Seven
Sadie
I sit down on the edge of the bed. My room gives me a little space to breathe.
I’m not used to that much interaction, and I can’t let Beckett know Alex has been texting me.
I don’t want him looking at me like I’m some helpless kid Caleb handed off as a project.
I need them to see me as capable, strong enough to stand on my own, not just the girl who ran from a mess, but the woman choosing how to handle it.
Anyway, if Alex figures out where I am, I worry he might show up. He didn’t seem to care all that much about me when we lived together, but he’s certainly spiteful and not happy that I’m gone.
The screen lights up, and for a second, I just stare at it. My heart beats faster.
Alex: Where are you?
My heart sinks. His words are too normal, like I didn’t move out, just went to the store or something. I can almost hear his voice, sharp and annoyed. My stomach twists.
Alex: Do you really think you can just walk away?
I don’t answer. I can’t. I made the right choice. I left him. I took back control. Still, my hands shake as I read the next text.
Alex: I need what you took.
I grip the phone tighter. Is he talking about his jeans? That doesn’t make sense. I picture Alex, red with anger, yelling and throwing things. I remember what it felt like when he got mad. It’s a memory I wish I could erase.
The messages continue.
Alex: You know what happens if you don’t return it.
My heart races. He can’t hurt me if he can’t find me.
He’s never touched me before. But it can’t be the jeans.
He wouldn’t be this worked up over a pair of pants.
So what is it? That’s the part that gets under my skin, the way he’s dancing around it, like naming it gives me power.
Or like putting it in writing might be dangerous.
He’s never cared about privacy before. So why now?
Me: I only took what’s mine. What are you talking about?
Alex: Bullshit. You know what you took. And if you think you can get away with it, you are very mistaken.
Alex: Do you know what I’m capable of ?
I chuckle. If he could stay sober long enough, maybe. Maybe someone swiped his favorite bong. That would get him pissed. But it wasn’t me. I never touched it. It was nasty.
I drop the phone into my lap and shut my eyes tight. I have to hold it together, at least for now. I don’t want to ruin whatever friendship I’m establishing with Beckett. No matter what Caleb says, this isn’t his problem. It’s mine.
The phone keeps pinging, lighting up with more of Alex’s angry words. Each message reminds me why I left him. I want to be brave, but right now, it’s hard. He’s just relentless. Who knew he had this sort of focus?
Beckett knocks on my door. “Dinner’s here!”
I open my eyes and take a deep breath. I can’t think about Alex right now. I just have to get through dinner. Then I can figure out what to do.
Suddenly, even my clothes feel too constricting.
I’m trapped. I have to change into something more comfortable.
I pull out a sleep shirt and a pair of shorts.
With a quick move, I unhook my bra and toss it aside.
Instantly, I feel lighter, like I can breathe again.
It’s a small, silly win, but I’ll take it.
Bras are something I can’t live without, but hate isn’t a strong enough word.
Why must they be perpetually uncomfortable?
I glance in the mirror and try to fix my messy hair. It’s no use. It just sticks up in weird places. It doesn’t really matter.
After a deep breath, I return to the kitchen, Beckett is bent over the takeout food, moving his dinner from a box and plating it like it’s a fancy meal. Why dirty a dish when you don’t have to?
Our eyes meet, and his cheeks turn a little pink, which surprises me. I fidget with my sleeve, feeling nervous. I don’t know what to do with myself right now. “Uh, hey.”
He gives me the onceover. “Are you going to wear that?”
I roll my eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t realize this was a black-tie event.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t wear that around here.”
“What?”
He points at me with a dinner fork. “You’re practically naked. You can’t…”
I realize the high beams are on and cover my chest. “Jeez, you’re a doctor, and from what I remember, you’re also a bit of a man-whore. It’s not like you haven’t seen nipples up close and in person.”
He storms into the living room. “No! This is not what I agreed to.” He reaches the couch and throws a blanket at me. “Cover up.”
“Oh my God. Are you serious?” I laugh. “It’s takeout. I’m not asking you to eat your meal off my body.”
Beckett groans, and now I’m ready to have a little fun with this. Though I should know better. “Try to respect my boundaries,” he says.
I hold up my hands. “Fine. I’ll eat in my room.”
“No,” he says again. “I don’t want food in the bedrooms.”
I open my mouth and then close it. There is no pleasing him. And I’m completely covered. I’m not going to bend to his weirdness. He walks around here without a shirt on...
I pick up the roasted chicken in its takeout container, collect a fork and knife, and return to my bedroom. I don’t need to put up with this.
I set the box on the dresser and flip it open. Mashed potatoes and some green beans flank the chicken, but suddenly my heart isn’t in it. I don’t fit anywhere.
I glance over at my phone, and my heart pounds. There are twenty-nine unread messages now. That’s more than Alex sent me during the entire year plus of our relationship.
A new notification lights up. My hands shake as I grab the phone.
Alex: I know you’re there. I will find you if I have to. I need to know what you did with my stuff.
A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. He’s threatening me. I can almost see him—angry, dangerous, just like before.
“Calm down,” I whisper to myself.
Another message pops up.
Alex: I can make this very difficult for you.
I shiver. How did I get here?
I left. We got in a fight, and I realized how unhappy we both were. I packed my things. At the time, it felt like freedom. Now, it feels like I threw gasoline on a fire. But I certainly don’t want to go back.
Panic bubbles inside me. I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe deeply, trying to push it back down.
What can I do? Run away? Buy a bus ticket and disappear? Would that even work? Alex would still chase me down. If I leave, I’ll need a real plan. Not just dreams. Plus, I can’t go without Rosie.
For now, I stay here, in this room, in this safe place.
I pick up a piece of chicken and chew slowly, focusing on the taste. My heart feels heavy, but a small fire lights inside me. I won’t let Alex control me. I’m stronger than that.
I know I didn’t take anything that belongs to him, at least not on purpose.
Unless he planted something?
I drag my suitcase out of the closet and tear through every pocket, every seam.
Nothing.
So what the hell is he talking about?
I go back to my dinner and try to figure out how I’m going to get myself out of this mess. And the more I think about what Beckett said about my clothes, the more it gets me all riled up. He can do whatever he wants, but I have the decency police after me?
Alex’s texts continue to ping in the back of my mind like a warning I can’t shut off.
The threats, the manipulation—it’s all so familiar.
But tonight, it lands differently. Because I’m not alone anymore.
I’m not curled up on a couch pretending everything’s fine.
I’m in Beckett’s house—his space—because he allowed me to be here.
Maybe it’s just loyalty to my brother, but I’d like to think we’re making progress with each other.
Despite the gruff exterior, and the ridiculous argument we just had, I’ve seen something different in him than I expected.
A softness buried beneath the growl. A man who’s scared to care but already does.
And when he doesn’t wear his shirt? God help me, it does something to my insides. Something warm and dizzying and a little dangerous.
I throw myself onto the bed, exasperated. Why can’t I stop thinking about him? What kind of voodoo has seeped into my veins? The need—the want—overwhelms me. I reach over to my side table and pull out my vibrator. At least I remembered this.
My thoughts move to Beckett and the dream I had last night. I wish he was in here. Between my legs. Doing all sorts of dirty things.
I lock my bedroom door, pull my sleep shorts off, and turn on my toy. I lose myself in his crooked smile that tells me he’s up to no good. His soft surgeon hands running over my skin.
I pinch my nipples as the soft vibrations pulse through my sensitive clit. Memories of Beckett’s heated stare arouse me even more. Closing my eyes, I can almost feel his strong hands caressing my body, sending shivers down my spine.
Unable to resist any longer, I insert the vibrator as the familiar sensations course through me.
In my mind’s eye, it’s Beckett inside me, filling me up, claiming me as his own.
With each thrust, it’s him pleasing me, making me moan and beg for more.
The fantasy intensifies, a storm I can’t outrun, nor do I want to.
Lost in the fantasy, my back arches off the bed as I edge closer to climax.
The thought of surrendering to him is both exhilarating and terrifying, but in this moment, none of it matters.
It’s pure, consuming need. How can something feel so right yet so dangerous?
It goes against every instinct—the peril of wanting someone like Beckett—but still, I want more. I want everything.
With one final thrust, I pull my pillow over my face as I shatter, crying out his name. Panting heavily, I open my eyes after a moment and stare at the ceiling above me. What has happened to me?