If You Fall (Brimstone #1)

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If You Fall (Brimstone #1) Page 18

by S. E. Lund


  I was numb all day, following Scott and Jeanne, letting them lead the way, make the conversation. I was mostly silent, looking out the window at nothing as we drove from Topsail Beach to Arlington, barely noticing the scenery. The entire trip, my mind went over everything I could remember that Beckett said to me, what we did, to see if there were any clues. He did repeatedly say, in a joking manner, that he couldn’t tell me things. He said I shouldn’t ask him about his work with the DEA. I was used to not asking questions, given Dan’s work with Special Operations Forces, especially his last deployment, so I hadn’t pushed. I had no idea that he didn’t want to tell me things because he was lying straight faced to me about what he knew.

  He had my letters. He knew everything.

  “You okay, hun?” Jeanne said from the front of the car. “You’ve been so quiet since you got your letters. They upset you.”

  I nodded and forced a smile. “I’d forgotten about the letters. Just brought it all back to me.”

  I turned away, my throat choking up. In truth, I thought maybe Dan had thrown the letters out, for they weren’t with his belongings when they brought his remains back home. It hurt me a bit because he told me he kept them with him, inside his jacket, when they went on a mission – for good luck.

  But in the aftermath of his death, in all the confusion around the event and the lack of details, I was too upset to think about it. The first month after his death I spent on his bed in the bedroom that Jeanne kept as it had been since he was a teen and when he first joined up. His Star Wars and Marvel posters were all there, beside the cork board where his ribbons from track and field in high school were pinned. His football trophies, his academic achievement certificate. He enlisted before he finished college, and trained as a Hospital Corpsman with the Navy. He received special training so he could become qualified for independent duty and was attached to Fleet Marine Force Recon. As a Fleet Marine Force Warfare Specialist, he was invited to be a member of the Marines Special Operations Forces – a high honor.

  He was so brave…

  My brave warrior. I fell in love with him because of his strength and easy smile, his sense of humor and his love of life. He was an honorable man. A man like my father, who was willing to put his life on the line for his country.

  I sighed and braced myself for the ceremony, and tried to put on a brave stoic face so I could meet the other families and offer my condolences for their loss. We didn’t spend any time together between the initial funerals and today’s anniversary memorial, but there was a common bond with the other families that could not be denied when you shared a loss with someone.

  Our loved ones fought together and were injured or died together.

  Only the families and friends left behind understood what it felt like to be in our shoes.

  We stayed at a small hotel close to the cemetery, and had a quiet dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. I didn’t feel much like talking after dinner and spent the majority of my time reading an eBook on forensic science, trying to get my mind back into the world I’d left a year earlier when Dan died. It was futile. I read the same passage over and over again before finally turning the Kindle off and going to sleep.

  In the morning, we all dressed and decided to make an early trip out to the cemetery before the memorial, because we wanted to be alone for a while before the other families joined us. We parked in the lot to the east of the Columbarium where Dan’s ashes were kept and as we walked up to the stone arches, with row upon row of plaques marking the spots where the dead were interred, I saw a Marine in uniform. He was standing close to where Dan’s remains were located, leaning against the wall, his hand on a plaque. He turned and even from a distance of maybe thirty yards, I recognized him instantly.

  Beckett.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Beckett

  I turned to walk away but Miranda didn’t stop. Instead, she came at me, her face flushed, her fists clenched. I turned back to her and held my hands up, wanting to apologize, but before I could she was right there in front of me, tears in her eyes.

  I turned around to face her, bracing for her anger.

  “You knew,” she said and hit my shoulder. “You knew all along who I was.”

  I held my hands up defensively. “I did,” I said. When she stopped hitting me, I took hold of her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough,” she said and wiped her eyes. “Why did you do it?” she asked, her cheeks wet. “Was getting laid so important that you’d sleep with me, knowing that I wrote those letters? Why didn’t you just give them to me instead of waiting until after you seduced me?”

  I shook my head, struggling to find the words. “It was wrong. I know it was. I was afraid if you knew who I was, you’d hate me.”

  “What do you mean? Why would I hate you?”

  How could I explain? Her husband died became of me.

  “I have to go,” I said. “I’m sorry…”

  “I know you got the letters by mistake,” she said. “Why would I hate you for that?”

  I backed away. “Goodbye, Miranda. I’m sorry all this happened.”

  Then I turned and left.

  “You’re a bastard,” she said, her voice low but not so low that I didn’t hear it.

  I said nothing, barely able to contain my emotions, walking fast, almost running away from her. My heart was pounding in my chest, my throat constricted.

  I was a bastard by any definition of the term. What a fucking idiot I was to come here. How much more painful a day must I have made it for her? I thought I would get there early and miss the memorial, as it was scheduled for eleven o’clock. I never expected them to arrive earlier…

  I drove off, my chest tight, my eyes blurry. I deserved everything she threw at me. I should have stayed and taken it like a man. I would have if I could have told her the truth, but that would make it all even worse.

  CHAPTER NINTEEN

  Miranda

  Beckett?

  What was he doing there? He turned and began walking away briskly, and I realized he was going to leave without saying anything. I couldn’t let him do it. I followed him, anger and hurt building inside of me.

  “Where are you going?” Jeanne called out to me as I ran behind Beckett.

  I reached his side and he turned around to face me, his face flushed, his brow furrowed. He wore his uniform and looked so incredibly perfect – so handsome, strong.

  “You knew,” I said and hit his shoulder, angry and confused, wanting to hurt him, wanting him to hold me, not knowing which was right. “You knew all along who I was.”

  He held his hands up defensively. “I did,” he said. When I stopped hitting, he took hold of my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  I couldn’t understand. Did he think saying sorry was all it would take?

  “Sorry isn’t good enough,” I said and stepped away, wiping my eyes with the back of my hands. He let go and we stood there, a foot apart, not looking at each other in the eye.

  “Why did you do it?” I asked, barely able to speak. “Was getting laid so important that you’d sleep with me, knowing that I wrote those letters? Why didn’t you just give them to me instead of waiting until after you seduced me?”

  He shook his head, his expression almost desperate. “It was wrong. I know it was. I was afraid if you knew who I was, you’d hate me.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, confused. “Why would I hate you?”

  I was so confused. What did he mean – I’d hate him if I knew? I’d be thankful that he returned the letters. I wouldn’t hate him. We could have still had dinner, gone out together. I would have still fucked him. Maybe. Probably.

  There was no doubt that I wanted him almost from the moment I saw him.

  “I have to go,” he said. “I’m sorry…” He turned to leave but I couldn’t let it go.

  “I know you got the letters by mistake,” I said. “Why would I hate you for that?”

  He backed away. “Goodby
e, Miranda. I’m sorry all this happened.”

  Then he turned and left me standing there, tears overflowing despite my anger.

  “You’re a bastard,” I said to him but he didn’t stop or respond. I don’t know what I wanted him to do at that moment – except explain. To make it all right so I could be with him.

  I wanted to run after him and hit him, pound him. Mostly, I wanted him to be the man I thought he was – an honorable former Marine, DEA Agent, software engineer running his own company, who couldn’t seem to resist me.

  Instead, he was a liar who deceived me, seducing me all while pretending he knew nothing about me. He knew everything.

  I turned and ran back to the car, closing the door and covering my eyes. Jeanne followed me, opening the other passenger door and slipping in beside me.

  “What’s the matter, hun? Who was that? Why are you crying?”

  I shook my head, unable to speak at the moment. I wiped my eyes and stared off into the distance. Finally, I was calm enough that I could speak.

  “That was the former Marine who left the package of letters in the mailbox,” I said, my voice barely audible. “I’m just upset.”

  “Why did you hit him? Do you know him? Was he one of Dan’s friends?”

  I shook my head. “No. He was given the letters by mistake. He returned them. That’s all.” I turned to her, my eyes blurry. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I’m very upset.”

  “Of course,” she said and put her arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. “You don’t have to say anything. We’re all upset today. It’s a hard day.”

  I nodded. I wanted to go and see Dan’s plaque, touch it. Seeing Beckett had ruined the day for me because it brought back how happy I was being with him, how much I enjoyed his company, how there was a part of me that I tucked away, back in the farthest corner of my heart, that hoped something more would develop between us.

  Then to find out that he lied to me about so much…

  We walked back to the memorial wall and stood in front of Dan’s plaque, Scott talking softly about his earliest memories of Dan as a boy. How he always wanted to play soldier, right from his earliest days. How he was so proud of Dan when he joined up and then made Special Operations Forces.

  I stood and cried my eyes out, and in truth, my tears were for Dan and for myself. I had hoped that Beckett was someone who could fill the hole in my chest left by Dan’s death. Even though no one could ever replace Dan, there might be room in there for someone different. Someone new.

  I thought Beckett was that someone. Everything seemed so great with him. It felt so damn easy.

  Why had he deceived me?

  I felt incredibly guilty that I was as upset about Beckett as I was about Dan.

  “Let’s go,” Jeanne said and put an arm around my shoulder. Together, the three of us left the cemetery and went back to the hotel to get ready for our meeting with the other families.

  I had thought I’d be able to say my goodbyes to Dan and while I knew that I’d never really get over his death or his loss, I could find someone else to fill part of the hole his absence left inside of me.

  Now, all I felt was empty.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Beckett

  I drove back to my hotel room and removed my uniform, folding it back up and tucking it away in my suitcase. What a mistake, coming to Arlington. I really thought if I went early, I wouldn’t run into her. Of all the luck to go early and find that they’d gone early as well…

  I checked out of my room and drove back to New York, arriving much later that night, having stopped for a rest along the way in Philadelphia. It was dark and I went right into my apartment, removed my clothes, and threw myself in bed, having only eaten a hot dog I bought in a gas station on route from Philly. I tossed and turned, going over the scene in my mind’s eye – her face as she came up to me, the tears in her eyes… I hurt her, badly. She felt betrayed that I knew who she was all along and pretended not to know.

  She was right. I did betray her. I should have told her.

  For that, I knew she could never forgive me. Even if I told her the truth, she’d hate me every time she saw my face because it was my fault that her husband died.

  How could she not hate me?

  At 2:00 AM, after not being able to fall asleep, tossing and turning, my guts in a knot, I texted Casey.

  BECKETT: Things did not go well.

  She could have ignored my text, but she didn’t.

  CASEY: You really thought they would?

  I sighed and replied.

  BECKETT: I hoped.

  Her text took a few moments to arrive.

  CASEY: Hope in one hand, shit in the other. See which one fills up faster. I’m surprised you actually expected her to forgive you. What did you tell her, anyway? How did you tell her?

  I cringed inwardly.

  BECKETT: I went to the cemetery early to pay my respects alone. They came early and she saw me before I could leave.

  I waited for her reply.

  CASEY: What exactly did you tell her? Did you tell her it was your mission he was responding to? Did you tell her you were critically injured and he saved your life? Did you tell her your mission was classified and you really were under legal obligation not to talk about it?

  I hesitated, feeling like such a dick because I didn’t tell her anything.

  BECKETT: No, it never came up. I just said I was sorry and that she was right to be mad at me.

  There was a long pause.

  CASEY: You mean to tell me that you didn’t disclose any of the story of how you got the letters? Why they were accidentally sent to you?

  I responded, but knew I had been wrong not to have revealed the truth to her.

  BECKETT: We never even got that far. She was too upset and hit me. I realized at that point that there was no salvaging anything so I left.

  When she replied, I could almost feel her anger and frustration in her words.

  CASEY: Beckett Tate, do you know nothing about women? After all the women you’ve been with?

  I ran a hand through my hair and sighed.

  BECKETT: If she knew he died because of me, she’d never forgive me anyway, so there’s no use in even telling her the truth. All I can do is move on and forget her.

  My cell rang. I checked the display. It was Casey. She must have grown sick of the texts.

  “Look, Beckett, you can’t know how she’ll respond until you give her the chance. You have to tell her the whole truth – all of it. Not only what happened in Afghanistan, but also about your injuries and rehab. Tell her about Sue. How after her death, you stopped believing that you would ever meet anyone and fall in love again? Tell her how you got the letters and what happened to you when you read them and started to learn about her. How you fell for her before you even met her, just from reading her letters. Tell her that when you met her, you were hopelessly smitten and while you fully intended to simply return the letters to the parents, you met her instead and fell for her. How each time you tried to come clean, you feared her response.”

  I took in a deep breath and mulled over her words. “That would make me look like a total coward.”

  “Beckett!” she said, almost shouting. “Of all the men I know, you are not a coward. You almost died testing equipment that is meant to save lives. You have survivor’s guilt. You have PTSD even if you don’t want to admit it.”

  When I didn’t respond, she continued. “Am I right?” she said. “You fell in love with her and you were too guilty about surviving while her husband died.”

  “Of course,” I replied, shaking my head. “How the hell else could I feel?” She didn’t say anything for a moment. “How do you know all this, anyway?” I asked, grudgingly admitting she was right.

  She laughed lightly. “Because I know you, Beckett. I freaking know you better than you know yourself. You’re in love with this woman. Tell her everything. Give her the chance to forgive you. Maybe you’re the first man who made
her feel alive again. Maybe she fell for you, too.”

  I stared up at the ceiling, my cell in my hand, and considered.

  “I’ll take your advice under serious consideration,” I said, trying to sound officious.

  “I’m not joking, Beckett. Tell her everything.”

  I sighed once more. “I will.”

  “When?”

  I rolled my eyes. “When I get the chance.”

  “Do it,” she said, her tone impatient. “You of all people should understand that there’s no time to waste. Tomorrow is never certain. Do it today.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  The line was silent for a moment and then I heard her yawn. “You okay?” she said finally.

  “I’m good,” I replied. “Thanks, Case. I mean it. You’re always there for me.”

  “I am. You better appreciate me.”

  I laughed but I was serious. “I do.”

  “Goodnight, Beckett. Get some sleep. Everything looks better when the sun’s shining.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I finished the bottle of bourbon that remained from a party I’d had a few weeks earlier – before Graham died.

  Before my life started to go to shit.

  Finally, when the room spun from too much alcohol, I was able to fall asleep, passing out sometime after three.

  The next day, I was pretty hung over and feeling incredibly sorry for myself, but I had to go into work and try to get caught up on more pressing matters than my hangover, such as how I was going to fund the next project while I waited for the brownstone to sell. While I was stirring a raw egg into a post-drunk concoction Casey swore got rid of hangovers, my cell buzzed, indicating I had an incoming text. I checked my messages and saw that my uncle had texted me, inviting me over to the pub for dinner. The youngest brother of three, he liked to have me over so we could catch up on family matters.

  After a long day at work, I went to my fitness club for a workout and then after a quick shower, I made my way to Colm’s restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, the home of the local Irish-American community. Colm was my kind of man – he’d fought with the Irish Defense Force back in the day but got out of Ireland as soon as he could, bringing his wife and kids with him and enough money to start a restaurant. He was perhaps the only man in my family with whom I could identify. He and my father were very close when they were kids.

 

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