Page 21 of Beckon

7

CHANDLER

Tami’s wordsricocheted around his chest, leaving holes in every surface they touched. It was disconcerting that she could see deep into his soul. If she saw that, surely, she saw the darkness too and he was ashamed. That was his to bear, not for others to gawk at.

Anger swelled up inside him. Not at Tami, but at the people who’d put those marks on him. At himself for being an idiot and thinking he could go on an actual date. A date with someone who had a pure heart like Tami. Someone who should never taint herself with the likes of him.

If the military had taught him anything, it was to adapt and overcome, and that’s what he did.

At least that’s what he attempted to do.

Finish the date and never call her again.

Chewing was good.

Chewing occupied his mouth and hers.

But then she smiled up at him with a hint of chocolate cake on her cheek and Chandler not only forgot to be mad. He forgot he had no future to offer her. He forgot everything and every reason to keep his distance and leaned up, kissing that bit of chocolate frosting off her cheek. It was quick and chaste, but he felt it in his bones.

Color bloomed where his mouth had just vacated, and her jade-green eyes dropped to her lap. Her innocence was intoxicating and surprising. She was a mother and a widow, for Christ’s sake. But it wasn’t manufactured or practiced. Tami really was affected by his unexpected affection.

Hell, he was surprised too.

“I’m not a raging alcoholic, I drink to dull memories that haunt me.”

But not near as surprised by his spontaneous admission. Which was followed up with the sound of a small fracture in the walls he’d erected around his heart. Walls he spent the last month shoring up. Not just against others, but against himself. It was the only way he could continue breathing and even that was questionable on the best of days.

Chandler had allowed everyone else to believe he was a drunk. It was easier than admitting the truth.

Another truth was he was on the alcoholic path if he didn’t wake the fuck up, and soon. Most folks don’t set out to become alcoholics, it starts as a way to deal with shit and then it gets out of hand.

Chandler wasn’t out of hand yet, but he played it up in an effort to push everyone away.

Mission accomplished.

“Thank you for clarifying that. And thank you for trusting me withthatinformation. You do not owe me or anyone an explanation or insight into your life.” She mimicked the words he’d spoken to her earlier. “I know sharing weaknesses is one of the hardest things to do for fear of them being exploited. I promise not to wield it against you.”

Chandler’s jaw hit his chest.How does this woman do that?How did she reach into a pile of filth and pull out something worth shining up?

While her words gave him something he didn’t realize how desperately he wanted, he needed her to understand more than that.

“I mean it, Tami. I drink too much on occasion, but I am not someone who can’t control it or endangers others.”

The last wasn’t exactly accurate, but in the way he wanted to convey it, it was. “I just really need you to know that.”

And that was the rub.

Why did it matter to him so much what one person thought about one aspect of his behavior? It made zero sense in the grand scheme of life. But it mattered, more than he could comprehend. He was sure she’d lost her husband to a drunk driver. The clues were there. He needed her to know he was nothing like the person that changed her life that way. Plus, he really wanted her to open up to him.

Not that he was in any position whatsoever to comfort anyone else, but he wanted to be. Watching her look down at her twisting fingers filled him with a protective instinct. For one of the happiest people he’d known, Tami balanced that enthusiasm with sadness. But there was something different about her sadness. It wasn’t an overwhelming weight like most people’s was, like his was.

She didn’t wear it like a cloak. Hers was almost like an indulgence and then, boom, she found the light. It was miraculous to watch play out across her delicate features.

He watched as her lips moved.Seven. At least that’s what he thought she said to her hands before she raised her face to him. He’d heard her mumble that number before, at the arcade.

“You know, there was this one time when a homeless man offered me his water. It was August, the year I lost my husband. I was pumping gas, which ridiculously made me sad every time without fail. It was something Reese used to do for me all the time, and before that, my dad did it. I didn’t pump my own gas until after I’d lost them both.”

She paused and looked at Chandler. When a blush crept across her freckles, he felt something tug at his heart. “Okay, now I sound like an idiot. I could pump my own gas. I mean, I was capable, I just never had to. It was one of the little things that someone always did for me.”

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