“What if she gets worse? What if she hurts herself?”
He has no answer.
Piper whispers, “What do we do?”
They’re all looking at me again.
The parent.
The fixer.
The one who knows.
I pull out my phone with trembling fingers.
Noah answers immediately.
“I’m booking the next flight,” he tells me. “I’ll be there tonight.”
“I need help now.”
“Do what you have to do,” he says. “I trust you.”
I hang up and step into the kitchen, my bodyshaking so hard I have to brace myself against the counter.
There’s only one person I trust enough to hear this unraveling and not try to save it with platitudes.
I need a professional. I need someone who understands the biology of the break, but who sees the person underneath.
I hit the contact I’ve come to rely on for so much.
“Madi?” he answers on the second ring.
I swear I almost collapse at the sound of his voice.
“Beckett,” I whisper, but I lose the rest of my words.
“Talk to me, baby.”
I want to explain everything, but the only thing that comes out is “I need you.”
Fifty-One
Beckett
The house is lit up like a stadium. As I kill the engine and grab my medical bag from the passenger seat, the air feels charged.
I find Madison in the hallway. She looks like she’s been through a war. Her shirt is wrinkled and pulled at the shoulder.
Her eyes lift the moment she sees me, and whatever she’s been holding fractures just enough to let me see it.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, already scanning. Her posture is tight, and she’s pale, but there’s no bloodor visible injuries.
She shakes her head. “No. It’s not me.” Her voice is steady, but her hands aren’t. “It’s my mother.”
I rub my hand up and down her arm, doing my best to transfer heat to her bones. She’s shivering.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
