Page 10 of Tactical Lies

But he’d also seen her strength, her determination to keep moving on. While she might look small and fragile, his moonlight was so much tougher than she looked. She was a warrior, she fought with everything she had, and he was in awe of her.

Connor was determined to convince her of that.

So, he headed off after her. All he needed was a chance, he had to believe that, because if he gave up hope, he’d have to go back home and accept that Becca would never be part of his life again.

It was only as he followed her into the Cambodian jungle that he admitted to himself that he’d spent the last twelve years with the secret hope that one day things would work out the way they were always supposed to.

Now he knew the chances of that were close to zero.

“Nuh-uh.”

Just as he went to pass by Becca’s house, a woman stepped out and blocked his path. She was a tiny little thing with a mess of wild curls and a glare that was sharp enough to slice through glass. This had to be Isabella Baker, Becca’s best friend. He vaguely remembered the woman from college, and she’d been one of the few friends Becca hadn't completely managed to shove out of her life, even though she’d tried back in those early days when her trauma was too raw.

“You need to leave her alone, Connor Charleston,” Isabella snapped at him. While she was well under a foot shorter than him and had to crane her head up to meet his gaze, she looked like she was ready and willing to rip him to shreds with her bare hands if he hurt her friend.

Even though she prevented him from going after Becca, he couldn’t be more glad that his moonlight had someone so fierce in her corner.

“I just want to talk to her,” he told Isabella.

“Your talking made her have nightmares,” Isabella shot back, hands planted on her hips, glower set on her face. “I don’t remember the last time she had bad dreams. She’s doing well, she’s happy, and she’s moved on from what happened. Then you come back, and a couple of hours later she’s having nightmares and crying. It’s you. You brought it all back up. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s fought through hell to get where she is now, and I won't allow you to bring all that bad stuff up again.”

Hearing that his presence was doing more harm than good, cut through his chest like a knife. In those first days and weeks, only his presence held her together. That wasn't him being arrogant or playing up his own importance, that was what Becca used to tell him.

“That’s not why I came,” he told Isabella.

“To be perfectly frank with you, I don’t care why you came, Connor. I just want you gone. I don’t want my best friend to hurt again. I don’t want her to regress to waking up shaking and soaked in sweat from nightmares, to crying all the time, to jumping at every little noise. To live ruled by fear. She’s moved on, Connor, I think it’s time you do the same.”

Isabella’s words weighed heavily upon him.

It wasn't just that Becca didn't want to see him, didn't want to talk to him, didn't want anything to do with him. His presence was actually making things worse. Making her life harder. Bringing back all the things she’d been through.

Hanging his head, he had to fight against his instincts that screamed to go to Becca, fix this, make it right, earn back her trust and heart, or at least earn back her friendship.

But he couldn’t do that.

Not if he was hurting her.

He’d done that enough.

“Fine,” he said softly. “I’ll go. But I need to say goodbye to her. Tell her one more time that I'm sorry.”

When he looked up, Isabella’s frown had faded and she seemed to be debating with herself. “Okay. You can go say goodbye. I don’t think that could make things worse.”

“I didn't come to make things worse,” he murmured as he started walking in the direction Becca had gone.

“I believe that,” Isabella called after him. “You're not a bad guy, Connor, but you let her down. I get it. It was a lot on top of what had already been a lot to handle. But she needed you, and you weren't there for her. I don’t think I can forgive you for that.”

“Won't ever forgive myself for that,” he told her, then kept walking.

Expecting to find that Becca had gone to the schoolhouse, instead he found her standing beneath a tall tree, staring off into space. She was leaning back against it, idly tapping the line on her leg that he knew was where the top of her prosthetic was, and she didn't seem to notice his approach.

That was the old Becca he remembered from before, when she used to get lost in thought, living in her imagination and seeing the world through a colorful lens most of them didn't have access to. The Becca from after her assault noticed every little thing happening around her, hyper-aware of her surroundings, of what people were close, of gauging whether or not they were a threat.

Since the last thing he wanted to do was scare her, Connor made some noise as he approached, so she’d hear him and not get caught by surprise. At the sounds, her head snapped in his direction, and when she saw it was him, her brow furrowed.

“It’s okay,” he said, holding up his hands, palms out. “I got the message. I'm leaving, but before I go, I need to tell you one last time how sorry I am. I should have been there for you, Becca. I shouldn’t have panicked, shouldn’t have freaked out. You needed me, and I wasn't there for you, I won't forgive myself for that. Not ever, no matter how many years go by. Hurting you is my biggest regret, and I wish more than anything that I could make it right. But I'm respecting your wishes and leaving you alone.”

“You're going to leave?”

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