If You Fall (Brimstone 1)

I was going to say something smartass, but she was right. I was almost married to Sue three years earlier – until Sue died while we were on vacation in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands off the coast of India.

Stung by Synanceia horrida, the dreaded Stonefish. Her death was one of those freak of nature accidents that you would never believe could happen. A rogue wave threw Sue onto a bed of corals on which the stonefish was lurking, camouflaged from view. It stung her on the chest, which is about the worst place to be stung if you hope to survive long enough to get anti-venom. Stonefish are the most poisonous creatures on earth. Sue died in the local hospital within a few hours and there was nothing I could do. None of my training in special operations forces helped. The medical training – the survival skills – evasion and resistance skills – they were worthless.

Casey was constantly bugging me to find someone new and make something real like I had with Sue, but I couldn’t. Nothing felt real after her death.

No one could replace her.

I couldn’t connect with women any longer. Really connect. They all seemed petty and boring, more interested in my money or fashion than in anything real. Sue, on the other hand, was as real as they got – a nurse I met in the war and pursued once we both got out of the service.

Instead of trying to meet anyone new, I poured all my energy into building up my corporation. I was a bona fide entrepreneur, with a multi-million-dollar business developing innovative technology to assist the military. After several tours of duty in a Marine Recon unit, then Marine Special Operations Forces, I had a pretty good idea of what was needed, what was lacking, and had watched my fellow Marines die in too high a number due to inadequate communications. My goal was to provide superior communications tech for reconnaissance to better protect soldiers on the battlefield.

Except you can’t completely protect yourself against random acts of violence done in the name of some extremist religious sect, as Graham found out in Malaysia. Or from poisonous fish that looked like innocent stones. All you could do was wear lots of body armor and stay the fuck out of Dodge.

“I have lots of girl friends,” I said as we moved to some machines for cardio. “They give me what I want and I give them what they want. Fair exchange. Besides, I don’t have time for a real relationship.”

“You don’t have time to waste, Beckett.” Casey tilted her head and gave me the evil eye. “You of all people should know how short life is and how unpredictable Fate can be. I mean a real relationship with someone who’s your equal.”

“You’re a lesbian,” I said and grinned widely.

She laughed at that, but I meant it. She was a software engineer and the smartest woman I ever met. Luckily, the subject was soon forgotten as we both ran for twenty minutes on the treadmills that lined the weight room. I needed to build up a good sweat, get some of the toxins out of me. As I ran, I remembered the blonde from the previous night, the stinky restroom at the bar, the grimy floor and graffiti-scrawled stall.

Such a difference from meeting Miranda…

Maybe Casey was right. It had been so long since I met a real woman, as Casey described it, that I frankly didn’t know where to start.

Miranda lived in North Carolina. I had no idea where I could ever find someone else like her. I worked with men all day at the corporation – former military types who acted as consultants, fellow software engineers who worked on prototypes. Besides lifting, and ratting on my thug of an uncle, I really didn’t do anything else but work. Running the business took up all my time.

“So, how am I supposed to meet these real women?” I said when we finished our workout. “Should I sign up for classes at the community college? Take a singles cooking class?” I asked sarcastically.

I wiped my face with a towel and watched her response to my half-serious suggestions.

She eyed me for a moment. “Hun, if you don’t know how to meet girls at your age, I’m afraid there’s no hope for you.”

I made a face. “I can meet women fine, sha. But the ones I meet aren’t really the bring her home to momma types. And you’re not really the best source of new material…”

She punched my arm, not so lightly. “I know a lot of straight people. You, for instance. You should stop going to bars to meet women or at least don’t fuck them on the first date. Get real with a woman and you’ll find someone.”

“I could find someone any night of the week,” I replied sourly. “besides, I met a very pretty lady at a bar only the other night.”

“And why wasn’t she with you at Blanc last night?” She wagged her eyebrows.

I didn’t say more. I didn’t want her to know the whole backstory about Miranda.

“You need to meet someone real,” she replied and punched me on the shoulder again. I punched her back lightly, and we sparred briefly, ducking each other’s punches before separating to our appropriate changing rooms. Before I entered the Men’s, Casey stopped at the door to the Women’s and looked at me, a serious expression on her pretty face, her eyes bright.

“I’m serious, Beckett. You need to find something real with someone real. Both men and women are only truly happy when they have someone to love.”

For once, I bit back the snide retort and nodded.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew she was right, but I fought acknowledging it, like to do so would be the end of the new Beckett. The one who emerged after Sue died. The Beckett that all the single ladies knew and loved but none of them could have.

Sure, I’d struck out with perhaps the prettiest woman I’d met in a long time – Miranda Parker. But that was because I hadn’t really turned on the charm.

I’d rectify that lapse if I had the chance and I aimed to make sure I did.

Later that night after I’d had a warm bath and was lying on my bed, watching late night news, I picked up the package I had intended to drop off during my stay in Topsail Beach. I lay back on my bed, propped up with several pillows, and opened the envelope once more.

I sorted through the letters, organizing them by date to see what Miranda had written, laying out the photos that went along with the letters. I felt incredible guilt that I was reading them when I should have returned them that night I met Miranda, but something made me keep them. I wanted to do it right. I wanted to meet Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, thank them for their son’s sacrifice, and return the letters properly. I wanted to take Miranda out for dinner or a drink and talk to her about her life, see how far I could take it with her.