“I mean, they wouldn’t even let her see his body. That’s got to mess with her. For all she knows, he could still be alive somewhere, and the military is covering it up to turn him into Jason Bourne or something. It’s messed up.”
The muscles in my jaw flexed as I clenched my teeth to keep my mouth shut. This guy didn’t know anything, not what happened to Ryan, not that he was my best friend. He was just trying to watch out for Ella, to make sure I had a good, clear picture of what she’d been through. At least that’s what I kept telling myself as we approached the search location.
The path was lined with aspens, which cut our field of vision to a minimum, but there it was, tied to the stump—a pink bandana. We gathered in another circle as bullhorn guy took center stage.
It was time to go to work.
…
“That’s quite a dog you have there,” Gutierrez told me about an hour later, when our hiker had been airlifted out and we were headed back down the trail.
“She’s one of a kind,” I agreed.
He then let me walk the rest of the way in silence, for which I was grateful. It had taken me months to let Ryan in, and years to become his best friend. Ella was the only person I’d ever had an instant connection with, and I smiled when I realized Maisie and Colt were on that list now, too.
We made it down to the trail base, and I opened the truck door for Havoc to jump in. She settled in the passenger seat, happy and a little tired.
“You did great today,” Gutierrez said as he stripped off his own pack, loading it into the car parked next to mine.
“Thanks. It felt good to be useful.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He took off his hat and rubbed his head. “Look, about the stuff I said about Ella—”
“Don’t. It’s okay.” My grip tightened on my doorframe.
“Small town,” he said with a weak shrug.
It really was. Maybe not the village with the ski resorts, but the old town. Especially when the tourists weren’t around and it was mostly locals. They were all connected here, and I might not understand it, but I could do my best to respect it.
“Ryan hasn’t been dead six months.”
Gutierrez’s head snapped up.
“He’s been dead for five months and seven days, give or take a few hours. A few very long hours. I know, because he was my best friend. I served with him for the better part of a decade.”
“Oh man, I’m so sorry.” His whole posture slumped.
“Don’t be. Never be sorry for looking out for Ella. I told you only so you’d know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe, to take care of her and the kids. Nothing. They’re the whole reason I’m here.”
He swallowed and finally looked at me, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you for telling me. If you need anything, or if she does, just let me know, or ask for my wife, Tess. Ella won’t ever ask.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty stubborn like that.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Something tells me you are, too.”
“Guilty.”
I drove home with a tired body, a content dog, and a mind that wouldn’t quit running circles. I’d meant what I’d said: there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep Ella and the kids safe.
Or was there?
I hit the brakes as I passed Ella’s cabin.
Her insurance wouldn’t pay for the treatments that could save Maisie’s life.
But I’d read over every scrap of information online about that hospital, and my insurance would.
I threw the truck into reverse and then turned down Ella’s drive. I was out of the truck before the engine died, taking her steps two at a time and pounding on her door before my brain kicked in with every reason she’d say no, knowing I’d have to convince her to say yes.
“Beckett?” Ella asked as she opened the front door. She was in jeans and a long-sleeve tee, her hair in a thick side braid that made me want to grab ahold of it while I kissed her. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry for the drop-by. Do you have a second?”
“Sure, come on in.”
“Not where the kids can hear,” I said softly, tucking my thumbs into my pockets.
Her eyebrows raised in surprise, but she stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. “Okay, what’s up?”
“Your insurance won’t pay for the MIBG therapy, or the hospital she needs, or the stem cell transplant.”
“That’s right.” She folded her arms under her breasts and looked up at me, those blue eyes inquisitive but trusting.
“She has to have it, right? Or she’ll die?”
“Beckett, what is this about?”
“Will she die without it?” I repeated, my words a little sharper than I’d ever used with Ella.
“Yes,” she whispered.
I nodded to myself, turning around and pacing the length of the porch while Ella followed.
“Beckett!” she snapped.
I turned around and took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “Your insurance won’t pay for it—”
“Right, we already covered that.”
“But mine will.”
“Okay?” She blinked at me, her forehead puckering.
“Ella, marry me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ella
Letter #15
Ella,
We lost someone today.
You’d think I’d be used to it after all this time, even callous toward it. A few years ago I was. I have no idea what’s changed lately, but now it feels like every loss is exponentially harder than the last.
Or maybe they’re the same, but I’m different.
More angry.
It’s hard to describe, but I’m somehow more aware now of my disconnection, my inability to forge emotional bonds outside of a few close friends. That small list includes you.
How can I be so connected to someone I’ve never laid eyes on, yet not the majority of the guys around me? Is it that you’re safer through paper because you’re not standing in front of me? Less of a threat, maybe?
I wish I knew.
I wish I had the words for this guy’s wife, his kids. I wish I could take it away for them, take his place. Why does the world take the people who are loved, ripping holes in the fabric of other people’s souls, while I’m allowed to skate by unscathed? Where is the justice in such a random system, and if there’s no justice, then why are we here?
I feel that same restless urge taking over again, to accomplish the mission and move on. Check the box, pull up the stakes, and know we made a difference.
I’m just not sure what that difference is anymore.
Tell me something real. Tell me what it feels like to live in the same place your whole life. Is it stifling to have such deep roots? Or does it let you sway instead of break when the winds come? I’ve gone with the wind for so long that I honestly can’t imagine it.
Thank you for letting me unload on you. I promise I won’t be such a downer next time.
~ Chaos
…
“I’m sorry?” I asked, staring at Beckett like he had two heads.
“What did you just say?” There was no way he’d said what I heard.
“Marry me.”
Or maybe he did say it.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Maybe.” He leaned back against the porch railing but didn’t cross his arms in front of his chest like he did when his stubborn switch was triggered. Instead he grasped either side of the railing, leaving his torso unprotected. Vulnerable. “But it would work. On paper, at least.”
“I don’t… I can’t… I’m speechless.”
“Good, that will give me a chance to convince you.”
Oh my God, he was serious.
“If you marry me, the kids are my dependents. I can take care of them.”
“You want to marry me to take care of my kids.” I said it slowly, certain I had somehow heard it wrong.
“Yes.”
My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to get a word—any word—past my lips. I just couldn’t think of any.
“What do you think?”
“We’re not even dating! And you…you want to get married?”
Havoc came trotting up to the porch, but she didn’t go to Beckett. She sat next to me, like she’d sensed her handler had lost his fool mind.
“Not in the romantic sense!” He raked a hand over his face. “I suck at explaining this.”
“Try. Harder.”