries of pleasure as he’d made himself come all over his chest and belly.
Wasn’t the first time he’d jacked off thinking about her, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. He was so screwed. What he felt for her wasn’t casual, and it wasn’t going away. If anything, it was getting stronger. And harder to resist by the moment.
Having her with him now improved his mood, even if it was impossible not to think about backing her against the nearest wall and kissing the hell out of her. “He’s having an okay day,” he answered. “I’ve been making plans for a surprise for him, but he needs to have a really good day before I can make them happen.”
“Well I hope he gets one soon.”
“Me too.”
Her scent and nearness teased him throughout the drive, and on the way up to his father’s room. It was hard for Beckett to have others see his dad declining like this, but he liked having her here, and that she cared enough to come visit his dad on her own when she stopped by to see Molly.
His dad was propped up reading when they walked into his room. He gave them a big smile and set his book down. “Well, now. About time I had someone good looking come and visit me. Sierra, how are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m great, Mr. H. How are you feeling today?”
“Oh, it could be worse.”
“I brought you something. Had to hide it from your son, otherwise it wouldn’t have made it here,” she said, opening a paper bag and taking out a cupcake. “It’s double chocolate. That’s your favorite, as I recall.”
“You remembered right.” He took it from her, gave her a fond smile that made Beckett’s lips twitch. His father had always had a soft spot for Sierra. “I’ll just save this for later.” He set it on the tray next to his bed, where his lunch remained untouched.
“Of course.” Though Sierra had to have noticed the full plate and the weight he’d lost, she didn’t say anything, just kept her sunny disposition firmly in place as she took the seat beside his father’s bed and reached for his hand.
The sight of their joined hands sent a bittersweet pang through Beckett. He loved her easy affection, secretly yearned to experience more of it himself. As well as the passion he sensed inside her. The next time he got her alone, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands off her. With her he was holding onto his control by a thread, and that worried him.
It was in his nature to take charge, in and out of bed. That was who he was. She was small and soft and sweet. Could she handle what he would demand of her sexually? Her complete surrender, on his terms.
“Anything interesting happen here today?” she asked his father.
“Not a damn thing.”
“Well, your son has something to tell you,” she said, laughter in her eyes as she looked up at Beckett.
His dad turned his head toward him. “Yeah? What’s that?”
Beckett slid his hands into his pockets. “I got a dog yesterday.”
His father gave him a startled fro
wn. “What?”
He nodded, pulled out his phone to show him some pictures. “It’s a long story.”
“Good. You know I love stories. Start at the beginning,” his dad said, his face cracking into a grin as he scrolled through the photos. “He’s old.”
“Yep. His name’s Walter.” He filled his dad in on the details, then his dad handed back the phone, amusement twinkling in his dark eyes.
“Never thought I’d see the day. Where’s Walter now?”
“At home, probably slobbering all over your leather couch.”
“He can’t get up there on his own, so Beckett made him a little staircase,” Sierra said, the proud light in her eyes as she looked at him making his heart swell. “It’s adorable.”
“Well it’s either that, or goodbye leather couches,” Beckett said, making light of it. Truth was, the dog deserved to sleep on a couch for however long he had left on this earth.
“I want to meet him,” his dad said.
“I guess I could bring him by sometime,” Beckett said, unsure how the hospital would feel about it.
“He’d be a great therapy dog,” Sierra said. “He’s really calm, seems to love people in spite of all he’s been through.”
“Good. Bring him in,” his dad said, aiming a grin at him. “I always wanted to be a grandpa. Congratulations, fur daddy.”
They stayed to visit another forty-five minutes or so. Sierra managed to coax his dad into eating half his soup that she reheated for him, a few bites of the fruit cup and a quarter of the cupcake. When his dad began to grow tired, Beckett took his cue to leave, promising to bring Walter in the next day.
Sierra walked close beside him on the way back to his truck. Beckett was aware of every tiny thing about her, from her scent to the different shades of brown in her hair as the sun glinted on it. The urge to wrap his arm around her shoulders was so strong he had to take a step away from her as they walked. There was no way he could do it without it ending up with his tongue in her mouth.
