Chapter 56
Fifty-Six
Beckett
I’ve spent the last week staring at my phone, waiting for a version of Madison that isn’t a one-word text or a polite brush-off.
Ever since I called Hudson and helped stabilize Donna, Madison has gone into ghost mode.
She’s been living at her parents’ house, playing the role of the perfect, unflappable daughter as her mother slowly finds her footing again.
I know that role. I know the cost of it.
It’s the kind of performance that hollows you out until there’s nothing left but a shell.
I’m sitting in my living room, the TV on mute, when I hear the uneven tread of her footsteps.
I gave her space when she first came home. Then work called me away for days.
She’s had time.
I’ll be damned if she keeps avoiding me.
I’m at my door and down the half-flight of stairs before she can even get her key in the lock.
She looks like a ghost. Her skin is sallow, with shadows under her eyes so dark they look like bruises, and her hair is pulled back in a knot.
She’s no less beautiful. Just tired.
When she sees me, she doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even look surprised. She just sags against the doorframe.
“I’m really tired, Doc. I’m just going to take a shower and go to bed.”
“I’ll wait.”
Her eyes flick to mine, defensive. “I’m not coming back out. I’m going to sleep for a week.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be on the couch. I just want to make sure you actually eat something.”
I can see the way she’s vibrating with that high-frequency hum of a person who is about to snap. If I let her close this door now, she’ll bolt it from the inside—emotionally and physically—and I’ll lose the ground I’ve gained.
I don’t think she has the energy to argue, so she simply turns, leaves the door open, and disappears into her apartment.
A moment later, I hear the bathroom door slam before the roar of the shower echoes in her apartment.
I make her a sandwich and a cup of coffee, then I sit and wait.
I’ll wait all damn night if I have to.
Twenty minutes later, the steam clears, and she walks out.
She’s wearing an oversized hoodie and those ridiculous slippers, her damp hair clinging to her neck.
She sees me sitting at her table, and I catch the moment grief turns to fire.
She’s done being the steady one. She needs to hit something, and I’m the only target in range.
“Why are you still here, Beckett?” she snaps, crossing her arms. “I told you I was going to bed.”
“You need to eat.”
“I don’t need a keeper,” she fires back. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. Really, it was great, but I think it’s a bad idea for us to—”
“For us to what?”
She swallows. “For us to see each other anymore.”
Her gaze locks with mine for one, two, three seconds before it drops.
You want a fight, baby? Bring it on.
I lean back, crossing my arms. “Bullshit.”
She freezes, her eyes widening. “What?”
“I said bullshit, Madison. You’re not ending this because you don’t want me. You’re shutting me out because I’ve seen the parts of your life you keep hidden. You’re terrified that now that I’ve seen everything, the mystery is gone and I’ll take off running.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she scoffs, reaching into the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water with trembling hands.
“Put it down,” I say.
“No.”
“Put the water down and look at me.”
She slams the bottle onto the counter. “You can’t just swoop in here and fix me, Beckett. I’m not one of your patients. I’m not a cracked rib or a punctured lung. You can’t stitch this up and tell me I’ll be fine in six weeks!”
“I don’t want to fix you.” I finally stand, my chair scraping harshly across the floor. I’ve reached my limit. I’ve spent weeks worrying and holding back, and I’m done being patient.
“Then what do you want?” she screams. “Why are you still standing in my kitchen?”
“Because I love you, damn it! Why does it have to be a fight for me to love you?”
The silence that follows is deafening.
I didn’t mean to say it like this, but it’s out there now.
It’s the truth, and I’m not taking it back.
Madison swallows hard. Her eyes well up before the tears finally break past the levee.
“I told you,” she whispers. “I told you not to get close to me. I’ll chew you up and spit you out, remember? I’ll forget about you.”
I take a step toward her. Then another. I don’t stop until I’m inches away, until I can smell the soap on her skin.
“Prove it,” I say.
“Beckett—”
“Forget about me right now. Walk past me and go to bed. Tell me you don’t feel the air change when we’re in the same room.”
“I don’t fit the mold,” she sobs, finally letting the tears fall. “I’m not the girl with the easy smile. I’m not the future men like you picture for themselves.”
“Tell me then.” My fingers graze her cheek. “Tell me what this ‘future’ is that I’m supposed to want.”
“I don’t want kids,” she cries out, like it’s a confession. “I told you that. I can’t be a mother when I’m still trying to survive being a daughter. I don’t want the white picket fence and the minivan.”
“And I told you then: I don’t care. I don’t want a mold, Madison. I want you. I want the sarcasm and the noise, and the way you look in those stupid slippers. I want the woman who fights for her mother and the woman who’s too stubborn to ask for help.”
“I’ve been told I’m too much,” she whispers, her eyes searching mine for the lie. “By everyone. It’s always too much.”
I cup her face in both hands, forcing her to see the truth in my eyes.
“Then fuck everyone who said that. You’re not too much. You’re the perfect amount.”
I lean down, pressing my forehead against hers.
“You can’t scare me away with your truth. I’m not going anywhere. You can chew me up all you want, Madi. I’ll still be here when you’re done.”
She lets out a long, broken breath and collapses against me.
“You’re so annoying,” she sobs into my chest.
“I know,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head. “But I’m your annoying. Get used to it.”
I feel the tension finally snap. It’s not a clean break. It’s a total structural failure as her strength deserts her all at once.
My arms lock around her just before her knees give way. I let us both sink until we’re sitting on the kitchen floor. She’s a tangle of oversized cotton and damp hair with her face buried in the crook of my neck. Her cries are years of perfect daughter performances and masks being ripped away.
I don’t try to shush her or tell her it’s okay, because right now it isn’t.
I just hold her. My hand cups the back of her head, pressing her closer until I feel the frantic thrum of her heart against my ribs.
I let her grief soak into my shirt until the violent heaving of her shoulders slows to long, shuddering hitches.
She pulls back just enough to draw in a breath. Then, with no warning, she gives my chest a weak shove.
“I really… wanted to fight you on this,” she croaks, her voice a ghost of its usual bite.
“I know you did. Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of fights you’ll win. I’m afraid I just can’t let you win this one.”
Her skin is blotchy, and her eyes are swollen, but when she looks at me, the fire is gone, replaced by nothing but vulnerability. A fresh wave of tears spills over.
“Goddammit,” she chokes out. “I can’t believe I keep crying in front of you.”
My thumbs catch the salt-streaked moisture on her cheeks, framing her face. “But you’re a pretty crier.”
“No, I’m not,” she counters with a watery glare. “I’m an ugly crier. My face gets all puffy.”
I shrug. “Meh.”
She slaps my chest again, but this time a small, broken laugh hitches through her sob. It’s the best sound I’ve heard in a week.
I shift my weight and pull her onto my lap, wrapping my legs around hers until she’s completely cocooned against me on the floor.
The silence settles back over the kitchen.
After a long minute, she tilts her head back. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“That you love me?”
I hold her gaze. “No. Now that I’ve seen your real crying face? I take it back. Total dealbreaker.”
She nudges me hard in the ribs, a flicker of my Madi returning to her eyes.
I lace my fingers through hers and bring her knuckles to my lips.
“Loving you isn’t a choice anymore. And even if it was, I’d choose you anyway. You can try to run, but you’re never going to find a version of the world where I don’t want you exactly as you are.”
She reaches up with trembling hands and hooks them behind my neck, pulling me down. When our lips meet, it’s not the desperate, frantic heat of before. It’s a seal. It’s a promise made on a kitchen floor in the middle of the day.
When we finally break apart, she curls into a ball, tucking her head under my chin and molding her body to mine.
“How are you feeling?” I whisper into the quiet.
She sighs. “Safe.”
Within minutes, her grip on my shirt loosens and her breathing settles into the deep rhythm of sleep. I lean my head back against the cabinets, adjusting my hold so she doesn’t slip. My legs are already going numb against the tile, but I don’t care.
I kiss her forehead one last time. “Okay. We can stay on the floor. No problem.”