Beckett
I sat at my kitchen counter long after the call ended, phone still warm in my hand, the echo of her voice replaying like a song I shouldn’t know the words to. The apartment was quiet — too quiet — the kind of silence that pressed against your ribs and made every thought louder.
Did she really just say I slept with her? In her dream?
I leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers. My half-eaten dinner sat cold on the counter, forgotten. Somewhere down the hall, the fridge hummed, a low, steady noise that only made the room feel emptier.
Ellery James. Calling me in the middle of the night, laughing, slurring, saying things she’d never say sober.
I could still hear her voice — “You were bossy. But nice-bossy.” Then she’d giggled. Actually giggled. And when I told her she was drunk, she said “Obviously” like it was the funniest thing in the world.
And then she’d hung up to go dance with some guy.
I rubbed my jaw, half-smirk tugging at my mouth. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The thing was, I should’ve just laughed it off. Anyone else, I would’ve. But something about it stuck — that image of her smiling, the sound of music behind her, the way she said my name like it meant something.
If she’s drunk enough to call me, she’s drunk enough to get herself in trouble.
I hated that thought. Hated how fast it settled in my chest. She wasn’t my problem. She had a boyfriend — the boyfriend — golden boy Reynolds with the scouts and the charm and the press.
I wasn’t supposed to care.
But I could picture it anyway: her at some bar with Naomi, lights spinning off the lake, hair loose and eyes bright. The same mouth that called me impossible, smiling up at some stranger who had no idea what he was stepping into.
I pushed off the counter and paced the length of the apartment. My place was too clean, too organized — a side effect of living alone. Everything had its place except for me.
I glanced at the phone again, thumb hovering over her name. I should text. Just to make sure she got home okay. That was what decent people did, right?
But decent wasn’t the word anyone used for me.
I set the phone down instead, pressing the heel of my hand against the counter like that could steady the restless pulse in my chest.
“Don’t be an idiot, Mason,” I muttered to the empty room.
The city hummed beyond the windows — cars, laughter, life I wasn’t part of. I could almost imagine her somewhere out there, laughing too, forgetting all about the stupid call, forgetting about me.
I poured myself a glass of water, tried to focus on the sound of it filling instead of her voice.
It didn’t help.
Because even now, hours later, the words still circled in my head like a match sparking over dry kindling.
Why did you have sex with me in my dream?
I exhaled a low laugh — quiet, humorless. “You really don’t make this easy, James.”
I grabbed my keys. Didn't think about it. And somewhere between the shadows and the silence, I realized the worst part — I didn’t want easy anymore.
The second I walked into that bar, I knew I didn’t belong there.
The bass hit like a heartbeat gone wrong — too loud, too steady, rattling through the floorboards and straight into my teeth. Lights flashed in dizzy patterns, and the air smelled like sweat, perfume, and bad decisions. I hated places like this. Too many people pretending they weren’t lonely.
But I wasn’t here for the music.
The bouncer hesitated when I showed up — maybe because I wasn’t exactly dressed for the scene — but one look must’ve said enough. He stepped aside, muttering something about not breaking anything.
I moved through the crowd, scanning faces, ignoring the stares that followed. I spotted Naomi first — easy to find, dancing like she owned the place, drink in hand, hair swinging. And then I saw her.
Ellery.
Barefoot, heels dangling from one hand, laughing at something Naomi said. Her hair had come loose, tumbling down around her shoulders. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright — not the composed foundation director, not the woman who never stopped moving long enough to breathe.
Just… her.
For a second, I couldn’t move.
She looks happy. Untouchably happy.
Then I saw him. Some guy — tall, leaning in too close, one hand sliding to her waist like he’d earned the right to touch her. She laughed it off, light and harmless, but I could see the discomfort underneath.
Before I even thought about it, I was moving.
The crowd parted around me. Maybe it was the look on my face — maybe just luck. Either way, I stopped behind him before he could try again.
“She’s taken,” I said, voice low enough to cut through the music.
The guy turned, eyes narrowing. “Didn’t see a ring.”
I smiled without humor. “You’re about to see stars.”
He started to square up, but Naomi appeared like a damn miracle, sliding between us.
“Calm down, hero,” she said, giving me a look that could’ve melted steel. “I’ve got her.”
Ellery blinked, startled — cheeks pink for a whole different reason now. “Beckett? What are you—”
“Yeah,” I said, jaw tight. “You’re both coming with me.”
Naomi crossed her arms. “Oh, are we? Because I don’t remember appointing you our babysitter.”
Ellery tugged gently at Naomi’s wrist, trying to keep the peace. “It’s fine. Let’s just… get some air.”
The guy muttered something under his breath as we passed. I didn’t catch it, but it didn’t matter. One look from me and he decided not to repeat it.
Outside, the lake wind hit hard, cold and bracing. The noise faded behind us, replaced by the sound of water lapping against the docks.
Naomi snorted, clearly amused now. “You really do have a martyr complex, don’t you?”
“Call it whatever you want,” I said, still watching Ellery.
She leaned against the railing, pulling her hair over one shoulder, trying to pretend she wasn’t shaken.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “But you didn’t have to.”
Didn’t have to.
Yeah, maybe not.
But watching her in there — laughing one minute, nearly cornered the next — something in me snapped.
I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, looking anywhere but her. “Don’t mention it.”
Naomi grinned. “Oh, we’ll mention it. Repeatedly.”
I ignored her.
Because no matter how many times I told myself to stay out of it, I knew the truth — the second she called me that night, I was already gone.
Naomi was still laughing when I got them both to the truck. Ellery leaned against the passenger door, shoes in her lap, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Between the two of them, it felt like wrangling cats. Drunk, stubborn cats.
Naomi pointed at me as I buckled Ellery’s seatbelt. “You’re sweet, Mason. Like, annoyingly sweet. I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but it’s true.”
“Noted,” I said, starting the engine. “And don’t worry — my reputation’s safe.”
“Good.” She yawned, curling into the corner of the backseat. “You ever think about smiling more? It wouldn’t kill you.”
“I’ll add it to my to-do list.”
She laughed again — loud, unbothered; the sound filling the cab as we pulled out of the parking lot. Ellery mumbled something beside me, too soft to catch. Her head tilted against the window, breath fogging the glass in slow, even pulses.
The drive was quiet except for the hum of the engine and Naomi humming off-key to the radio. When we reached her apartment, she leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “You’re a good one, Mason. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She opened the door, then pointed at me again. “Get her home safe. And stop pretending you don’t care.”
I didn’t answer. She grinned like she already knew. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
The silence that followed felt heavier — soft, fragile. Ellery shifted, sighing, one hand coming to rest on her knee. I glanced over. Her head was turned toward me now, eyes half-open but unfocused.
“You’re not supposed to be real,” she murmured.
I blinked. “Pretty sure I am.”
She smiled — small, sleepy, devastating. “Dream-you kissed better.”
“Jesus, James.”
She giggled, quiet and warm, and I had to look away before I said something I’d regret.
The stoplight ahead glowed red, painting her face in soft crimson. Her hair had come loose again, curling over her shoulder. I caught myself staring longer than I should have.
“Dream-you was… softer,” she mumbled. “But real-you… he stays.”
“Go to sleep,” I said gently.
She hummed something that might’ve been agreement, eyes fluttering shut.
I drove the rest of the way in silence; the road stretching out ahead like a secret. The city lights blurred past the windshield, streaking across her reflection — half-light, half-shadow, all the parts of her I’d never get to touch.
Every so often, she’d murmur something — my name, a soft sigh — and each sound felt like it was being carved into me.
By the time I pulled up in front of her building, my pulse was a steady ache in my throat. I sat there for a second, engine idling, watching her sleep.
She’s not yours. She never will be.
I told myself that twice, three times, just to make it stick.
Then, just before I got out to walk her up, she whispered again — so faint I almost missed it.
“You showed up.”
And maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe she didn’t mean it.
But I did.
Her townhouse was dark except for the porch light — that single pool of gold cutting through the night. The rain from earlier had left the pavement slick, shining under the glow like glass.
Ellery stirred beside me, blinking herself halfway awake. “We’re home?”
“Yeah.” I got out and rounded to her side before she could try to walk on her own.
She wasn’t drunk enough to stumble, but she wasn’t steady either.
She probably sobered up slightly on the drive.
When she took my arm, her fingers curled lightly around my sleeve — soft, trusting. It nearly undid me right there.
We climbed the short path to her door in silence, the only sounds the faint buzz of the porch light and the low hum of the city behind us. When we reached the steps, she turned to me, that sleepy grin curving her mouth.