Chapter 11 Beckett
BECKETT
My whole life, I’ve lived for others. My childhood was spent looking after Logan, my little brother, who had cancer and other terminal diseases that wouldn’t allow him to live into his teen years.
My teen years were spent making sure that Briar stayed alive. While taking care of my parents, who were coping with Logan’s death.
My whole adult life has been spent looking after Mason. Making sure that I could provide for him in any way that I could. And looking after my father after my mom died. All while still making sure that Briar was alive, and so was his family.
Every fucking day, it’s someone else’s problem handed to me. And at first, when Briar called, I know a part of me, even if it was small, thought that I was just taking on another problem of his.
I realize now how wrong that is. Sloane isn’t a problem; she’s a solution. I’m just not sure what problem she will be fixing.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair as I sit in my office.
It’s only seven o’clock, but my brain is fried.
This case is taking its toll on me. It’s one of the cases that I was assigned a few months ago.
A person has been kidnapping and murdering people, with what appears to be the same type of motives as the case I hold in my hands.
Well, cases. There are ten of them that span over four years, and they are scattered all over my desk.
Looking at the cases, they look similar; similar targets, similar attack styles, but I’m not sure if it’s just a copycat or if the person from before just decided to come out of retirement, because we never caught him.
Regardless, it’s killing me a little bit.
We have to deal with several other stations across the state, trying to figure out if they have anything similar to this, and if so, trying to figure out if they have any information that can help us.
The problem is, stations tend to be fucking greedy.
They don’t like sharing. They want all the information for themselves so that they can get the credit and be acknowledged for solving the case.
That’s one of the things that sucks about this job: everyone says they want to help, but it’s only in their best interest.
I stare at the pictures on my board, as if staring at them will help me unlock the answers that I’m looking for. That’s what I’ve been doing since I got home, just staring.
“Fuck…” I mutter, running my hand down my face. I’m never going to get anything done with the way that my brain is working at the moment.
I take a deep breath and press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets for a few seconds before pulling them away and standing up. I look around the room once more before shutting off my computer and heading out into the living room.
Sloane dances around the kitchen as music plays from the speaker by the sink. She sings softly as she mixes something in a bowl.
I lean against the doorway and just watch her for a few seconds, letting myself admire her. Her hair is down today in soft waves when it’s usually up in a bun or a ponytail. She’s wearing a baggy shirt and some shorts.
She hums softy to herself. The song is darker than what I’d think she’d listen to, some kind of rap, I’ve never heard it before. She mouths the words as she whisks whatever is in her bowl.
I wonder how long I could just stand here and watch her before she’d notice. Probably awhile; she’s the most oblivious person I think I’ve ever met.
I’ve been thinking about her a lot recently. About the way she felt when I held her in my arms. About her laugh. Just everything about her doesn’t really matter what it is. She’s this ray of light that shines so fucking bright even when all she’s known is darkness.
I’m not sure what takes over me, but the way she moves, the way she sings, everything about this moment just pulls me in. I push myself off the wall. Already feeling a lot better than I have all day.
She seems to have that effect on me; she takes all the bad and makes it better. I’m not really sure how she does it, but she does, and she has no idea.
I grab her and turn her in my arms, earning a gasp from her. I stare at her, just holding her.
She stares at me as if she’s not sure what to do, and I’m not sure what to do, either.
“You drive me crazy, Sloane.” The words leave my lips in a whisper. So quiet, I’m not even sure she hears them.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, looking up at me with big doe-like eyes.
“I’m sorry…I…” My brain catches up with my body, and I try to step back, but she stops me. Her hands find my shirt, and she grips it tightly.
“No, don’t go… stay,” she whispers. There’s a nervous tremor to her hand, but the look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”
She shakes her head softly, her fingers gently gripping my shirt tighter. “I do want this.”
I lean down, pressing our foreheads together, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” she whispers
I press my lips to hers. The kiss starts soft, like both of us are just trying to figure the other one out. One of my hands tangles in her hair, and the other wraps around her waist, keeping her flush against me as the kiss deepens.
Fuck. She tastes like my next addiction.
She tastes so good. Cherry and vanilla. So much fucking vanilla. Her smell overwhelms me as I run my tongue along the seam of her lips.
I kiss her until we’re both breathless and panting. I pull away and lean my forehead against hers. Her cheeks are flushed, her hands still clutching my shirt like her life depends on it.
We stay still, neither of us daring to move.
I can feel how erratic her heart is beating, matching the pace of mine.
No matter what goes through my head right now, I can’t find a single piece of me that regrets this kiss.
With my hand still in her hair, I gently tug, letting my lips find the tender skin below her ear. My lips dance across the skin of her neck, my tongue flicking out to taste her.
I can’t get enough of her.
I push her up against the counter, kissing her neck softly. She lets out these little noises of pleasure, and I just want to hear more of them.
The hand on her waist slips up under her shirt. She tenses before she pulls away. And just like that, the moment is broken.
“Sloane?” I whisper, trying to pull her back to me.
“We shouldn’t have done that.”
She turns and goes back to mixing whatever it is that she’s making. It looks like a chocolate chip cookie.
“I’m sorry…” The words slide past my tongue and into the air, but they feel bitter. I’m not sorry. Not really, anyway.
I reach out and touch her arm, but she pulls away from me.
That stings. A lot more than I want to admit.
Instead of reaching out to her again and forcing her to talk to me, I let my arm drop to my side and take a step back from her.
“I’m going to bed.”
“Night.” Her voice is soft, and it kills me that she won’t even look at me as she says it. My jaw clenches, but I turn and head towards the stairs.
The next morning, Briar sits in my office waiting for me. The sight of him douses me in a bucket of frigid water, reminding me of the reality of our situation.
My house guest is his daughter. His twenty-one-year-old daughter. That I kissed last night. That I’m not sure I would have stopped if she hadn’t pulled away.
The guilt sets in as he sits there across from me, completely oblivious, as we talk about the case that I had been working on last night before I got distracted.
“Are you even listening to me right now?” Briar snaps at me, bringing me from my thoughts and back into the present.
“Not really,” I admit, running a hand through my hair.
“And why not?”
“Because I have a lot on my mind.”
He stares at me like he doesn’t believe me. Like he couldn’t possibly understand what’s so much more important than this case, all of a sudden.
I don’t blame him; my job has been my whole life for a long time, especially in the last few years.
There’s not much else I let myself have time for.
Maybe it’s selfish of me to be thinking about his daughter when he’s sitting right here next to me, while there are all these victims’ families who want justice, who need answers.
Of course, I’m fucking selfish. I can never just have one minute to myself.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” I ask, forcing myself to focus back on the task at hand. He looks at me for a few seconds like he wants to say something, but decides against it.
“Anyways, I was saying that the prosecution is supposedly bringing in a piece of evidence that they got from a very reputable source.”
I lean back in my chair, trying to focus on him. But right now, while I look at him, all I can see is her. All I can feel is her lips on mine, her body pressed against mine, her hands pulling me closer.
I blink and let out a breath, picking up a random paper and looking at it for a few minutes, no longer listening to him.
“How come you haven’t asked me about her since she came back?” I cut him off.
“What are you talking about? Who?” he asks, looking at me like I’m the annoying one.
“Sloane. Why haven’t you asked me about Sloane?” I repeat, my hands clenching around the paper in my hands.
“Why would I? I’m assuming she’s alive, you haven’t told me otherwise,” he says, picking up another paper and looking through it, comparing it to his notes. His words grate on me the wrong way.
“So you don’t care how she is?” I ask, trying to keep the anger out of my voice.
“Of course I do.”
“Then why haven’t you asked about her?”
“Jesus Christ, Beckett. Why does it fucking matter? Do I have to ask you about all my children? Do you wanna know about mine and Chanel’s sex life, as well?”
I clench my jaw and glare at him. “No, of course not. I just think it’s weird that never once have you asked about her, and she’s been back for over a month now.”
“Why do you care so much?”
My jaw clenches tighter. “I don’t.”