If You Fall (Brimstone #1)

by S. E. Lund

If this whole business with the letters hadn’t happened, I’d be determined to see him once I returned to Manhattan. Of that I had no doubt. Remove the letters from the whole scenario and I’d be texting him and willing to see him anytime and anywhere.

  But he did leave the letters. He did leave with only a cryptic note warning me to stay away. He said he was bad news.

  What the hell did that mean?

  The rest of the evening went more smoothly, with Steve and Leah complying with my request to not talk about Beckett. Instead, Steve told us about his first week at Columbia and how different it was to be in Manhattan rather than Wilmington. How he made out in the subways and learning which train to take and where to transfer.

  When I was off shift, the three of us left together and took our own trains home. It was logical for Steve to go with Leah, since they were both in student residence at Columbia and so I went on my own back to my place at The New Yorker.

  When I got into bed, I lay awake for a long time, thinking about my life now that I was back in Manhattan. Part of me was happy to be back – the part of me that was able to blot out my thoughts of Beckett. It felt good to be finishing my Masters and I looked forward to my internship with the FBI after Christmas. I was glad Leah and I were still friends and had got together several times since we both returned, despite having busy schedules.

  But I felt this gnawing emptiness in my gut. A pervasive sadness about Beckett. Everything seemed easy and exciting with him. I was so comfortable with him, no matter what we were doing.

  Sex was really great with Beckett.

  My body and heart ached, and both felt so empty and in need of the feel of his skin beneath mine. His eyes staring into mine.

  I turned over and wiped the tears out of my eyes, trying to blank my mind of everything so I could sleep and forget about Beckett. I had to contact him and try to find out what he meant or I had stop thinking about him. One or the other.

  This indecisiveness was hell.

  Later that week, I met with Leah and we sat having a beer at a local pub. I frowned when she told me she and Brandon had seen each other for dinner and then went back to his place.

  For hot sex, of course.

  “Look,” she said and leaned in closer to me. “I asked Brandon about Beckett, and he was pretty evasive about things. He said that Beckett really liked you. Really liked you. He said that you were the first woman Beckett seemed to actually like since his girlfriend died. There are reasons he can’t see you. That’s all Brandon said, but he said Beckett was a totally honorable guy.”

  “His girlfriend died?” I sat in shocked silence. Then I remembered that he told me he had a sad story he didn’t want to talk about. “He said something about having a sad story, and that he was almost married but fate intervened, or something.” I shook my head in disbelief, a small twinge of sadness for him. He knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved. Someone you thought you were going to marry and live with forever.

  But he obviously didn’t understand how it felt to be lied to.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. If he was so honorable, he wouldn’t have seduced me while pretending he didn’t know me.”

  “Brandon said there were reasons,” Leah said with a shrug. “He’s pretty closed up about personal stuff, but Brandon does know that Beckett lost his girlfriend three years ago during an accident while they were snorkeling off the coast of India. She was stung by some kind of poisonous fish and died in front of him.”

  I frowned, my throat tightening at the thought that Beckett saw his girlfriend die right before his eyes. “That’s terrible,” I said, my gut twisting. “That still doesn’t explain why he didn’t tell me the truth about the letters.”

  Leah shrugged. “All I know is that Brandon thinks Beckett has survivor’s guilt and works super long hours to try to deal with it. His business is all about developing better technology to prevent combat deaths. He lost a lot of friends over there. His own injury was like a catalyst.”

  I knew that, as a Marine, Beckett would have seen terrible things in combat. It still didn’t explain why he deceived me about the letters.

  “I guess Beckett spends a lot of time at this club his uncle owns. Brandon’s meeting me there on Saturday. If I see Beckett, do you want me to say anything?”

  “No,” I said, frowning at the thought. “He had the chance to explain things many times. He didn’t. End of story.”

  Leah shrugged. “Brandon seemed so sure that Beckett was still crazy about you.”

  We sat in silence, and I tried to figure out why Beckett wouldn’t have just contacted me if he was still ‘crazy’ about me.

  “Why don’t you meet us at the club on Saturday night?” Leah said and jabbed me with her elbow. “Brandon said Beckett really fell hard for you. He stayed an extra week because of you and hoped to see you again when you returned to Manhattan.” She wagged her eyebrows meaningfully.

  Beckett had stayed an extra week to be with me. A week that was the most wonderful I’d spent in a very long time. A week that made me think we were going to be a couple, once I returned to Manhattan.

  “Confront him,” Leah said, “if it’s driving you crazy.”

  “I couldn’t. He had a chance to explain at Arlington and he didn’t take it. That’s a pretty strong signal. I’d be an idiot not to get the message.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, but what was the message? Anyway, it’s up to you. I’m meeting Brandon at the club around nine. You could come and confront him and then at least you’d know…”

  I sighed and drank the rest of my beer. I couldn’t imagine confronting Beckett. It wasn’t like me to do something so ballsy. I was the type to slink away and lick my wounds in private, to put on a brave face when in public, and not admit I had been hurt.

  Going to the club with Miranda and Brandon would be really ballsy of me. What would I say to Beckett?

  I could imagine him seeing me with them and leaving. That would hurt even worse than if I never saw him again. But Brandon said Beckett really liked me. He had a girlfriend who died? He had survivor’s guilt? There were reasons he couldn’t see me?

  Then I thought back to my oath to seize life by the balls for a change. Carpe diem.

  Going to the club on Saturday night would be ballsy, that was for sure. If Brandon was telling the truth, I figured I deserved to know what those reasons were.

  I’d demand that Beckett tell me and if it didn’t satisfy me, then I’d leave for good.

  On Saturday, after dithering for hours trying to talk myself out of and into going with Leah, I got dressed in my tiny one-bedroom apartment in The New Yorker, standing in front of my mirror, adjusting my dress, which was far too revealing of my ample boobage.

  Leah sat on the bed and watched. She had dressed and came over to my apartment so we could take the train together.

  “We won’t be leaving together,” she said and cocked her head to the side to examine me in her critical way. “Not if you wear that dress.”

  I frowned at her. “A dress isn’t going to win a man’s heart.” I adjusted the bodice once more.

  “It can do wonders,” she said and twirled a lock of her hair. “Brandon said that he couldn’t get my dress off his mind after we met. You might be surprised at how memorable a revealing neckline can be to a boob man.”

  I laughed and adjusted my bra so that I wasn’t spilling out. “I think men are far more interested in what’s underneath,” I said wryly. “Or at least, that was always my experience…”

  “That too, but men are visual. They like to look almost as much as they like to touch.”

  I nodded, remembering how Beckett liked to sit on the edge of the bed and just look at me in my lace bra, thong and heels. I’d make sure to wear some high heels, on the off chance that things worked out between us.

  I had my doubts. Brandon seemed so certain that Beckett really liked me and had been moping around since he got back from North Carolina. I hoped he was right.

  He s
aid that Beckett hadn’t been with any one woman more than once in the past three years – not since Sue died. Beckett was with me for ten glorious days in Topsail Beach. He stayed an extra week to be with me.

  That had to mean something…

  Finally, I was ready. After a last minute brush of my hair and reapplication of my lip gloss, we collected our bags and left for the train. The sun had set and the lights were bright as we walked to take the train to Hell’s Kitchen. From there, we’d go to The Irish Club where Brandon and Beckett were having dinner and would stay for drinks. Brandon told Leah that Beckett’s uncle owned the restaurant and nightclub, famous among the Irish crowd. I was nervous, and not entirely certain the night wouldn’t end in disaster, but Brandon had been adamant that Beckett had reasons for not revealing how he got the letters. Reasons to do with his work in Afghanistan.

  The only thing I could think was that they were black ops reasons. Dan had been involved in classified actions. I knew not to ask about them.

  Maybe it was the same with Beckett.

  I had no idea what to expect as we finally arrived at our stop and walked the remaining couple of blocks to the restaurant, which was really nice, the front of the old red brick. Even at nine, the street was busy and people strolled hand in hand along the walk, enjoying the warm night, the antique street lamps hanging outside the restaurant adding a nice atmosphere.

  “I’m nervous,” I said as we stood at the entry.

  “Carpe diem, sister,” she said and grabbed my arm. “Your very words.”

  “Famous last words, more like it,” I said with a laugh that I didn’t feel.

  “Come in,” she said and pulled me towards the door. “Give the man a chance. He really likes you, Mira. Trust me.”

  I allowed Leah to pull me inside the darkened interior. A hostess greeted us and we said we were meeting friends in the nightclub. She pointed the way to the bar and we went through a doorway. Once inside, I spotted Brandon and Beckett immediately. At that moment, I felt like a total idiot for coming. I almost turned away, deciding to run instead of facing Beckett. but it was too late. Beckett looked so handsome in a dark suit, white shirt and grey tie. My heart did a flip, and my gut felt tight as I saw him with a pretty cocktail waitress leaning over him, smiling at him. He seemed distracted and didn’t see us at the door.

  “Come on, sister,” Leah said and pulled my hand, squeezing it to encourage me. “Carpe diem.”

  Then Beckett glanced over at the door and saw us. Our eyes met across the room and I thought, oh fuck. Now you’re in for it, Miranda…

  Those blue eyes felt like they pierced right through me and I knew I wanted to forgive him, but most of all, I wanted to know why I had to.

  So instead of bolting like a frightened deer, I stood firm and waited for him to come to me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Beckett

  It rained all week, the water soaking me as I ran at dawn, trying to get enough exercise in so that I slept at night instead of lying awake, thinking of everything.

  Everything, like Miranda Parker. Widow of Hospital Corpsman 1st Class Daniel Lewis.

  It was crazy – I’d only met her six weeks earlier. How could she occupy so much emotional real estate in so short a time?

  As Casey reminded me, I read her letters, all three dozen, and felt like I knew her far better than you normally would get to know a person in that short amount of time. Her letters were personal and intimate, revealing who she was and how she felt.

  The truth was that I wanted someone like her to love me the way she loved Dan.

  The way Sue had loved me.

  Miranda didn’t know me, but I was familiar territory. Military. A law enforcement type. We seemed simpatico and shared a similar sense of humor. Sexually, we were definitely compatible. She really responded to me. She was a hot and eager lover.

  I considered texting her several times, but then I thought – no. It would just prolong the pain. Once she knew the truth, she’d hate me and it would just bring up the whole thing again – the death of her new husband. The trauma of the news, his body torn up in the accident, burnt beyond recognition.

  Most of all, the fact that he died while rescuing me.

  I couldn’t even explain the mission I was on to justify the death. I couldn’t admit I was with SAD and that we were doing something classified. Black. Not on the books.

  I ached to tell her the truth and have her forgive me. To take her in my arms and kiss her, hold her. Make love to her.

  In my crazy romantic fantasy, she’d learn the truth, she’d forgive me, and we’d fall into each other’s arms and would spend the rest of our lives making each other happy.

  That was most likely a combination of bourbon and wishful thinking.

  I arrived back at my apartment, and shook off the rain before taking the elevator up to my loft on the seventh floor. The old building was a beauty, and was one of the first to have a working elevator in it. My loft was Spartan, with very Zen décor and wall-to-wall windows looking out over the city.

  Miranda said she’d be living in residence in the New Yorker. We couldn’t spend time there – she’d have to come to my place. A place that hadn’t seen a single woman walk through the door in years other than Sue, with the exception of a designer who decorated the place. And Casey.

  I wanted Miranda there, in my bed, sitting at my table for a meal. I could picture her cooking at the counter in my kitchen, the two of us sharing a glass of wine while she prepared her famous linguine agli scampi like she promised.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  I had to forget about Miranda.

  I spent the day at the office, catching up on work I’d let slide since the retreat. Usually, work filled my time and distracted me from other more difficult issues, but for the past week, I’d been unable to focus. That afternoon was no exception, and I found myself going over everything again, pulling up the pictures I took of Miranda while we were together. Selfies of us arm in arm, smiling like life was our bowl of cherries.

  Maybe Casey was right. I should tell her the truth – as much of it as I could – and let her decide whether to see me or hit me again and walk out of my life.

  It was really her choice to make. I wanted to see her again. There was no doubt about it. I couldn’t stop thinking of her. I felt this huge hole in my chest at the thought that I’d blown it with her but could see no way that she could forgive me.

  I sighed and left the office earlier than I planned, deciding that I’d go home, have another shower, and go to my uncle’s club for dinner with Brandon. By all rights, if I had played my cards right instead of fucking things up royally, I’d be bringing Miranda and the four of us could spend an enjoyable evening together.

  Instead, I’d be the third wheel, alone with my bourbon, which had become too much of a good friend, helping me fall asleep at night.

  I met Brandon at my uncle’s restaurant and we had a nice dinner, lavish food and service, followed by a few drinks with my uncle. His sons, who worked at the restaurant in the kitchen and bar, stood around and we caught up on family news.

  “What are you two doing now? Going out to find some pretty girls, I hope…”

  “We’re staying. Brandon’s meeting his new girlfriend,” I said and poked Brandon good-naturedly. “I’m living the single life.”

  “When are you going to bring a girlfriend?” Colm said, leaning over the top of the banquette at our table. “I’ve never seen you with the same girl twice.”

  “He’s not the type to have just one woman,” Brandon said with a grin.

  “That’s not right,” Colm said, shaking his head. “He had a girl once.” He met my eyes. “He was ready to marry her.”

  I glanced away, not wanting to be reminded of just how close to marrying Sue I had come.

  “He found a little filly he liked down in North Carolina,” Brandon said and gave me a meaningful look.

  “Long distance romances don’t work,” Colm said,
wiping his hands on his apron.

  “She lives in Manhattan,” Brandon said. “When he was in Topsail Beach, they were quite a thing.”

  I frowned at him and shook my head. “We’re not a thing anymore,” I said quietly.

  “You sure are a thing,” Brandon said. “She’s crazy about you. Leah told me. From what I can tell, you’re crazy about her.”

  “Bring her here for dinner,” Colm said, nodding. “I want to meet this girl. Who is she? What does she do?”

  I gave Brandon a shut-the-fuck-up look, but he seemed to be enjoying my pain.

  “She’s going to work for the FBI,” Brandon said and smiled. “She’s a really beautiful girl with long red hair and big green eyes. She looks like she stepped out of a travel brochure for Ireland.”

  “FBI, huh?” Colm said. He raised his eyebrows. “So she’s a smart girl. Bring her by, introduce her to your family. I’ll make a proper Irish feast for her.”

  He squeezed my shoulder and nodded like it was settled.

  Finally, after a bit more ribbing from my uncle and cousins, Brandon and I left the restaurant and went to the bar on the other side of the building. It was only nine, so we were early. The larger crowds didn’t come until ten. We took seats in an alcove that overlooked the dance floor, and ordered a couple of drinks from the waitress who came to take our order. I knew her from having spent a good deal of time at the club. Christa leaned over my chair and spoke to me about her father, who was a friend of Colm’s.

  It was then I saw Miranda and Leah standing in the door to the club.

  “Oh, God,” I said and stood, feeling numb when I realized she’d come with Leah.

  Miranda stood in the doorway, staring at me. She was beautiful, her curves nicely emphasized by her little black dress and heels, her long auburn hair shining in the overhead light.

  My throat choked up immediately, but this was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not. I knew I had to go and speak with her.

  So I did.