Dr. Beckett (Brothers Paradise #2)

One

Sadie

R ain pelts down relentlessly, as if the heavens themselves are weeping for my plight.

I stand at Beckett Paradise’s door, shivering, feeling cold droplets seeping through my jacket to touch my skin with icy fingers.

My luggage is piled at my feet, a sad testament to my current life, packed in haste when I stormed out of Alex’s place, a chaotic collection of everything I own.

I hesitate, my finger hovering over the doorbell.

Am I really this desperate? Desperate enough to ask Beckett for help, the grown-up boy who spent our childhood finding new and creative ways to terrorize me?

The boy who once locked me in the treehouse for an entire afternoon just because he could?

Beckett is measured and controlled while I am impulsive and messy.

It’s no wonder we’ve never particularly gotten along.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I press the doorbell. The chime echoes behind the heavy wood barrier, the sound nearly swallowed by the storm. My heart thumps, and I brace myself for the inevitable scowl that awaits me. When the door creaks open, that’s exactly what I get.

Beckett looks like he’s been dragged out of bed—no shirt, messy hair, and clearly not thrilled to see me.

His face goes from annoyed to shocked, his blue eyes narrowing.

He takes up the whole doorway, tall and strong, with a presence that would make most people step back. But I’m not going anywhere.

A muscle in Beckett’s jaw ticks. “What the hell are you doing here, Sadie Calloway?”

“I had nowhere else to go,” I inform him.

I didn’t leave because Alex hit me; he would never dare.

But the people he’d started hanging out with?

The way they whispered when I walked into the room or shut up entirely like I didn’t belong?

That told me everything. Add in how little he seemed to notice I existed anymore, and suddenly, staying felt more dangerous than leaving.

Beckett exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. I see the moment he resigns himself to this situation—the subtle shift in his shoulders, the flicker of irritation that turns into something more resigned.

“Get in before you drown on my doorstep,” he mutters, stepping aside.

I want to say something, anything that might explain why I’m here, drenched and disheveled, but the words lodge in my throat, stubborn as stones. Instead, I meet his gaze squarely, letting the suitcases speak where my voice fails.

With a muttered curse, Beckett steps aside as I shuffle past him, my soaked sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor. I try desperately to ignore that his scrub pants are hanging low on his hips, and his chest is a washboard. Instead, I drag my bags into his house, water pooling beneath them.

“Are you serious?”

I swallow hard. “No, I’m just testing how waterproof my luggage is.”

His scowl deepens. “Jesus, Sadie.”

A clap of thunder cracks through the night, and I flinch. I won’t beg. If he wants to kick me right back out, fine.

But he doesn’t.

“Make yourself scarce,” he mumbles, scratching the stubble on his cheek. “You know where the guest room is. And don’t think this is a sleepover that turns into a weekender.”

I roll my eyes. “Please, like I’m thrilled about being here.”

“You seem to be moving right in.”

My fingers curl into fists. “I’ll be gone soon enough.”

“Good.”

But neither of us moves, we just stand there staring, the tension thick.

Beckett sighs, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge reality. He glances at the mess my suitcases are making. I’m sure it’s making his skin crawl. “Towels are in the closet. Try not to flood the place.”

He turns on his heel and disappears, likely already counting the seconds until he can call my brother, Caleb, and wash his hands of me.

I head down the hallway to the guest room and drop onto the bed, my wet clothes clinging to me uncomfortably.

I’ve never stayed here before, and the scent of Beckett is everywhere—clean, crisp, and a little like cedarwood.

I rub my hands up and down my arms, trying to will warmth back into my bones, but it’s useless.

My fingers are stiff, my body aching from the cold.

I should move, get up and take a shower.

Or at least change into something dry. But exhaustion weighs me down, my mind spiraling as I think about Caleb, my only family, half a world away as usual and completely unable to help me.

Even if he wanted to fix this, there’s nothing he can do from the other side of the globe. I’m stuck for the foreseeable future.

Eventually, I force myself to my feet, my body protesting.

The bathroom is small but spotless, of course, and I peel off my wet clothes with shaking hands.

The hot water stings at first, sharp pinpricks against my chilled skin, but soon enough, the warmth seeps into my muscles, loosening the knots of tension.

I press my forehead against the cool tile, my breaths coming fast as I try to keep my thoughts from running wild. This is temporary. It has to be. Beckett doesn’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.

But as the water rushes over me, washing away the grime and the worst of the night, I can’t ignore the truth. Temporary or not, for now, I have nowhere else to go.

Sunlight peeks through the blinds, its soft intrusion a huge shift from the storm that raged last night.

I’m perched at Beckett’s kitchen counter, one leg swinging idly as I cradle a mug of coffee between my hands.

The oversized T-shirt I borrowed—or commandeered from the dryer, depending on who you ask—hangs off one shoulder, the fabric warm and smelling faintly of Beckett’s cologne .

Footsteps shuffle behind me, and Beckett’s grumble of irritation is my greeting. He makes a beeline for the coffeemaker, pouring himself a cup with an air of desperation.

“Morning.” I sip my coffee.

He doesn’t answer right away, but his gaze travels over me, more specifically, to the oversized shirt hanging off my frame.

His shirt.

His scowl deepens. “You’re really making yourself at home, huh?”

I sip my coffee, feigning indifference. “It was either this or dripping all over.”

Yes, I have bags with me. No, I did not pack effectively.

His eyes narrow, like he wants to argue, but instead, he focuses on his coffee, taking a slow sip as he watches me over the rim.

His phone rings, and Beckett glances at the caller ID, mutters another curse, and answers. “Caleb,” he says.

I tense, curling my toes against the cold tile floor. This is it—the moment Caleb tells him to kick me out. I texted Caleb last night to tell him where I was. He sent back a slew of curse words, and I turned my phone off.

Beckett’s expression shifts from annoyed to stunned. His eyes flicker to mine, and I straighten up, suddenly self-conscious.

“Yeah, she’s here,” he says, his tone cautious.

I watch Beckett’s jaw tighten as he listens, his grip on the phone tightening until his knuckles turn white.

“Are you serious?” His voice rises. There’s a long pause, and then he sighs heavily.

“All right, all right, I’ll keep her away from Alex. Yeah, I get it. Do whatever it takes.”

I freeze, coffee forgotten. The room feels smaller somehow, the walls inching closer. Beckett ends the call and slams the phone on the counter. He rubs a hand over his face, clearly at a loss.

“What did Caleb say?” I ask.

“Damn it, Sadie.” He groans, meeting my gaze. There’s something—concern, maybe even fear—before his eyes harden again. “What is Alex up to, and how deep are you in it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I turn away from him, racing through how I can explain what happened and why I left in the middle of the night. I can’t even describe it myself. “It’s none of your business.”

Beckett breathes in and out noisily, like a bull ready to charge. “Your brother wants you to stay here until—”

“Oh, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can.”

“No.” Beckett has a no-nonsense vibe now. “You will do as Caleb and I say.”

“You’re not my keeper.”

“According to Caleb, I am.”

I shut my eyes in frustration. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.

“Your brother has given me specific instructions to make sure I do whatever it takes to keep you safe from Alex. Do you know what that means?”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Trouble,” I whisper. Here I am, wearing his T-shirt, sipping his coffee, and now bound to him by a promise he never wanted to make.