Chapter 49
Forty-Nine
Beckett
The hospital hum usually rings in my ears for an hour after I clock out, but tonight, the apartment is dead quiet. It’s late enough that the city sounds have muffled, leaving only the rhythmic tap of water against the glass I’m rinsing in the sink.
Then comes the knock.
It’s just two soft taps that make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I dry my hands, the frown already pulling at my mouth, and swing the door open.
Madison is standing there in the dim glow of the hallway, looking like she’s been carved out of granite and then left to weather a storm. She’s still in her black suit and razor-sharp heels, but her hair is falling out of the pins, and her bag is slipping off one shoulder.
She doesn't say a word at first, but her eyes are terrifyingly empty.
“Hi,” she says, her voice catching on the edges.
“Hi.”
She lets out a breath that seems to deflate her entire posture. “I’m sorry. I know I should have just gone straight to my apartment, but I got to your door before I realized what I was doing.”
She didn’t go to her sanctuary. She came to mine.
I step back, holding the door wide. “Come in.”
The click of her heels on the hardwood is too loud for the midnight quiet. She drops her bag by the couch with a dull thud and turns to face me. Up close, the mask is cracked. Smudged mascara, shadows under her eyes that look like bruises, and a bone-deep exhaustion that makes her look fragile.
“Long day?” I ask.
A ghost of a smirk pulls at her mouth. “That’s a polite way of saying it.”
I don’t give her the chance to retreat behind a witty retort. I step into her space, my hands coming up to cradle her face. The second my skin touches hers, she goes rigid, a reflex of a woman used to fighting.
But then, she blows out a breath and breaks. Her eyes flutter shut, and she leans into my palms.
Dipping, my mouth finds hers. The moment we connect, she sags against me.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I murmur against her lips.
Wordless, she drops her forehead against my chest and breathes.
After a long minute, a whisper drifts up, so quiet I almost miss it. “I’m so tired.”
My arms lock around her. I know that kind of tired. It’s the kind that lives in your bones.
My hand traces the line of her spine. “When did you last eat?”
“Don’t worry. I ate dinner. I just want a shower.”
“Okay, shower first,” I agree. “Then bed.”
She doesn’t argue. That alone tells me how close to the edge she is. Madison would argue with gravity if it inconvenienced her schedule.
I lead her down the hall and into the bathroom before turning on the shower. She leans against the counter, watching me with glazed eyes as I test the water.
“You don’t have to do this,” she murmurs, though she doesn’t move to stop me.
“I know.”
I step in front of her, my fingers working the buttons of her blazer. My movements are slow. I give her every second to pull away, to reclaim her armor, but she stays perfectly still. The jacket slides off her shoulders, followed by the rest of her clothes.
By the time the bathroom fills with steam, she’s standing there quietly, watching me.
I guide her under the warm water, and she exhales the second it hits her shoulders.
“Better?”
She nods.
I undress, step in behind her, and grab the shampoo.
“You’re going to make me very spoiled,” she says, a faint huff of a laugh escaping her.
“That’s the idea.”
I work my fingers into her scalp, massaging away the tension that’s been coiled there. She leans back into me, her wet hair slick against my chest.
“Bad case?”
She’s silent for a beat. “Young girl getting blackmailed by her ex.”
My jaw tightens.
“I handled it,” she adds quickly.
I know she did. Madison doesn’t lose. But looking at the slump of her shoulders, I can see what the win cost her.
“Makes you realize how cruel people can be,” she whispers, tilting her head back to look at me through the steam. “When they don’t get what they want.”
I hum a low note of agreement, rinsing the shampoo from her hair.
“You ever get that feeling?” she asks, her voice barely audible over the rush of the water. “Like something’s coming?”
I pause, my hands stilled on her shoulders. “What kind of something?”
She shrugs. “Don’t know. Just feels like the air changes before a storm hits.”
“You work too much,” I say, shutting off the valve.
I wrap her in a towel, drying her off with a gentleness that feels foreign even to me.
“Doc?”.
“Yeah?”
“You’re very good at this.”
“I take care of people for a living, remember? Even the stubborn ones.”
“And here I thought you just yelled at interns and looked brooding in scrubs.”
“Also that.”
A real smile, small but genuine, touches her lips. I hand her one of my T-shirts and lead her to the bedroom.
After she crawls under the duvet, I slide in beside her, and she immediately gravitates toward me, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder.
“Beckett?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
I pull the covers up and kiss the top of her head. “Get some sleep.”
Within minutes, her breathing levels out into the deep, rhythmic pull of sleep. She’s out.
I lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling the steady beat of her heart against my side. Madison doesn’t lean on anyone, but tonight, she came to my door.
And I realize, with a clarity that should probably scare the hell out of me, that if there really is a storm coming, I’m not letting her face it alone.