“So,” he says. “What makes the Shmiper situation so personal for you?”
I lean my head back against the cushion, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above us. I can feel his gaze on the side of my face. I look over at him, then quickly back at the TV, which is currently muted on some cooking show.
“Hypothetically?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says, a small smile playing on hislips.
I take a breath, the tequila giving me just enough courage to pull back the curtain. “I’m loud, Doc. I know I am. I’m opinionated, I’m fast, and I don’t apologize for taking up space. It’s how I survived my childhood, and it’s how I built my career.”
I trace the rim of my glass with my thumb. “But back in college, I met someone. He was older—a professor in the political science department. Sharp and very, very sure of himself. I thought he was the sun, and I was just lucky to be in his orbit.”
I swallow hard, the memory tasting like ash. “He didn’t like the noise. He’d tell me my laugh was too piercing for a dinner party. He’d tell me my ambition was just a mask for insecurity. He didn’t tell me to be quiet, not in so many words. He just made me feel like the best version of me was the one that stayed in the background. The one that nodded and looked pretty and kept her mouth shut.”
I finally look at Beckett. He’s watching me with an intensity that makes the air feel thick.
“I became quiet. I spent two years shrinking myself until I barely recognized the girl in the mirror. I let him talk me out of an internship in D.C. because it would have been ‘too much stress’ for our relationship.”
I think of Piper, of her violin sitting in its case, of the concert she just threw away for a man who wants her to be his shadow.
“So, when I see her doing it? When I see her letting him dim her light because he’s too small to handle how bright she is? It’s not just about her. It’s about the fact that I know exactly how that silence feels. And I know how long it takes to find your voice again once you’ve given it away.”
I let out a shaky breath, feeling more exposed than I had when I was naked in his shower earlier. “I just don’t want her to wake up one day and realize she’s become a stranger to herself.”
Beckett doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He just reaches out and slides his hand behind my neck. He tugs gently, forcing me to keep meeting his eyes.
“You’re not quiet now,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind my ear.
“No,” I whisper. “I’m definitely not.”
“Good,” he says, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “Because I like the noise. Every single bit of it.”
Thirty-Seven
Beckett left ten minutes ago. He kissed me senseless, told me he was grabbing something to cook for breakfast, and left me alone in his apartment.
He has no idea who he’s dealing with.
I pull out my phone and open the group chat.
Me:I’m alone in the hot doctor’s apartment. Where do I look first?
Emmy:Wait. Why are you in his apartment at eight in the morning?
Celeste:Oh, shit. Did you kill him?
Me:No. I’m sleeping with him. Did I forget to mention that?
Emmy:You absolutely forgot to mention that.
Celeste:Madison! Since when? Details! Is he a thudder? I knew you were smiling more at brunch last week.
Me:Focus. We can discuss the thudding later (it’s high-quality, for the record). Priorities. I need to know if he has a secret family. Where is the dirt?
Celeste:Check the medicine cabinet! See if he has high-end skincareor just 3-in-1 soap.
Me:I’m going for the walk-in closet. If there’s a skeleton, it’s in there.
Emmy:Check for a safe.
