Beau (In the Company of Snipers Book 18)

by Irish Winters

  Well, yeah.

  “God, give me strength,” China muttered even as Maverick stretched his arm along the back of the pew, reaching for his wife. “I’m surrounded by men whose ears are obviously painted on!”

  Beau noticed she still interlocked her fingers with Maverick’s, though. He took the hint. While Kyrie leaned backward into her parents’ embrace, he put his good arm around McKenna and whispered, “Thanks for not giving me crap about coming.”

  “Like I could stop you,” she muttered.

  How Beau wanted to kiss that sassy mouth, but now was not the time. The minister had just taken the pulpit, and her lips were still swollen from last night. “You could’ve tried,” he said as he buried his nose in her hair and teased her earlobe with his tongue.

  She turned to look up at him. “I’m just glad you didn’t fall walking in. When this is over, we’re going straight back to your place, and I’m putting you to bed.”

  “Promise?”

  Sparks flashed in those pretty emerald greens. “You’re not funny,” she hissed.

  “I’m kind of funny.”

  Her brows turned into an impressive V. “No. You’re not. Nothing but bed rest until Dr. Decker okays you for light duty. Understood?” She was using her stern doctor voice on him and damn. That was kind of hot.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nuzzled her ear and loving the way her eyes changed from mellow green to brittle emeralds when she thought she was being drill sergeant tough. To be honest, McKenna didn’t have a mean bone in her body. He’d checked.

  Dempsey’s celebration of life ended up being a simple affair, where everyone mingled and told what stories they could about her and Mother. Boxes of tissues were passed, and tears were shed, but at the end of the event, The TEAM, a rowdy construct of hard-assed, badass friends dressed in slacks and compassion, surrounded her. With Alex on her left and her companion Justice on her right, the day finally proved too much. She buried her perfectly composed face in her elegantly manicured fingertips and fell apart.

  Beau had never seen so many hard men tear up. Some brushed their emotions away. Some just stared at the ceiling. But this team of warriors had Mother’s six, and at last, she knew it.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she murmured when she could finally speak. “I’ve been so foolish. All this time...”

  Sweet Ember Dennison ducked past Alex and grabbed hold, squeezing Mother hard. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know we love you, and we’re here for you, Sasha. Always have been. Always will be.”

  Mother cried as she clung to Ember while poor Justice patted her back. Hell, everyone cried. Losing a child was hard, and a couple of these folks had also lost a child. Even Beau.

  Due to their injuries, he and Maverick had been planted on the front pew in the chapel while everyone else gathered around Mother. Beyond the group of friends, a magnificent oil painting of sweet, innocent Dempsey presided over the gathering, the urn with her remains off to one side, a magnificent arrangement of white roses to the other. One single red rose stood out against all that white. Brave and bright and true.

  Beau looked up into the angelic face of that childlike young woman. Dempsey looked so much like AJ. How he missed his sister.

  A rough clap on his shoulder turned him around and there was Maverick still at his side, wiping a hand over his face, and obviously fighting his emotions. “Don’t,” he told Beau, his voice ragged and tight. “Just don’t.”

  Don’t what?

  Oh. That. Beau swallowed hard, instantly understanding what Maverick meant, but could not say. As tough as it was, the ones they’d lost would always be with them. AJ and Darrell were part of what made Beau and Maverick who they were today. But Jesus, it was a heavy load to bear, and watching Mother go through the same awful thing, offering useless condolences that would never—ever—fill the hole in her heart… Just. Plain. Sucked.

  “I need to talk to you,” Beau said, gulping down his pain and grief. Forcing it back.

  “Sure.” Maverick sniffed and inclined his head. He had to be operating on sheer willpower by now. “What’s up, bro?”

  Damn. Bro. Beau cleared his throat, then swallowed hard before he could meet Maverick’s tender gaze. If only he had been this guy’s real brother, things could’ve been so different. But he wasn’t. And wasn’t it odd to be jealous of a dead man for that unique honor? He coughed, not sure now was the best time or place for this discussion but needing the distraction before he fell apart.

  “I, umm...” Beau cleared his throat, hopefully for the last time. Oh, what the hell. Maverick might as well know. “I’m going to ask McKenna to, umm…”

  Talk about feeling stupid. Hell, he’d never once asked for directions or any man’s advice, yet here he was, trusting Maverick with something intimately private and confidential. Trusting him not to be the ass Beau knew he could be. To be that older, possibly wiser, brother. Summoning his last ounce of courage, Beau blurted, “I want to ask McKenna to marry me.”

  “Yeah?” Maverick bit out as he nodded encouragingly. “And?”

  His eye color changed from deep, angry to a more golden hue, but Jesus, was he tearing up? It was weird how Maverick had just morphed into something—someone—else. Someone Beau had no experience with. So, this is what it feels like to be a brother. He swallowed hard at this strange new camaraderie warming the airwaves between him and the guy called Cowboy.

  Jesus, how do I say this? “Ah, how’d you ask China, I mean…” Beau scrubbed his good hand over his hard head. “Did you take her dancing or something before you popped the question? Wine and dine her? Or what? How’s a guy do that?”

  A tiny smile eased the creases in Maverick’s tired face. “You do know McKenna wants you to take her to Belize, right?”

  Oh, yeah. That. “She told China?” Duh, and China told you.

  “Women talk, so yeah. McKenna’s never been out of the country, but she’s adventurous. You ever thought of whisking her off to Belize and dancing under the stars with her?”

  Precisely what McKenna had asked once upon a time. Guess women did a lot of talking. “That’s a good idea,” Beau admitted.

  “Hey, you don’t have to be Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire. It’s not rocket science, Beau. Just make her happy. Give her something to smile about every morning. Tell her a joke. Surprise her with flowers once in a while. Find out what makes her happy. If it’s horses, buy her a horse. If it’s a baby, give her a baby. Make love with her every night. Never let her go.” Maverick shrugged. “Least that’s what I do.”

  Beau knuckle-bumped his teammate. “You’re all right for an old guy.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” Maverick replied, a wistful glimmer in his eye, “for an asshole.”

  Beau grinned at the brotherly insult. But it was time to go before McKenna put a halt to his plans. Gingerly, he eased to his feet, holding his back, and trying not to make a scene. Sitting down was easy. Getting up was not.

  “Where are you going now?”

  Beau grunted in pain for thinking he was in any way up for this next mission. “Got some place to be,” he said, then tipped his head and quietly told Maverick everything.

  “Really? He’s leaving tonight? You’re sure?”

  Beau nodded solemnly. “That’s what the nurse said.”

  “Then I’ll go with you,” Maverick growled as he lifted unsteadily to his feet.

  “Are you sure?” Beau had to ask.

  “Hell, yeah,” Maverick replied, his voice hoarse and uncommonly low—like a growl. “This is what we do, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Beau agreed as he eyed China, who was deep in conversation with Kelsey. “But won’t she be mad?”

  “Which is why I’m not going to tell her. Yet.”

  Well, okay then. Like two old soldiers, Beau and Maverick inched to the rear of the chapel. This was a better plan anyway, leaving with an accomplice. To anyone watching, like sharp-eyed Alex, they prob
ably looked like two old codgers helping each other totter to the restroom. No one would suspect a thing…

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “Have you seen that husband of mine?” China asked, her blue eyes bright with barely restrained anger. “Anywhere? I can’t seem to find him.”

  McKenna scanned the dwindling crowd, her gaze instantly on the front pew where only minutes ago, she’d spied Beau and Maverick talking instead of arguing. How rare was that? “He was with Beau a minute ago.” Maybe longer. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen either of them for ten, twenty minutes. “They can’t have gone far as slow as they’re moving.”

  “Humph,” China grumbled, her dander up. “I am so tired of those two. If I have to hobble that man of mine—”

  “Mom,” Kyrie murmured, her cell in her hand. “Dad says don’t worry. He and Beau had something they had to do tonight. They’ll be okay.”

  “Where is he?” China snapped the cell out of Kyrie’s hand. “Cowboy? What the hell—?”

  McKenna’s toes were tapping. How could Beau leave her today of all days? That man!

  “Oh. Okay then. Yes, I’ll be right there,” China whispered, then handed the cell to McKenna. “Beau wants to talk with you.”

  And he was going to get such an earful! “You’d better not have left this chapel,” she told him in no uncertain terms, looking down the center aisle for that man.

  “Jesus, I love it when you’re pissed at me,” rumbled over the connection.

  “Then you’re going to adore me when I get my hands on you.”

  “Already do. But listen—”

  “Where are you?”

  “Children’s National.”

  McKenna’s anger fizzled. “Excuse me? You’re…? Why?”

  “Because this brave little soldier needs an honor guard,” Beau replied quietly, his voice gone low and rumbly. “Don’t worry. Maverick and I will see that Walter isn’t alone when he passes. We’ll take especially good care of him.”

  “Walter?” she asked just to be clear. “Where are his parents?”

  “They’re out in the hall arguing. I think they’re finally accepting the truth. This little guy’s barely breathing. If you hurry—”

  “I’ll be right there.” McKenna handed the cell to Kyrie. “I have to tell Mother goodbye. Then—”

  “We’re with you,” China said. “Let’s go.”

  It took them a full hour to get to Children’s National, park the car, and run up to Walter’s room. His parents, JoBeth and Rodney Wrigley waited in the hall. Devastated. Their hopes crushed by reality.

  “I hate you,” JoBeth cried even as she wrapped her arms around McKenna. “He’s dying. He’s really dying.”

  “She’s only saying that because you’re right, Doc Fitz. We should’ve listened to you,” Rodney explained. Both handsome professionals with law degrees, they made a stunningly sad couple. Rodney had once played for the Philadelphia Eagles. A handsome black American, he’d gone from tackle football to the courtroom, and he’d done well. “We just couldn’t let him go,” he said, his voice tight as he glanced at his son’s closed door. “We thought if we never gave up hope…”

  McKenna returned the desperate, passionate hug from the little boy’s mother as she told Walter’s broken father, “I’m so sorry. This was never about being right. I was only trying to prepare you for all scenarios.”

  “We should’ve listened,” he said as he dashed his tears away.

  JoBeth pulled away from McKenna and fell into her husband’s open arms. With her mocha coloring and his much darker skin, they were a fairytale couple come to life. Except for tonight when their hearts were breaking.

  “I don’t really hate you, Doc Fitz,” JoBeth murmured even as she burrowed under her husband’s chin. “It’s just this damned cancer. Right now, I hate everything, but not you. Not really.”

  “I understand. Please join me?” McKenna asked before she palmed the door to Walter’s room open.

  And there they were, two weary warriors, Beau and Maverick. If she lived to be a hundred, McKenna would never forget the resolute determination etched on their exhausted, but rugged, handsome faces while they sat at Walter’s bedside.

  China and Kyrie went to Maverick. McKenna went to Beau. “You really can’t help yourself, can you? You have to protect people, don’t you? It’s the way you’re made, isn’t it?” McKenna asked as she cupped his jaw.

  Beau lifted a solemn gaze to hers, his eyes bleary, his lips thin and tight as he leaned into her hand. “We need to talk,” he ground out as he kissed the center of her palm. “Not now, but tonight. For sure. After you take me home. Promise. Don’t let me fall asleep. There’s things I need to tell you.”

  Leaning into him and wishing they had more time to do just that, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Promise. Let me check on Walter now.”

  “I love you, woman,” Beau ground out before she stepped away, his voice ragged with grief.

  And there it was, the truth finally spoken. The truth she’d seen shining in his eyes so many times during these past few days. He didn’t see himself as a gentle, giving man. Yet he was, always put himself between Death and the victims it stalked. Only tonight, Death would win, and it was wrecking him.

  “I love you, too,” she told him truly.

  Slowly, McKenna left him to join JoBeth and Rodney at their son’s side. Walter’s readouts were grim. Once a bouncy toddler, his fragile skeletal frame now labored with every shallow breath. It wouldn’t be long now. “Would you like to be alone with him?” she asked his parents.

  Rodney shook his head. “No, ma’am. I want these men at Walter’s side when he goes. Your husband prayed with us. He asked Jesus to keep us stronger than a Ranger, and—” His voice broke.

  “And more stubborn than jarheads,” JoBeth continued, her fingers skimming over what was left of Walter’s thin hair. Her sad eyes filled with a mother’s undying love for the weary little soldier at her hands. “Thank you for sending your man to us in these final minutes. My baby’s been fighting this battle for so long.”

  McKenna glanced over their shoulders to Beau. My husband? My man? “I didn’t send him. It’s just the way he’s made.” And I love him because of it.

  Beau’s black eyes glistened back at her, but not once did he blink. There it was again, that subtle shift in the universe that told her he’d make such a good father. That he deserved the sweet love of a child, and that even now, his heart was breaking at the loss of another little one.

  Yes, denying motherhood had always been the safest course for McKenna, at least, that was what she’d once thought. Never having a child neatly avoided the deadly, pain-filled traps of love and loss and grief. It avoided the harsh realities of what her own mother had put her through. If you never had a baby, you never stood to hurt it or lose it, right?

  Wrong. At last she understood. If you never had a child, you never knew the tender mercies of living with your heart outside your body. The grace of falling in love with that child’s father every single day for the rest of your life.

  Suddenly, McKenna didn’t want safe. She wanted to make that gentle, grumpy man over there, the one with the sheen of tears in his perpetually angry eyes—happy. After what he’d missed in his own life, after all he’d suffered, he deserved the family he’d always craved. And she wanted to be the one who gave it to him, to see his face when she placed a squirming, wet newborn infant in his callused hands. She wanted to be there when his heart broke from nothing but the sheer joy and love and happiness of fatherhood.

  Yes, McKenna had known her share of trouble, but she’d also known the infinite, loving care of her father. Beau had had no one, but she’d had Sanders Fitzgerald in her corner every day. And the love of that one humble, hard-working man had made all the difference.

  Beau groaned, and in the split-second it took for McKenna to glance at him, then back to Walter, the monitor sent a steady beep to heaven that it had
gained another angel.

  McKenna turned the noise-makers off. The nurses would soon dash in to assist Walter’s parents. The chaplain was most likely already waiting outside or on his way. Even in death, there was a process to smooth the way for all concerned.

  JoBeth choked as she gathered her son up from the pillow, pressed him to her heart and sobbed. Rodney gathered his sad family into his arms while grief jerked out of him.

  McKenna looked at Beau, who sat with his head bowed. Maverick sat stone-faced next to him, his hand in the middle of Beau’s back. Poor Kyrie outright bawled. Tears streaked China’s face.

  It was time to go home.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Beau sat still and quiet in the back seat of the Uber driver’s car, his fist raised to his mouth, chewing on his knuckle. He’d gone from his room in the hospital this morning to a somber celebration of life, then to the quiet passing of a cancer-ridden child. All in one day. Jesus, he felt like an old, old man. Too crippled to stay on his feet and utterly useless when it came to saving kids. Not Dempsey. Not Walter. Not AJ. What the fuck good was he?

  McKenna’s soft and warm fingertips fluttering on his knee pulled him out of his mood. Beau didn’t know how it worked, but when she looked into his eyes, she seemed to see past what others saw. She connected with him on some primal level, where souls didn’t have to define themselves or explain why and who they were. They could just hold hands and understand each other without words and feelings getting in the way. They could just be.

  He pulled his gaze off the traffic passing by in a blur that he really wasn’t seeing and back to her pretty face. Even now, she radiated a calmness he didn’t understand. He wanted to hit something, to scream and curse and rail at the total unfairness of Death and Life, and he wanted an answer to the ancient question of why some kids got it good while others got nothing. Why some floated through life with a silver spoon between their lips, while others got shit on, fucked, and died early. Just once, it’d be nice if someone—Someone! I’m talking to you, Jesus—leveled the playing field for little kids and puppies, for kittens and old people. Just once, it’d be nice if there were no headlines about child abuse, animal neglect, or murder on the morning news.