Page 51 of Beckett

“Be alone with the nightmares.”

An hour later, I was curled beneath blankets in a borrowed T-shirt that smelled faintly of lavender detergent. Beckett lay on top of the covers, jeans still on, boots set neatly beside the bed like he was a soldier ready to deploy at any second. Jet sprawled at our feet, sighing in his sleep like he carried fewer burdens than either of us.

“Thank you,” I whispered into the dark.

Beckett’s head shifted on the pillow. “For what?”

“For not demanding answers I can’t give. For giving me room when I need it and not vanishing when I don’t. For seeing more than…the damage.”

Silence stretched, heavy enough I thought maybe he’d drifted off. Then, quietly, he said, “Thank you for not seeing me as broken.”

The words landed soft but fragile, like spun glass suspended between us. I ached to reach for him, to anchor myself in the steady warmth I knew I’d find in his touch. But I kept still, afraid even the smallest move would shatter the tentative peace we’d built.

And that wasn’t something I was willing to risk.

Chapter 16

Audra

Sleep came eventually, heavy and dreamless. But the moon woke me hours later, silver light streaming through curtains that hadn’t been fully closed.

We’d shifted in sleep, drawn together despite our careful boundaries. His arm draped over my waist, my back pressed against his chest, our breathing synchronized in the quiet darkness. The digital clock read 2:47 a.m.

Jet had relocated to the floor, always on duty, even in dreams.

I should have panicked. Should have been calculating escape routes from this too-intimate tangle. Instead, I felt…safe. Truly, bone-deep safe for the first time in months. No mental catalog of weapons and exits. No parsing every sound for threat. Just the solid warmth of Beckett behind me and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

He stirred, awareness returning in stages—first the tension in his muscles, then the catch in his breath as he realized our position.

“Sorry,” he murmured, starting to withdraw. “Didn’t mean to?—”

“Stay.” I caught his hand before he could pull away completely. “Please.”

He went perfectly still. “Audra?—”

“I’m tired of being afraid.” The confession ripped from somewhere deep, raw, and bleeding. “Tired of running. Tired of being alone. And I know this is insane, and I know I should run, but I need to feel alive again. Not just surviving.Alive.”

He laced his fingers through mine, calluses rough against my palm. “What do you need?”

The question undid me. When had anyone last asked what I needed?

“You.” The admission cost everything. “I need you.”

He pressed his forehead to the back of my neck, breath warm against skin. “You have me. However you need me.”

I turned in his arms, needing to see his face, to verify this was real. Moonlight turned his eyes silver, intense and focused entirely on me. My fingers found the scar through his eyebrow, tracing its path.

“I can’t make promises?—”

“Not asking for any.” He cupped my cheek with devastating gentleness. “Not asking for anything you’re not ready to give.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He kissed me.

Not the desperate collision from the cabin, but something infinitely tender. A question posed in the language of lips and breath. His mouth moved against mine with aching patience, giving me every chance to retreat.

Instead, I pulled him closer.