“Agent Sugarbaker,” she says. “But you can call me Sugar.”
GOOD MEN AND BAD MEN
ASHLEY
I’m not in the mood for small talk—at all. But somehow, I manage to introduce Noah.
“This is my brother-in-law, Noah Grady.”
“The groom!” Agent Sugarbaker says brightly, her tone a little too chipper for the circumstances. She makes a few comments that tell me she knows all about the wedding. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Well,” she says, already turning, “I’m sure you’re anxious to speak with Beckett. If you’ll follow me.”
My heart actually slows down. Beckett is here. A part of me was half afraid that he wouldn’t be.
We walk down a sterile hallway, everything cold. Quiet. Grey.
I should be asking questions. Pressing her for details.
But I don’t want answers from her.
I want Beckett.
So we walk in silence. Me. Noah. Agent Sugarbaker.
We take an elevator. Another corridor. The air feels heavier the farther we go, like it’s pressing in on me. I can hear the buzz of fluorescent lights and the soft echo of our footsteps. Finally, we reach a steel door.
She turns to Noah. “Dr. Grady, you can wait here.”
He gives me a tight nod—then a thumbs up—and stays behind.
Agent Sugarbaker swipes a card. The lock clicks.
I hesitate for just a heartbeat before stepping through.
And there he is.
Wearing dark jeans and a navy pullover, he’s seated at a table, staring at a cup of coffee. His black hair… It’s damp, curling slightly at the ends like he’s just stepped out of the shower.
And then he looks up.
Our eyes meet?—
The room disappears. The weight of the last twenty-four hours, the past month, the past year—it crashes into me and lifts at the same time.
“Ash.” It’s barely a sound. More like a breath.
His chair scrapes back violently as he stands, nearly tipping over, and my body moves before my brain catches up.
I’m across the room in three steps, my hands in his hair, my face pressed into his neck like I need proof that he’s real. Warm. Breathing.
He smells like soap and coffee andBeckett.
One of us is shaking. Or maybe both.
He cups the back of my head, fingers sliding into my hair, and I feel his mouth brush my temple, my cheek. A thumb sweeps beneath my eye.
“You’re here,” he murmurs, like he wasn’t sure I’d come.
