Me:Still terrible.
Beckett:Yeah, but did it make you smile again?
I look at my reflection in the darkened window of my office. There’s a genuine tug at the corner of my mouth.
Me:Yes.
Beckett:Worth it.
I set the phone aside, but this time, the silence in the room doesn’t feel quite so heavy. I pick up my pen and get back to work.
Forty-Nine
Beckett
The hospital hum usually rings in my ears for an hour after I clock out, but tonight, the apartment is dead quiet. It’s late enough that the city sounds have muffled, leaving only the rhythmic tap of water against the glass I’m rinsing in the sink.
Then comes the knock.
It’s just two soft taps that make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I dry my hands, the frown already pulling at my mouth, and swing the door open.
Madison is standing there in the dim glow of the hallway, looking like she’s been carved out of graniteand then left to weather a storm. She’s still in her black suit and razor-sharp heels, but her hair is falling out of the pins, and her bag is slipping off one shoulder.
She doesn't say a word at first, but her eyes are terrifyingly empty.
“Hi,” she says, her voice catching on the edges.
“Hi.”
She lets out a breath that seems to deflate her entire posture. “I’m sorry. I know I should have just gone straight to my apartment, but I got to your door before I realized what I was doing.”
She didn’t go to her sanctuary. She came to mine.
I step back, holding the door wide. “Come in.”
The click of her heels on the hardwood is too loud for the midnight quiet. She drops her bag by the couch with a dull thud and turns to face me. Up close, the mask is cracked. Smudged mascara, shadows under her eyes that look like bruises, and a bone-deep exhaustion that makes her look fragile.
“Long day?” I ask.
A ghost of a smirk pulls at her mouth. “That’s a polite way of saying it.”
I don’t give her the chance to retreat behind a witty retort. I step into her space, my hands coming up to cradle her face. The second my skin touches hers, she goes rigid, a reflex of a woman used to fighting.
But then, she blows out a breath and breaks. Her eyes flutter shut, and she leans into my palms.
Dipping, my mouth finds hers. The moment we connect, she sags against me.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I murmur against her lips.
Wordless, she drops her forehead against my chest and breathes.
After a long minute, a whisperdrifts up, so quiet I almost miss it. “I’m so tired.”
My arms lock around her. I know that kind of tired. It’s the kind that lives in your bones.
My hand traces the line of her spine. “When did you last eat?”
