Page 138 of Tangled Like Us

Pulse hammering, I scan them all quickly again, checking for any visible wounds.

Charlie rubs at his eyes and then rises off the couch, obscuring my view of him and then he disappears completely off screen.

Beckett watches him. “We said we’d do this together, Charlie.”

“I’m coming back,” Charlie says in the distance.

Eliot and Tom watch him leave. Beckett focuses on me.

“Who’s this about?” I ask.

“Me,” Beckett says just as my bathroom door opens again.

I glance up.

Thatcher walks in, adjusting the mic in his ear and clipping it to the collar of his T-shirt. He’s dressed in clean flannel pajama pants, and he leans a shoulder against the frame, keeping the door open.

Officially on-duty.

He meets my eyes. Brows furrowed but not confused. If anything, I think he might be learning about what happened right this very moment through comms.

“Beckett,” I say and look to my phone again. “Please tell me what’s going on. I’m thinking the worst. Are you okay? Physically, mentally, emotionally. Did someone hurt you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but he closes it and then cringes. “Physically, I’m fine.”

That leaves mentally and emotionally hurt, and that’s just as bad. “I’m coming to New York.” I rise to my feet.

“No,” Beckett says quickly. “You’re not. You’re wearing a robe.”

“I can go to New York in a robe, thank you,” I say and brush my fingers through my hair.

He smiles. His yellow-green eyes softening. “You don’t even know what happened yet.”

“I don’t have to know,” I say. “I’m your big sister.”

He nods for a long moment and then pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to stop from crying. My heart nearly shatters.

“Shit,” Eliot curses. “Charlie!”

Tom leaves the living room.

Eliot sits on the couch and puts an arm around Beckett’s shoulders, but my thespian brother is staring at me. “One of Beckett’s…hookups…took screenshots of their texts. They’re all on the internet.”

Oh my God.

Texts are beyond personal. Especially from someone who Beckett had a sexual relationship with. If one of my friends-with-benefits had ever posted my texts for the world to see…if Nate…

I feel ill.

Before I can say anything, Charlie and Tom both return to the living room and in my line of sight.

Charlie taps Eliot’s shoulders. “Move.”

Eliot slides from the couch cushion down to the floor in almost a single effortless movement, and Charlie hops onto the couch. He puts a hand to Beckett’s knee and grabs his attention. They begin to whisper quietly to each other, not audible for me. Tom and Eliot half-listen, while I tell them my FaceTime screen is going to turn off for a quick second to read the texts.

“Donothang up on me,” I tell Tom.

He gives me a thumbs up and then I click into the internet on my phone. They can still hear me. I can still hear them. But both our screens sayconnection lost.