Page 27 of Beckon

“I would think you’d know since it smells like his father, but I’d be more than happy to wear it for Chester.” There was a sadness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.Why?

“It doesn’t smell like Reese, I mean, you don’t smell like him… oh, you thought daddies was daddy’s, I made that mistake for a second at first too, but no.” It didn’t seem her words helped, he raised an eyebrow looking more confused than before.

“Chester doesn’t remember his father. He died before he was two. Daddies, as in plural. He said all the daddies of his friends smell like that. You’ve heard of boyfriend material, well apparently you, or at least your jacket, is daddy material.”

Oh god, why did I say that out loud?

At least she didn’t say that out loud too. Without thinking, under the weight of mortification for calling her date daddy material, she turned Butterscotch, clicked her tongue, and headed for the paddock. Straight to Marta, who she hoped would act as some sort of memory erasure and they could forget the whole thing.

“If you invite me over for a dinner date, we can pull off operationdaddify the jacketand Chester will be none the wiser. We can even use code names.” Chandler shouted from behind her. She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face even if she’d tried. Making her son happy and code names? That man knew the way to her heart.

After dismounting and saying goodbye to Betty, Butterscotch, and Marta, Chandler turned to her and asked. “Can I kiss you?”

“Kind of late to ask since I think that’s what we did out there.” Tami tossed her hand up indicating the trail. No one ever asked to kiss her before. It just happened. She’d read books and seen movies where men had asked and she’d always thought it silly and not very romantic, but she was wrong.

So, so wrong.

Expecting him to lean in her eyes dropped to his lips, but they hadn’t moved. He was actually waiting for an answer.

“Yes.” She sounded breathless.

His palms burned her neck when he cupped her skin there, letting his thumbs track along the line of her jaw. As he leaned in, he kept his eyes open. Tami tried to follow suit, but when his lips met hers, they shuttered closed. He devoured her mouth, unlike the kiss on the trail, this one was something else entirely.

Feral and untamed. His teeth tugged at her lips, then he sucked her tongue into his mouth and held it hostage. It was way more than a kiss; it was a consumption. He was consuming a part of her she didn’t want to get back.

When he pulled away, her eyes opened and stared straight into his. She’d thought them tinted before, but she realized how much so up close. They really did border on burgundy.

As he was staring into her very soul, she wondered if he’d kept his eyes open the entire time.

She wished she knew.

9

CHANDLER

The coffee was bitter,the donuts dry, and the seat uncomfortable, but Chandler sat there listening to strangers talk about the people they’d lost yet again.

Although he’d been to a handful of meetings with Tate already, he still felt a bit like a fraud. These people were baring their souls over losing a spouse to cancer or a child to a freak accident, and he said nothing.

Meeting after meeting, he remained mute.

Cancer was an ugly disease, he didn’t deny that, but cancer doing the killing wasn’t the same as doing it yourself. Not that it made it any less traumatic. That wasn’t what he thought. It was more along the lines of how dare he share how he had taken lives when the people around the circle would’ve done anything to save just one.

Especially knowing what he knew. He chanced a glance at Tate who seemed comforted by their stories instead of guilt-ridden. Chandler wondered how he could sit there and sayHi, I’m Chandler, I killed a man in front of his wife and child and got my friend killed to boot. The woman across the way started speaking. Her grief was different, more like his, and he felt some sort of odd kinship with her.

“Hi, I’m Nat for the newcomers. I killed the man who broke into my home and raped me. That was four years ago. I’ve managed to progress past the anger over what gave him the right. I think I’m even in a healthy place with most of what happened. I’ve managed to become intimate for the right reasons, I even had a child.”

Her smile was watery, and Chandler knew a bigbutwas looming. It was like he knew exactly what was coming.

“Even through all that, all I’ve managed to overcome, I can’t stop the guilt from creeping in now and then. Guilt for killing him. He raped me for God’s sake, and I know in my heart he would’ve killed me, but even so. Then I feel guilty for feeling guilty, I mean, he was a bad person, and then I feel guilty for that. It’s like a Ferris wheel of guilt I can’t get off of.” She trailed off.

Chandler wanted to jump up and scream,I get it. I get it.The guilt was the lingering part of it all. Other things, they struck like a viper. They did their damage and left a wound. Over time, the wound would heal and leave a scar. The scar didn’t continue to fester. It found a new normal and didn’t change much except to fade over time.

But guilt? Guilt was like cancer. It burrowed into the soul and fed off the heart. The more guilt it ate, the hungrier it got until the person who used to be was gone. A husk of who they once were.

Over the rim of the paper cup which contained lukewarm brown swill that passed for coffee, he slid his gaze to Tate who’d started speaking. He spoke at every meeting. Sometimes of their missions, sometimes of just his feelings, but he always spoke.

Each word from his friend was like a shot fired, each round landing in his chest. Tate spoke of what he’d felt when he followed Chandler into that room, with naming him, of course. It was the first time he saw the scene through different eyes.

---