Page 9 of All At Once

And months after she’d left him . . . that hotel room in Panama City, drunk and desperate, pushing inside Allison, eyes closed, just trying to stop what was alive and screaming in his head, until he’d realized how wrong he was.

So wrong, he’d taken a stranger to bed less than twenty-four hours later, taken her virginity, walked away, left her to give birth to his child alone.

She called what they’d done stress-relief. Shit. Stress-relief was a rough day at the office or hours doing their taxes, followed by a long shower together or a quickie in their bed.

No. He’d used her, in a way that dishonored her, dishonored them. The idea made him sick. He dragged a hand down his face, skin clammy, sweat beading on his brow and upper lip.

He’d get it together, make things right with her.

First, though, he had to go back downstairs and pretend he wasn’t coming apart inside his own skin.

Fog hung low, winding through the pine trees sheltering the house and twisting through the shadows of the pecan grove across the road. The power washer’s sharp roar cut through the damp air, drowning out the whisper of the river behind him.

Red clay clung in clumps to the black SUV’s wheelwells, dissolving into streaks of orange and spattering the concrete drive. Tick focused on pushing the rivulets of muddy water into the grass.

That same iron-rich soil had clung to his shoes when he’d walked back from the gravesite since Gene had not only insisted on staying until the grave was filled, but on doing part of the job himself. So all of them — his uncles, his brothers, Tick, and Colt — had assisted.

The hose jumped in his hands, power vibrating up his arms. His right hand ached, the same old pain haunting him, but he gripped the wand hard, controlling the sweep of water.

Attacking the last wheelwell, he ran Graham’s email through his head, listing the agents under his newly minted supervision. Two fresh out of Quantico rookies, Ransome and Everson . . . no, Everly.

And Aviles. Son of a bitch, that would be fun, since he’d been passed over for the promotion Tick had landed. He was a coldblooded asshole on a good day. He’d be worse now, trying to poison everything more than usual.

But he also had Beech, Merchant and Sealy. Sealy could keep Aviles in check. Merchant and Beech would each get a rookie to mentor.

Lungs aching from holding his breath, he released a slow exhale.

He just had to hold it together, not let anything fall apart.

Old clay stained the concrete, leftover from who knew when? Maybe one weekend when he and Caitlin had had the Jeep out. Maybe farther back, before her, when he’d take Red Dawg down whatever dirt road he could find, trying to outrun himself.

He pressed the wand closer to the drive, so the flow hit harder. The stain didn’t budge, the red and orange baked into the rough surface. A flash of fresher clay against the grass sent memories flickering through his head, and he clenched the wand, fingers hurting. His chest went tight.

He blinked the sensation away and concentrated on circling the spray over the lingering rust-orange.

That wasn’t going anywhere.

The side door opened, and his body tensed as Caitlin emerged, wrapped in the colorful silk robe he’d bought her on a trip to St. Simons, a coffee mug in each hand. He forced his shoulders to a more relaxed stance.

He released the trigger at her approach, letting the wand rest against his thigh, but didn’t kill the machine itself. She held out one of the mugs, and he curled his hand around it, pottery warm on his palm.

“Did I wake the girls?”

“No.” She flicked a glance at the humming pressure washer, cradling her own mug in both hands. “They’re still sleeping.”

With a nod, he lifted the cup for a sip, swallowing a small noise of pleasure at the perfect balance of the rich brew.

She gestured toward the driveway with her mug. “We can reschedule our flight and stay another day if there are things you feel need to be done.”

“No.” The word came out sharp, and he gentled his tone. “The girls don’t need to miss school, and I need to be in the office, ready to hit the ground running.”

“I’m sure Howard would—”

“Precious.” He evened out his breathing. “I’m good, and I need to be at home. I’ve got to get my squad rolling.”

She eyed him a moment over a sip of coffee before her features softened in a way that belonged only to him. “All right.”

Her easy agreement shouldn’t itch under his skin. He had to get it together, get himself together, fast.