“You look tired,” I say.
“I am.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Enough.”
That’s a lie.
I take a step closer.
She steps back.
“Madison.”
“I’m fine, Beckett.”
Fine.
The most dangerous word in the English language when it comes from her.
We stand there for a moment, the air thick with everything she isn’t saying.
“Hudson thinks the meds will hold,” I offer. “It’ll take time.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to carry this alone.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Her eyes flash. “I asked Piper and Rowan to help. Noah is upstairs.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Silence.
She smooths down the front of her sweater. It’s a nervous habit, one I’ve rarely seen from her becauseMadison doesn’t get nervous.
“I appreciate what you did, calling Hudson and staying. But you don’t need to keep checking in.”
“I want to.”
She looks away.
I move closer before she can retreat again. “Look at me.”
She doesn’t, so I reach up and hook my fingers under her chin. Reluctantly, her eyes meet mine. They’re guarded now, like she’s rebuilding the walls brick by brick.
“Don’t disappear on me.”
Her breath catches. “I’m not disappearing.”
“You are.”
Her throat works as she swallows, but she doesn’t answer because she knows I’m right.
