"I wanted to go back for them. I had a plan to extract the wounded. Command denied the request. Said it was too risky, ordered us to secure the remainder of the convoy and continue the mission."
"You followed orders," she guesses.
"I followed orders," I confirm, the words like ash in my mouth. "Left six men behind. By the time reinforcements arrived, they were gone. Executed."
Beth reaches across the space between us, placing her hand on mine. "I'm so sorry."
"After that, I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't follow orders from people who'd never had to make those calls in the field. I finished my tour and got out."
"And found the motorcycle club instead."
I nod. "Outlaw Order has rules, structure, a chain of command. All the things I understood. But the decisions are made by men who have skin in the game. Who face the consequences alongside you."
"Until yesterday," she points out gently. "When you broke their rules too."
"Yeah." I turn my hand under hers, our fingers lightly intertwining. "That's the part I don't understand myself."
Beth's eyes soften. "Maybe you're finally realizing that sometimes doing the right thing means breaking the rules. Even your own."
Her insight hits closer to home than I'm comfortable admitting. For all my life, I've defined myself by the rules I follow, the structure I maintain. What am I without that?
"Maybe," I concede.
We sit in silence for a moment, hands still connected, neither of us acknowledging it directly.
"What about you?" I ask finally. "What made you become a court stenographer?"
She smiles slightly. "Nothing as dramatic as your story. I've always loved words, language. Was going to be an English teacher, but then my mom got sick my senior year. Needed something with steady income, faster than a teaching degree. Stenography program was eighteen months, guaranteed job placement."
"You gave up your dream to take care of her."
Beth shrugs. "It wasn't giving up. Just redirecting. I still got to work with words, just in a different way."
"And now you're in the middle of this." I gesture vaguely, encompassing our current situation.
"All because I showed up to work early one day." She shakes her head. "Life's strange that way."
"Do you regret it? Recording what you heard?"
"No." Her answer is immediate, certain. "Terrified, yes. Wishing I'd been assigned to a different courtroom that day, sometimes. But regret? No. What they were planning was wrong. Someone needed to stop them."
There it is again—that core of steel beneath her gentle exterior. This woman has more courage than she gives herself credit for.
"For what it's worth," I tell her, "I think you're incredibly brave."
A blush colors her cheeks. "I'm really not. I'm scared all the time."
"Courage isn't about not being scared. It's about being scared and doing what's right anyway."
She looks down at our hands. "Is that why you're helping me? Because it's the right thing to do?"
"Yes," I say, then add more softly, "But not just that."
Her eyes lift to meet mine, questioning.
I'm not sure what I'm trying to say, only that there's something about Beth Carter that has gotten under my skin and made me question principles I've lived by my entire life.
Chapter 8 - Beth
