Page 62 of Tactical Lies

Becca was going to say yes.

It might take her a little more time, but she was going to give him a second chance and he had no plans on squandering it.

Would continuing to fight against the men who had already proved they would do whatever it took to silence them wind up having him squander that precious second chance? It was easy to say that nothing could make him back off when it wasn't the life of the woman he loved hanging on the line.

“You okay?” Becca asked.

Forcing a smile to his lips, Connor shoved away the negative thoughts. He and his brothers would keep Becca safe the same way they’d keep Cassandra, Willow, Susanna, Essie, and Gabriella safe. They were proving that not only were they a strong unit, but they also got stronger as they got bigger.

“I’m okay,” he assured her.

She twisted her hands together and rocked from foot to foot, a sign that she was nervous. “You sure? Because I was going to suggest we light a fire in the firepit and make S’mores, but if you’d rather spend the evening alone, I can just go up to bed and leave you to it.”

“No!” The word blurted out of him in a rush. No matter his doubts and concerns, any time Becca wanted to spend with him was time well spent. “No,” he said again, calmer this time. “I don’t want you to go up to bed, I don’t want to be alone. S’mores and the firepit sound wonderful. Why don’t you gather supplies, and I’ll go get a fire started.”

For a moment she studied him, but then she relaxed and smiled. “Okay. Meet you outside in a few minutes.”

It still felt like she was up to something, but whatever it was couldn’t be bad, so Connor didn't dwell on it. Instead, he set down the plate, turned off the water, and left the dishes to drip dry on the side of the sink. He’d worry about them in the morning because right now, he wanted to just focus on Becca.

The firepit was about twenty yards from the cabin on the left side, the river side, about halfway between the building and the dock where they’d laid in the sun earlier. Already some wood sat inside, and he’d grabbed a small lock box with matches on his way out.

By the time he heard Becca approaching, he had a nice little fire going and dropped down into one of the Adirondack chairs that circled the stone firepit. He watched as she came closer, she’d taken her hair out of its braid, letting it hang down her back in a mass of kinky, black waves, and she’d thrown on a sweater since the night air was getting chilly as the summer wound down.

Her long, lean legs ate up the distance between them, and even though she had the supplies to make S’mores in her arms, she dumped them in the chair beside his, then instead of finding her own chair she planted herself on his lap.

Surprise had him freezing.

What game was his moonlight intent on playing tonight?

It was clear she was determined to follow through on whatever plan she had brewing in that pretty head of hers because he recognized the glint in her eyes.

It was her Becca means business look.

“What are you up to?” he asked as his hands moved to grip her hips, keeping her in place in case she decided to change her mind. Holding her, even if this was all they did tonight, was more than worth it as far as he was concerned.

“I have something for you.” She held up a sonogram picture, a photo of a tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket wearing a little blue cap, a card with the smallest footprints he’d ever seen, and a pair of knitted booties. “I needed something to do with my hands after you left so I took up knitting. I wanted to make something for the baby. He was already gone before he was born but was big enough to hold for a photo. I wanted to share these with you.”

His heart ached at the knowledge he wasn't there the day Becca had gone into labor.

“This isn’t to make you sad, Connor,” she said softly.

“I know, baby. It makes me sad because it’s a reminder of my failures. But I'm so grateful you shared these with me.”

“Yeah?” Becca searched his gaze seeking the truth.

“Yes. Always yes. He was our son.”

“Carter Marsden-Charleston.”

Surprise had him tightening his hold on her hips. “You named him after my dad? And gave him my last name?”

“He was both of ours.”

“Thank you.” Tears blurred his vision, and he touched a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for carrying my son inside you. Thank you for loving him even when you didn't know he was mine. Thank you for loving me even after I hurt you.”

“Loving you is as easy as breathing.”

“The most natural thing in the world,” he agreed.