Page 1 of Oddly Fine

Prologue

Even though it was mid-November, Beckett Thérault settled for a long sleeve Henley and his favourite pair of jeans to wear to the football game. The weather was absolutely perfect. Blazing sun in a cloudless sky and a light breeze pushing the temperature up to an unseasonably warm 65 degrees. He was nursing an overpriced beer and munching on a chili dog while listening to his friend Loic jump from one topic to another with scant regard for making any connections between them. Beckett didn’t really mind. Loic had always been a talker and, truthfully, he’d kind of missed his unique rambunctiousness.

“Come on! That was a fumble!” Loic protested irritably, pulling Beck’s attention back to the game he’d been largely ignoring while stuffing his face. “Fucking ref is blind or on the take,” Loic complained as he elbowed Beckett in the side, nearly tipping his beer over.

“No spilling my beer, jerkwad. I’ve shot people for less,” Beckett warned with a frown as he lifted his cup and took another swig.

“Remember that time you shaved off one side of Devin’s beard while he slept ‘cause he’d stolen your M&M’s, or some shit?” Loic snorted as Beckett dodged another elbow jab.

“Almond M&M’s, thank you very much. Fucker had it coming,” Beckett replied, just as the crowd in the stands exploded with shouts of triumph. Clearly, both of them had missed the latest play. Beckett didn’t really care for football—at least, not for watching. He liked playing football, but sitting there watching got old fast. But hanging out with an old friend and drinking a cold beer was good, even with the imminent threat of that same cold beer being spilled all over him during Loic’s outbursts.

“Dude, these seats are insane,” Loic commented, watching attentively as the QB called the next play.

“Glad to be of service,” Beckett replied with a laugh.

“How’d you score ‘em anyway? Usually, I’d accuse you of salacious behavior, but now that you’re taken—” Loic drifted off, not bothering to finish his train of thought. He didn’t need to.

“Salacious behavior? Who are you pretending to be right now?” Beckett gave him a sardonic look.

Loic merely shrugged and kept his focus on the game. His afro spilled over the edges of the bandana he wore religiously, falling over his forehead. He’d always worn his hair longer than he should—in clear defiance of military regulations. He claimed, quite proudly, that it was an essential part of his Latino and African-American heritage. Beckett wasn’t sure how the Latino part factored into this, but he’d never dared to challenge Loic’s claims and stir up trouble unnecessarily.

“We have a Scrabble championship going at work—I’m learning new words and shit,” Loic informed him right before taking a huge bite of his hot dog, seemingly unaware he’d spilled mustard down the front of his shirt.

“Still love running into fires?”

“As much as you love getting shot at, apparently—” Loic replied without missing a beat, shooting him a sly grin.

“So, I guess you spoke to Chase,” Beckett surmised with an unhappy sigh. Less than two months had passed since their adventure in New York City that had ended with Hayes getting shot and a killer’s brains painting the walls of a city jail.

“Pops called me and Dev while your boo was recovering in the hospital. Where is your boo, by the way?”

“Don’t call him that—” Beckett snapped, looking disgusted as he shook his head, just as Hayes barked through his earpiece, “Don’t call me that!” Beckett bit back a smile.

“What? You mean boo? Why not? Are you guys done? Is that why you’re here alone?” Loic appeared genuinely panicked as he quickly scanned the crowd searching for Hayes.

“Nah, we’re good. Haysie’s just working,” Beckett replied, waving away Loic’s concerns.

“Working alone? Thought you guys were partners—” Loic stared suspiciously at Beckett.

“Still are. Since he was off regular duty for a few weeks, we’re taking easy jobs until he gets full medical clearance. This gig didn’t require my talents.” Beckett leaned back in his seat wearing a cocky smile.

“What talents?” Loic demanded with a snort.

Hayes’ laughter in his ear was boisterous, making Beckett wish he could reach through the earpiece and smack him.

“Hey! I’m a talented guy! Kept you from dying more than a few times, as I fucking recall,” he retaliated with a swift jab of his elbow to Loic’s ribs, enjoying Loic’s startled grunt of pain as he failed to avoid the hit.

“Sure—you’re also the reason I ended up with fire ants crawling up my ass, nearly falling off a cliff, and ending up with just my tighty-whities to wear in Canada—in January!” Loic snapped, counting off the incidents on mustard-covered fingers that he shoved in front of Beckett’s nose.

“We were in Montreal—not the middle of the woods, and the fire ants were your own damned fault. No one told you to set up your tent on top of a damned ant colony,” Beckett replied calmly, refusing to take the blame for that one.

“Aha! You fucker! So, finally you admit you’re the one who screwed up the anchor line on the cliff!” Loic shoulder checked Beckett hard, nearly sending his cup of beer flying again.

“I’m not talking without my lawyer present,” Beckett stated officiously.

Loic replied in rapid-fire Spanish, which Beckett couldn’t even begin to translate. It was probably for the best.

“But you and Hayes are still cool, right?” Loic asked, seeking reassurance.