Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Beckett
I was running late last night. My final consult ran over, and by the time I reached the apartment, I was wired, exhausted, and—unfortunately—incredibly loud. I heard the faint thump-thump-thump of her broom hitting the ceiling before I stopped. The universal Morse code for shut the hell up.
Usually, I’d be tempted to thud back just to prove a point, but this morning, the guilt is winning.
I shift the weight of the two coffee cups and a grease-stained paper bag, debating if I should just leave them on the floor like a peace offering and bolt. Before I can make the call, the door swings open.
“If you’re here to apologize for the 1:00 a.m. track meet, you’re late,” she mutters.
Madison is standing there in silk pajamas, her copper hair wild as it spills over her shoulders. She looks sleep-deprived and lethal.
“I am here to apologize,” I say, holding out the carrier. “About the thudding. It was a long shift, and I forgot I have a neighbor who sleeps. I brought caffeine.”
She eyes the cups, her expression softening. She reaches out, pops the lid off her cup, and takes a deep, appreciative draw of the steam. A soft, involuntary moan escapes her throat, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
“Is this from the shop on the corner?”
“I’ve seen you there once or twice,” I admit. “I figured the odds were in my favor.” I hand her the bag. “And a croissant. Plain. I didn’t want to risk almond if you had an allergy I wasn’t aware of.”
She eyes the bag suspiciously. “Did you spit in the coffee?”
“Jesus, no.”
“Did you poison the pastry?”
“I took an oath, Madison,” I say, leaning against the doorframe with my own cup. “First, do no harm. Poisoning the woman who lives directly beneath me definitely falls under that umbrella.”
“Fine.” She steps back, swinging the door wider. I expect her to take the goods and shut me out, but she lingers. “Well? You don’t expect me to have breakfast alone, do you? Your sparkling personality can keep me company while I decide if I forgive you.”
Fighting a smile, I dip my chin and follow her inside.
Her apartment is somehow organized and chaotic all at once. The table is full of legal pads and sticky notes.
“I don’t have to be in the office until later,” she explains, clearing a space at the kitchen table.
We sit in silence for a moment, the steam rising between us.
“You haven’t been at the hospital long, have you?” she asks, tearing off a piece of the croissant.
“I transferred from another hospital upstate six months ago.” I hesitate, eyeing her. “I’ve heard I replaced a guy with… a reputation.”
Madison grunts into her coffee. “You can say that again.”
“You knew him?”
I’ve heard the whispers in the break room. Peter Sterling hadn’t left for a better offer. He’d been escorted out after half the nursing staff filed complaints. He’d been ‘too friendly’ with the residents and even worse with the patients. A fucking scumbag hiding behind a stethoscope.
As a doctor, you’re in a position of power. Patients already know it the second you step into a room. We do our best to show them we’re human, but they rely on us being in control. To abuse that? To make people feel small when they’re already at their most vulnerable? It’s sick.
Madison pauses with her piece of croissant halfway to her mouth. She looks at me, her gaze heavy and surprisingly dark.
“I knew he enjoyed making women uncomfortable,” she says quietly. “And I knew he liked to blame it on his ‘mental health’ or ‘misunderstandings’ whenever someone called him out on it.”
“You worked for him?” I ask, my chest tightening.
She looks almost offended. “I worked for his victims. Three of the nurses he targeted hired my firm after his legal team hired a PR person of their own.”
She sees the look on my face and waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t look at me like that, Doc. I’m not completely soulless. I’m very particular about who I work with. Even then, I judge myself for the corporate stuff. I work pro bono when I can.” She leans back and cradles her cup.
I’ve spent weeks thinking she’s just a shark who likes to win. I didn’t realize she’s a shark who hunts monsters.
“That’s…” I start, but the words feel too small. “That’s good, Madison. Really, it is.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, her armor snapping back into place as she taps a neon green Post-it. “Don’t go telling the building association. I have a brand to maintain.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I promise.
She tears off another piece of the croissant, popping it into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “So, tell me, have you met any of the other neighbors yet, or am I the only one lucky enough to have you haunting her doorstep at dawn?”
“I’ve met Fred on the ground floor. He spent twenty minutes explaining the local garbage pickup schedule. I’ve seen the guy next door. I think his name is Dave? We exchanged a brief nod in the hallway once.”
“Very masculine.” Madison snorts, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint. “You’ve barely scratched the surface. Get comfortable. You’re about to get the real orientation.”
I lean in, genuinely curious.
“Okay, so Fred? He’s the self-appointed warden,” she says, pointing a finger toward the floor. “He’s lived here since the building was a warehouse. If your recycling isn’t rinsed to his satisfaction, he’ll leave a passive-aggressive note on your windshield. Don’t cross him.”
“Noted,” I say. “No dirty yogurt containers.”
“Exactly. Then there’s 2A, Mrs. Gable.” Madison leans in, her voice dropping. “She looks like a sweet grandmother who bakes cookies, but don’t be fooled. She’s a high-stakes poker player who runs a game in her living room every second Tuesday.”
I can’t tell if she’s joking, but the look on her face is dead serious.
“And the guy next to you?”
“Leo,” she says, waving a hand. “He’s a sound engineer. He plays the bass.”
“And you don’t hear that?”
“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’. “I only know because he told me once. I only hear you.”
I wince. “Right. My bad.”
“And then there’s 1C,” she continues, her eyes dancing. “They’re a young couple, but whenever I’ve seen them in the hallway, they’re arguing, and they argue in whispers. It’s terrifying.”
I find myself really laughing. It’s the first time I’ve felt the weight of the hospital truly lift since I clocked out. Madison is a blur of wild hair and silk pajamas, dissecting the lives of the people around us with a sharp wit that’s impossible to ignore.
“And there used to be Roger, right?” I ask, nodding toward the ceiling.
“Roger shuffled.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I thought I was going to get another old man,” she says, her voice softening. “Instead, I got a trauma doctor who brings me coffee.”
The atmosphere in the kitchen shifts, the air suddenly feeling a little thicker.
“I’ll try to shuffle more,” I say quietly.
The tension breaks, but the warmth stays right where it is.
“Don’t bother, Doc,” she says, taking a final sip of her coffee. “I think I’m starting to get used to the thudding.”