Page 59 of Tactical Lies

Was the damage he’d caused to their relationship one of those things you could survive?

Connor prayed with every fiber of his being that it was.

Because living out the rest of his life without Becca by his side was not.

August 22nd

2:38 P.M.

“Connor!”

“What?” he asked, freezing at her outburst as though something was poised and ready to attack them. Only what could attack them in the beautiful woods where she was finally finding the peace and tranquility she’d been chasing for twelve long years, she had no idea.

“A bridge,” she said, tugging him over to stand on the small wooden bridge that curled above the river that flowed lazily beneath it.

“Oookkaaay,” he said slowly, clearly having no idea what she was talking about.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“All right, I won't tell you I've forgotten,” he said with a smirk.

Becca rolled her eyes and then planted her hands on her hips. “I can't believe you'd forget something so important.”

“You’ve lost me, babe. I have zero idea what you're talking about.”

“Look around you,” she instructed. Surely, he couldn’t really have forgotten another of her favorite childhood games. Not when they were standing on a bridge.

Obediently he began to scan their surroundings. “Okay, I see a whole bunch of trees, lots of pretty flowers, I see clouds in the sky and the sun, there are some bees and butterflies, probably a whole bunch of other insects I can't see. There’s the river, and this bridge, and the path we were following before you scared me half to death. What in particular am I supposed to be focusing on?”

With a sigh, she tugged her hand free of his, held up said hand to indicate he should stay right where he was, and then hurried off the bridge to scan the ground. Her gaze landed on what she needed, and she bent down to snatch up two sturdy-looking sticks and then scampered back to Connor.

“Well?” she asked as she held up the sticks.

His brow furrowed. “Sticks?” Then she could see it clicked together in his head. “Oh, sticks and we’re on a bridge. My little Winnie the Pooh fan used to be obsessed with playing Poohsticks.”

“Right! How could you have forgotten that?” she asked, beaming up at him, pleased he’d remembered even if she’d had to prompt him a little.

“I have no idea,” he told her with another one of those charming smiles that had her having to squeeze her thighs together as heat zinged between her legs.

“I always used to win at Poohsticks,” she said as she kept hold of the stick that looked like a Y and passed the other one to Connor.

“Actually, yeah you did. I have no idea how. The game is totally random and not even up to anything we do or don’t do, yet you did always win.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she informed him. “There absolutely is something you can do to ensure you always win.”

“Yeah? What's that then?”

“Pick the right stick,” she said, holding up hers, which she was positive would indeed be the winner when they dropped them over one side of the bridge and then moved to the other side to see which one appeared first.

Connor’s laugh rang out, so pure and full of joy that she froze. How could she have lived so many years without hearing that sound? Those last four months they'd been together were rough, and neither of them had had a lot to laugh about.

Hearing it now had tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

She’d missed it so much.

Missed him so much.

Just because she hadn't allowed herself to think about Connor because it was too painful didn't mean she hadn't been living her life with a part of herself missing.

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