Page 9 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Beckett

The lunch crowd at Draper’s Tavern had thinned out by the time I slid into our usual booth, the one in the back corner where we could see both entrances.

Old habits. Coop was already there, chair tipped back against the wall, looking relaxed in a way that only former military who’d seen too much could manage.

That practiced ease that said he was ready to move at the first hint of trouble.

“You’re late.” He didn’t look up from the menu he’d probably memorized three years ago.

“Feed delivery came early. Had to help unload.” I flagged down Wendy, the waitress who’d been working here since before I’d enlisted.

She approached with her order pad, tucking a strand of gray hair behind her ear. “The usual?”

“When have I ever changed my order?”

“Burger, medium, extra pickles, sweet potato fries.” She didn’t bother writing it down. “Coop already ordered his health-conscious grilled chicken.”

“It’s called taking care of myself,” Coop protested. “Some of us want to see forty without a triple bypass.”

“Some of us want to enjoy the ride,” I countered.

The bell above the door chimed, and Aiden walked in with that measured stride of his. Where Coop sprawled, Aiden moved with military precision that five years of civilian life hadn’t softened. He nodded to us, ordered coffee from Wendy without sitting down first, then folded himself into the booth.

“Travis sends his regards,” Aiden said. “From his cave.”

“He answer the door this time?” Coop asked.

“Video intercom. Pretty sure he was wearing the same shirt from last month’s virtual meeting.”

“That’s our boy.” Coop’s grin held genuine affection. We all worried about Travis in our own ways, but the man had saved our asses with his tech skills more times than I could count. If he wanted to live like a hermit, that was his call.

“Well, well. The Warrior Security brain trust, solving the world’s problems one burger at a time.”

I looked up to find Lachlan approaching our table, his sheriff’s badge catching the light from the window. My best friend since seventh grade looked tired, a kind of bone-deep exhaustion—I wasn’t sure if it was from his new job as sheriff or his new infant twins.

“Sheriff.” Aiden nodded. “Join us?”

“Can’t. Piper needs me to pick up something for the kids.” The smile that crossed his face when he mentioned his family was something to see. “Just wanted to say hey.”

“How are Sadie and Caleb?” I asked. After what those kids and Piper had been through, we were all going to be protective of them their whole lives. The memory still made my jaw clench.

“Growing like weeds. Sadie’s determined to walk before she crawls, and Caleb’s got opinions about everything even without a vocabulary.” His phone buzzed. He glanced at it and grinned. “That’s the boss now. Better get moving before she sends out a search party.”

After he left, Coop shook his head. “Man’s whipped.”

“Man’s happy,” Aiden corrected quietly. “There’s a difference.”

Wendy brought our food, and for a few minutes, we just ate. The tavern’s burger was as good as always, greasy in all the right ways. Comfort food for guys who’d learned to take comfort where they could find it.

“So,” Coop said eventually, stealing one of my fries despite his supposed health consciousness. “Next week, I’m heading to Billings. Their SWAT team wants some advanced tactical training.”

“Urban assault?” Aiden asked.

“Close quarters combat, night operations. They’re good, but they want to be better.” He pointed a fry at Aiden. “Speaking of training, how’s the wilderness survival program coming?”

Aiden set down his coffee cup with deliberate care. “Three-week intensive course. Navigation, shelter building, water procurement, trapping. Start with basics, work up to a five-day solo survival test.”

“Sounds miserable,” Coop said cheerfully. “Sign me up.”

“Already did.” Aiden’s rare smile appeared. “Someone needs to test-run it before we open registration.”

“You just want to watch me eat bugs.”

Aiden almost smiled. “Added protein. Good for that health-conscious lifestyle.”

I let their banter wash over me, familiar as breathing. These men had become my brothers in all the ways that mattered. We’d found each other here in Garnet Bend, drawn by Warrior Security and the promise of purpose after the military. After the things we’d seen. Done. Survived.

“Earth to Beckett.” Coop waved a hand in front of my face. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere.” I pushed my plate aside. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” Coop said. “How’s the farm-sitting going? You talking to the animals yet, now that Lark’s gone?”

I gave him a look over the rim of my water glass. “I talk to the dogs.”

“The dogs talk back?”

“They make more sense than most people.” I shrugged one shoulder and reached for my burger.

“That’s not saying much,” Aiden muttered.

“But seriously.” Coop leaned forward, abandoning his casual sprawl. “How’s it going out there? Must be weird, being on that property alone.”

“I’m not alone.” The words came out before I could stop them. I hadn’t planned to mention Audra at all.

Both men perked up like hunting dogs catching a scent.

“Oh?” Coop’s grin turned predatory. “Do tell.”

“There’s a new girl. Woman. Employee.” I focused on my coffee cup. “Her name’s Audra. She’s helping with the animals while Lark’s gone.”

“Audra,” Coop repeated, drawing out the name. “Pretty name.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Sure you wouldn’t.” He exchanged a look with Aiden. “What’s she like?”

“Jumpy.” I chose my words carefully. “Scared. Shows up early, stays late. Works hard. Lark is paying her cash.”

“Sounds like someone with a story.” Aiden leaned back and crossed his arms over his massive chest.

“Everyone’s got a story.” But even as I said it, I knew Audra’s was different. The way she checked exits, watched shadows, flinched at unexpected sounds. I’d seen that behavior before, in combat zones. In victims.

“She staying on the property?” Coop asked.

“No. Somewhere in town, I guess.” But honestly, I didn’t even know if that was true.

Aiden studied me, head tilted to the side. “You run a background check?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Aiden’s question held no judgment, just curiosity.

I thought about it, really considered why I hadn’t asked Travis to dig into Audra.

I could get her last name from Lark then with one phone call, and I’d know everything—at least the stuff that could be known about her from a computer.

But age, Social Security number, contents of her bank account… that wasn’t what I wanted to know.

I shouldn’t want to know anything.

“Not my business,” I said finally.

“Since when has that stopped you?” Coop challenged. “You vetted everyone at Pawsitive Connections when Lark first hired you. Remember the guy with the fake references? You spotted that in a heartbeat.”

He was right, and we all knew it. I had a habit of running security assessments on everyone, whether they’d asked for it or not. Professional paranoia, Rodriguez had called it, back when he was alive to call it anything. But with Audra, something held me back.

“She’s different,” I said finally.

“Different how?” Coop challenged.

I remembered the way she’d looked that first morning, exhausted and thin and still ready to work. The gentle way she handled the animals. The smile that had transformed her face when Jet had chosen her.

“Just different,” I repeated, knowing it wasn’t enough but unable to explain further.

Coop and Aiden exchanged one of those looks that years of friendship made possible—entire conversations in a glance. They were reading more into my words than I’d intended to share, seeing things I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

“You like her,” Coop announced with the confidence of someone who knew he was right.

“I don’t know her,” I protested.

“You want to know her,” he amended.

“I want to keep her safe.” The admission surprised me with its vehemence.

“She’s scared, really scared. Running from something or someone that has her looking over her shoulder every few minutes.

And she’s…” I struggled for the right word, finally settling on, “fragile. Looks like she hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks, probably hasn’t had a safe place to sleep in longer than that. ”

“So feed her,” Aiden suggested with typical practicality. “Protect her. That’s what we do, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that simple,” I argued.

“Why not?” Coop asked.

Because getting involved meant caring, and caring meant the possibility of failing. I’d already failed enough people for one lifetime, carried enough ghosts to last forever. Rodriguez’s face flashed through my mind, followed by all the others who’d trusted me to keep them safe.

“Beck.” Coop’s voice had gone serious, all teasing vanished. “When’s the last time you were interested in someone? Really interested?”

“I’m not—” I started to deny it.

“Bullshit,” he cut me off. “You’ve mentioned this woman more in the last five minutes than you’ve mentioned any female in the past year. That means something, brother.”

“It means she needs help,” I insisted.

“So help her,” Aiden said, making it sound simple when nothing in our world ever was. “You’ve got the skills, the resources, the proximity. What’s stopping you?”

“And if she doesn’t want help?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Then you back off.” Coop shrugged. “But from what you’re describing, sounds like she could use a friend at minimum. Or at least someone watching her six while she figures things out.”

They were right, and I hated it. Hated the pull I felt toward a woman I’d known less than a week, hated the protective instincts she triggered without trying.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Coop studied me for a long moment, his expression shifting through several emotions before settling on something like understanding. “You’ve got it bad, brother.”

“I’ve got nothing,” I corrected. “Just doing my job.”

“For what it’s worth,” Aiden said quietly, “I think you’re doing the right thing. Sometimes people need space to come to terms with accepting help. Pushing too hard, too fast just makes them run further.”

“Speaking from experience?” Coop asked, but gently, without his usual edge.

Aiden just gave him that thousand-yard stare that shut down further questions. We all had our ghosts, our moments that defined us. Some we shared, some we kept locked away where even brothers couldn’t reach.

Wendy brought the check, and we went through our usual routine of fighting over it, though with less enthusiasm than normal. Coop won this round, throwing down cash before either Aiden or I could protest.

“Same time next week?” he asked as we stood, the vinyl seats creaking with released pressure.

“Unless the world ends,” I agreed, falling back on our standard response.

“Even then,” Aiden added. “Pretty sure this place would survive the apocalypse.”

We headed for the door together, but Coop caught my arm just before we reached it, his grip firm but not restraining.

“Hey,” he said, making sure I was listening. “All joking aside, if this woman needs help—real help, not just a safe place to work—you call us. Whatever she’s running from, whoever’s hunting her, she doesn’t have to face it alone. Neither do you, brother. We’ve got your six, same as always.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. These men would back any play I made, no questions asked, no hesitation. That kind of loyalty was rare in the civilian world, sacred among those of us who’d learned its value in places where trust meant survival.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I managed.

“You do that,” Coop said, clapping me on the shoulder with enough force to rock me forward. “And Beck? Maybe consider that not everything has to end like Rodriguez. Sometimes you get to save people. Sometimes they save you right back.”

He left before I could respond, which was probably for the best since I had no idea what to say. I stood on the sidewalk outside Draper’s, watching my friends head to their vehicles, Coop’s words echoing in my head and mixing with memories I couldn’t shake.

Rodriguez bleeding out in my arms, his blood staining the Afghan dirt. The weight of failure crushing my chest. The promise I’d made to never let anyone down like that again, a promise that had turned into walls so high I’d forgotten what it felt like to let anyone in.

And now Audra, with her haunted eyes and careful movements, her obvious fear and stubborn determination. Someone who needed saving, whether she admitted it or not. Someone who made me want to try again, despite knowing how badly it could end.

I’d failed before, and the cost had been everything—a life lost, a family destroyed, my own soul fractured in ways that would never fully heal.

But Coop was right about one thing: not every story ended in blood and guilt.

Sometimes, if you were very lucky and very careful, you got a second chance at redemption.

Whether I deserved one was another question entirely, but maybe this wasn’t about what I deserved.

Maybe this was about what Audra needed.