Page 21 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Audra

“Please pick up. Please, God, let him pick up…”

The phone rang once, twice. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it. Beckett’s grip on my arm had gone slack, his body lax on the ground. I dropped with him, trying to cushion his fall with my free arm while keeping the phone pressed to my ear.

Three rings. Four.

His eyes had rolled back, showing only white.

The strong, capable man who’d been oiling hinges just minutes ago was gone, replaced by someone drowning in memories I couldn’t see.

My throat felt raw from holding back sobs.

This was my fault somehow. Something about that crash in the barn had triggered this, and I’d been the one making noise in there, searching for the pitchfork that had fallen?—

“What’s up, asshole?” The voice through the phone was casual, warm with the kind of affection men showed through insults.

“This isn’t— I’m not—” My voice cracked. “My name is Audra. I work at Pawsitive Connections with Beckett. Something’s wrong. Really wrong. He’s?—”

“Where is he?” The warmth vanished, replaced by sharp command. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

“He’s on the ground. His eyes are rolled back. He was gripping me so tight I thought he’d break my arm, but now he’s barely conscious. He kept saying something about Rodriguez and covering fire and—” A sob escaped despite my efforts. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help him.”

“Listen to me, Audra. Listen very carefully.” Coop’s voice cut through my panic like a blade through rope. “Beckett’s having a PTSD episode. A bad one, from the sounds of it. You’re not in danger, but he needs specific help. Can you follow my instructions exactly?”

“Yes. Yes, anything.”

“First, is he breathing?”

I leaned closer, felt the warm puff of air against my cheek. “Yes. Fast and shallow, but yes.”

“Good. Don’t try to restrain him or hold him down.

But keep your hand on him—his shoulder or his arm.

Maintain that physical contact if you can.

It helps ground him. But only do it if he’s not violent or hurting you—if he’s violent, get away.

It’ll have worse long-standing effects if he knows he hurt you. ”

It was a little too late for that, but neither Coop nor Beckett needed to know that. “He’s not violent now.”

“Okay, good. Keep talking to him. Use his name. Tell him where he is. Montana. Pawsitive Connections. Keep repeating it.”

“Okay.” I shifted, keeping one hand on Beckett’s shoulder while holding the phone with the other. His flannel shirt was soaked with sweat. “Beckett, you’re in Montana. You’re at Pawsitive Connections. You’re safe.”

“Good. Keep going. I’m ten minutes out.”

“Ten minutes?” It might as well have been ten hours.

“I’m already in my truck, driving fast as I can. You’re doing great. Is there a dog nearby? Any of the dogs?”

Jet was already pressed against Beckett’s leg, whining low in his throat, his whole body trembling with the need to help but not knowing how. “Yes. Jet’s here. The others are in the kennels. Should I get them?”

“No, it’s more important to keep talking to Beckett. But call Jet over. Let him lie against Beckett if he wants. The dogs help. They always help him.”

“Jet, lie down.” My voice shook, but the German shepherd responded immediately, pressing his body along Beckett’s side, resting his head on Beckett’s chest. “Good boy. Such a good boy.”

“Keep talking to Beck. I’m coming.”

I set the phone on speaker, placing it on the ground so I could use both hands. One stayed on Beckett’s shoulder, the other wiped the sweat from his forehead. His skin felt clammy, too cold despite the warming sun.

“Beckett, you’re at Pawsitive Connections in Montana.

It’s Tuesday morning. Lark’s at her conference.

The dogs are all here. Duke and Rosie and Atlas.

” I kept my voice steady even as tears ran down my face.

“Jet’s right here with you. Can you feel him?

He’s worried about you. We’re both worried about you. ”

Beckett’s breathing hitched, became even more ragged. His hands clenched and unclenched, grasping at something that wasn’t there. Or something that had been there, years ago, in a place I couldn’t imagine.

“Rodriguez isn’t here,” I said, not knowing if it would help or hurt but needing to try. “Whatever happened, it’s over. You survived. You came home. You’re in Montana now.”

A sound escaped him—half sob, half moan. His body convulsed once, then went terrifyingly still.

“Coop? Coop, he’s not moving much anymore.”

“That’s actually good. Means he’s coming down from the peak of it. Keep talking. Tell him about the morning, what you were doing, anything normal and present.”

“We were doing morning chores,” I said, addressing Beckett even though his eyes remained unfocused. “You were fixing the barn door hinges. I was in the barn looking for the pitchfork that fell. That’s what made the crash—I knocked over a bucket trying to reach it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Coop said firmly through the speaker. “Could have been anything. Car backfiring, fireworks, hell, sometimes it’s nothing at all. Just keep talking to him.”

I talked about everything I could think of.

The way the morning light made the mountains look purple.

How Princess Whiskers had actually purred when I’d fed her earlier.

My cabin and how I’d let Jet sleep in the bed with me, but eventually, he’d gone back into his crate.

Beckett was right; crates were comforting for dogs.

Beckett’s breathing gradually deepened, became less frantic. His eyes closed completely, and for a terrifying moment, I thought?—

“Still breathing?” Coop asked.

“Yes.” I checked again to be sure. “Yes, he’s breathing better now.”

“Good. Almost there.”

I heard the truck before I saw it, tires crunching on gravel at a speed that sent rocks flying. Coop was out before the engine fully died, moving with the controlled urgency of someone who’d done this before.

He was exactly what I’d expected from Beckett’s friend—military bearing despite the civilian clothes, assessing everything in one sweep.

Tall, built like someone who stayed ready for trouble, with sandy hair and eyes that missed nothing.

Those eyes took in the scene: Beckett on the ground, me crying, Jet standing guard.

“Good job,” he said, dropping to his knees beside us. “You did good.”

He took over with practiced efficiency, checking Beckett’s pulse, pupils, breathing. His movements were sure, competent, gentle despite their urgency.

“Hey, brother,” he said, voice pitched low and calm. “It’s Coop. You’re at Pawsitive Connections. You had an episode, but you’re coming out of it. I’m here. Audra’s here. You’re safe.”

Beckett’s eyelids fluttered. A sound like recognition escaped his throat.

“That’s it. Come on back. Nothing but Montana sunshine and dog breath here.” Coop kept up the steady patter while checking Beckett over. “Remember that time Duke ate an entire bag of treats and threw up on your boots? That was last month, man. Last month in Montana. Not Afghanistan. Montana.”

Afghanistan. That told me a lot with a single word.

“Coop?” The word was barely a whisper, but it was there . Beckett was coming back.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Coop talked to him for a while longer about…

everything. About training with some SWAT guys.

About how the water dispenser in the Warrior Security gym was going to have to be replaced because it was leaking.

About some sort of new tactical vest he found in Billings that he really liked.

The whole time, his hand stayed anchored on Beckett—shoulder, forearm, whatever was within reach.

No hesitation, no self-consciousness. Just steady, grounding contact.

Because between them, there was no room for awkwardness.

No need to explain or excuse. It was simple, unspoken reassurance—one soldier telling another he still had his back.

Eventually, Coop nodded at me, then looked back down at Beckett. “Okay, Beck. We’re going to help you sit up now, okay?”

Together, we got Beckett into a sitting position. He swayed, disoriented, but his eyes were focusing now. They found mine, and I saw recognition followed immediately by shame.

“Audra.” My name came out broken. “Did I—did I hurt?—”

“No. I’m fine.” I didn’t show him the bruises on my arm. What good would it possibly do?

“Come on,” Coop said. “Let’s get you up. Walk it off.”

It took both of us to get Beckett to his feet. He leaned heavily on Coop, his legs unsteady. They made it about ten feet before Beckett pulled away, needing to stand on his own even though he swayed.

“The dogs,” he said, voice rough. “Need to… The dogs help.”

“Yeah, I know,” Coop said. “Let’s go see them. Audra, can you let the dogs he’s been working with out of their kennel?”

They walked slowly toward the training area. I let out the security dogs, who knew exactly where to go. I followed at a distance, not sure if I should stay or go, help or hide. Even Jet trotted alongside Beckett, pressing against his leg every few steps as if making sure he was still there.

When they reached the training yard, Beckett opened the gate with shaking hands. Duke bounded over immediately, followed by Rosie and Atlas. They surrounded him, tails wagging but energy subdued, like they sensed his fragility.

Beckett sank to his knees in the middle of them, and they pressed close.

Duke rested his massive head on Beckett’s shoulder.

Rosie wiggled into his lap. Atlas leaned against his back.

Even from the fence where I stood, I could see the tension slowly leaving Beckett’s body as the dogs anchored him to the present.

Coop walked back to me. “Grab that camp chair. He’s going to be there awhile.”