Chapter 41 You Can Fall Apart a Little
YOU CAN FALL APART A LITTLE
ASHLEY
“I’m going to kill her,” I mutter.
“Who?” Beckett just steps closer to the bed to survey the collection of colorful vibrators like he’s examining modern art.
“Tay. Babs. Whoever’s responsible for… this.” Then the horrifying realization hits me. “Oh my god, Beckett, it was my mom—she’s the only one with a key.”
“‘In case the boys needed something,’” Beckett says, quoting my mom’s ever-so-reasonable excuse for having emergency access to our room.
We both stare at the bed. Colorful dildos, feathers, and vibrators of varying sizes. Sprawled over the bed, menacingly.
Would my mom really do this? I refuse to imagine why.
“The boys better not have seen these,” I say, too horrified to even move.
Beckett’s eyes meet mine, a grin already tugging at his mouth. “They’d probably think they were some kind of Avengers weapons.”
He walks over and picks up a slim, glowing bullet vibrator. “This one? Definitely a Stark-tech pulse detonator.”
I can’t help it. My lips twitch.
“And this,” he adds, lifting a bright purple rabbit with way too much enthusiasm, “this is obviously Thor’s backup hammer.”
A laugh breaks out of me—short, sharp, but real, and for a beat, we’re both picturing it: Max and Blakey in their swim trunks, standing on this bed surrounded by fluorescent-colored dildos, calling them “plasma grenades” and “laser whips.”
And just like that, the laugh catches in my throat.
It’s been a good day. A great day, really.
So why do I suddenly feel like I might fall apart?
“God.” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”
Tears sting. I blink them back.
“Why am I crying over… dildos?”
Beckett doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks to the sofa and sinks down, watching me.
Patient.
“I’m just tired.” I answer my own question. “It’s been a really long day.” And my mind flashes back to waking up. Freaking regulatory scrutiny. Was that only just this morning?
“Didn’t help that I was late getting ready for Luna’s party. And then Dad not being here, Noah's horrible, bitter old hag of a mother. Seriously, what even was that speech? Who does that?”
I’m trying to be the best sister, the best maid of honor, all while trying to figure out what’s happening with Beckett’s company, and with… us.
I stop before everything spills out. I don’t want to bring it up. Not tonight.
Today was a good day.
It was!
My stomach twists. I sit, hard, next to him. But Beckett doesn’t let me sit there for long. He pulls me into his lap like he’s done a thousand times before.
I don’t fight it. I don’t fight him.
He tucks my legs across his, holding me like he used to when I’d cry out of sheer sleep deprivation those first few months after the twins were born, or that one night before they started kindergarten. And occasionally, on those awful weeks right before I’d get my period.
His hand strokes the back of my arm. “You don’t have to carry it all, Ash,” he says quietly. “Not all the time. Not tonight.”
I start to argue, but he keeps going.
“You hold everything together. For the boys. For Luna. Your mom, and me. And… you make it look effortless.” He exhales, then rests his forehead lightly against mine.
My throat tightens, but I don’t speak.
“And you don’t just get things done, you do it with grace,” he says. “With that smart-ass smile that drives me crazy.” His fingers slide down, wrapping around mine. “But right now? You don’t have to pretend anything. You don’t have to smile. You can be tired. You can fall apart a little.”
He tilts my chin up, his voice like a tether. “Because I’m right here. And I’ve got you.”
But do you?
I don’t say it though, because right now, just being held like this feels too good.
“I miss him,” I whisper. “Dad. I didn’t think I’d get emotional at the rehearsal, but seeing you walk Luna down the aisle just… undid me.”
His arms tighten.
“And I’m happy for her. So happy. But it’s just—everything is changing. And I don’t know how—I don’t want…” I’m scared something bad is coming. That something is looming around the corner, something… I don’t know what.
I feel like, no matter what I’ve decided, I could still lose him.
Beckett just holds me.
Eventually, I sit up, wipe my face. I spot the assortment of adult toys again. “I should put them away,” I say.
“Wait.”
Beckett’s voice is low, but there’s a flicker of humor in it. I glance over as he reaches across the bed and picks one up—a neon pink, dual-pronged situation that looks more intimidating than arousing.
He turns it over in his hands like he’s inspecting it for quality. “These are... impressive.”
I snort, despite myself. “Those were the extras.”
“Seriously?”
“Tay thought they would liven things up.”
He grins. “She’s not wrong…”
“She’s a menace.” But I say it warmly.
“Yeah?” He clicks it on. Off.
“And so are you.”
“You think?”
I hold his eyes, but when I feel like his stare is getting a little too intense, I reach out and grab one of the toys, switching it on, then quickly off again.
“I”m not sure if I want to travel back home with all these…”
He leans in a little. “Definitely keep a few.”
I raise a brow. “Oh, really?”
“Test them out. Decide which are your favorites.”
I just shake my head, but then he says…
“We might need them.” This… takes my breath away. Because the only reason I’d need these would be if we signed those papers when we get home.
“Especially since I’m gonna be out of commission for about… six months.”
Wait, what? I thought… “Did you just say six months? You’re joking, right?”
He exhales and drops his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “Unfortunately, no. Simon says it needs that long to heal properly. God. I’m never drinking whisky again.”
“But why…” I mean, I’d been totally shocked that he’d done it in the first place, but… six months? As in… one hundred and eighty days? “Are you sure?”
He just nods.
“But… Oh, Beckett.”
He’s quiet for a second, keeping his head back, but meets my eyes from under his lashes.
“If I lost everything,” he says, “if I lost you… six months wouldn’t matter.”
The words hit with a quiet, devastating force.
“You’re gonna have to tell me what’s going on. You know that, don’t you? I can’t go on like this forever…”
He winces a little. “I know, Ash. I know. And I will, as soon as I can..” Why does he look so helpless?
Why does it melt the last few barriers I’m trying to keep up?
I reach up and touch his cheek, and he leans into my hand, eyes closing. Like he’s been starving for my touch for months.
And oh, gosh. Six months?
“I thought piercings only took a few weeks to heal.”
“The less invasive ones might.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “But me? I went all in. Six months. Minimum.”
But I’m sitting on his lap! “Am I sitting on…?” I go to move, but he holds me to him.
When he doesn’t answer, I ask again. “Are you in pain?”
“No.” But his jaw tenses. Just the tiniest bit.
“It hurts,” I say.
“... A little. Not as much as…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but I know.
I know because I feel it too.
“Oh Beckett…” My voice cracks. Just tell me. Tell me everything. But we’ve been through that before. He asked me to wait.
And I am. Waiting. But I’m not doing nothing.
So I do the logical thing. I pretend that both of us are going to have to endure his six months of healing. And that in six months, he and I will be an… us.
Which means…
I lift the toy again—absurdly, like it might make this conversation easier—and waggle it. “So… how do we do this?”
He smiles faintly. “Well, it’s pretty simple. You just push this button—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I know how to turn one on. But… You and me. How do we do this? Together.”
The air shifts.
I lick my lips.
And then I add, “If you want to…”
He goes still.
Not with hesitation—but with focus. Every inch of him suddenly alert, tuned only to me.
“Say that again,” he says, like he needs to be sure.
“Should we try one of these out?”