Page 15 of All At Once

An exhale bled out of him.

The task opened up space to breathe. This was easy. Lift out the recoil spring, then remove the barrel and spread everything out, ready to clean.

Clean the barrel, clean the slide, clean the frame. Just go step by step, and if something broke, replace the part.

Fix it.

He relaxed on the stool. He’d figure out the moving parts at work, take them apart, put them back together.

If something broke, he’d fix it.

As long as he didn’t break a person, everything was fixable.

Because people? Those were irreplaceable.

He blinked at his hands, running the bore brush through the barrel, and he was back in the shed at Grandma and Grandaddy’s, cleaning his first duty weapon while Grandma put her gardening tools away.

Scared I’m going to mess up. His voice, younger. Raw. Don’t want to look like a dipshit.

You could never. You’re too capable for that. And that was Louise, always ready to build them up. She’d touched the back of his head with a gentle hand. Your daddy would be proud of you.

Yeah. Maybe.

Get in the truck.

Daddy’s last words, dripping with irritation and Wild Turkey.

His eyes burned, and his hands stilled. Lids squeezed shut, he let the tears come.

He laid down the barrel and brush, shoving the stool back from the bench. Startled, Zeb sprung to his feet, nudging his head against Tick’s thigh. A harsh sob tore from his throat, and Zeb whined. He sank one hand into Zeb’s ruff, and pressed his fist to his mouth, muffling the sobs pushing up from deep in his chest.

With the flat of his hand, he scrubbed the tears from his face, then heaved in a couple of lungfuls of air. He took a couple more breaths to get it together, to get himself centered. Jaw clenched, he shook out his hands, getting them steady.

Planting a foot on the floor, he pulled the stool forward and picked up his barrel and brush once more.

Chapter Five

Are You Alright?

The low tone of her alarm pulled Caitlin awake, and she blinked, confused. Her alarm actually sounding in the morning was rare. Normally, she woke to Tick, who set his alarm early, turned hers off and roused her, an arm over her waist, his face buried in her hair. Sometimes they made love, others they came awake together, talking about their day.

His side of the bed lay empty, and she sat up, resting a hand on the cool sheets there. In the en suite, the shower sat dry and unused, and when she opened the bedroom door, the rich scent of coffee wafted down the hall.

Pushing her hair back, she walked to the kitchen and found him dressed in athletic shorts and a wicking tee, setting out the girls’ lunches. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice held a hoarse edge. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

She took a step closer, studying him. Grief often brought disrupted sleep with it, and his face bore witness, his features taut and drawn, his eyes red-rimmed.

Her initial unease softening, she crossed to the coffee maker. “You haven’t showered.”

“No. I’m starting in the gym with Beech and our rookies.” He set a metal water bottle next to each lunch bag. “I’ll clean up at work. My suit’s already in the truck. I’ll drop the girls off.”

Her grip tightened on her mug. “It’s not your day.”

He shrugged, not looking around as he shifted to unloading the dishwasher. “It’ll give you a little extra time this morning.”

She watched him, muscles moving in his forearms as he stacked plates in the cabinet. His fingers shook, and a sharp chemical scent tickled her nose. She leaned on the counter and wrapped both hands around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her palms. “I’ll drop off our drycleaning, then.”