Beckett pulled the car to a stop with his eyes locked on mine through the windshield. He took a deep breath, never breaking the stare as he opened the door and unfolded his body. The car door slamming echoed through the trees, and for a moment, we simply stared. I could be patient. I could wait this out. Give him time to say what he needed to say, for good or for bad. Except after about five more seconds, I heard myself say, “What are you doing here?” Patience, as it turned out, might be a work in progress for me. When he took a few steps closer, I saw the fire roaring in his gaze. “I’m here
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