OPALITE
Performed by Taylor Swift
PRESENT DAY
HIM: Pancakes or waffles?
HER: Neither.
HIM: You need to eat.
HER: I need you.
By the time we got home, it was almost stupid to go to sleep. The sun would be up in just an hour or two. I was supposed to be heading into work in a few hours, but I wouldn’t make it, and I had to hope Meredith wouldn’t let me go after all my absences, excused or not.
With the way my entire body was screaming at me, I figured it would be a few days before I could withstand the rigors of a twelve-hour shift. The slashes from the whip were raw and achy, my throat was burning, and my eyes were gritty from smoke and gasoline and tears.
When I walked into Beckett’s, I could have fallen straight into bed and slept for a day straight, but instead, while Beckett hosed off Vader and fed him, I headed for the guest bathroom to shower. In a repeat of the day before, I stood under the full heat and tried to wash off more ugliness. Dirt, gasoline, and blood, as well as heartache.
My sister had tried to kill me. Kill our father.
I wasn’t sure I’d be able to process that without another round of therapy.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t numb tonight as much as I was simply exhausted. I felt it all the way down to my bones. Deeper than I’d ever felt it before. Just climbing out of the shower made me feel like I was a hundred years old and riddled with arthritis.
I palmed some over-the-counter pain meds and then sat on the closed toilet, slathering all my cuts and scrapes with antibiotic ointment and bandages, taking extra care of the stitches on my biceps. Once I finished, I just sat there, trying to find the energy to move, to make my way down thehall to the bedroom.
The adrenaline crash from the events of the last days and weeks of sleepless nights had finally taken its toll. Add to that, I was pretty sure the virus burning through town had finally worked its way into my system. It left me feeling like I’d never be able to stand again.
The bathroom door flew open, banging against the wall, and Beckett stormed in with a frown between his brows and frustration spread across his face. Whatever it was, whatever had happened now, I wasn’t sure I could take it, because I was tapped out. I’d reached the end of my strength and sanity.
Somehow, I mustered up the energy to ask, “What’s wrong? Is it Dad?”
“Your Dad is fine. I want to know why you’re still showering in the guest bath?”
“My stuff is here.”
“Move it. You aren’t a goddamn guest.”
When I didn’t reply, he stepped toward me, and in one smooth move, he swept me off the toilet into his arms. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you, once and for all, where you belong,” he insisted, stalking down the hall and into his bedroom. I was too tired to fight him, and truthfully, I didn’t want to. I was grateful for not having to move myself, and I loved spending the night tucked up against Beckett.
He yanked the covers back and gently set me down.
The heaven of his mattress greeted me, instantly tugging me closer to sleep. My eyelids were already closed by the time he shut off the lights and joined me. When he pulled me to him, I didn’t resist, resting my head on his chest, feeling safe and loved in his arms—a warm cocoon of Beckett’s making.
“I need to know, Maisey,” he said quietly.
I tried to drag myself back from the edge of sleep, tried to mumble, “What?” but wasn’t even sure if it made it from my thoughts into actual words.
“Are you having second thoughts? About us? About getting married? Is that why you refuse to move your stuff into this room? To make it ours instead of just mine?”
I tried to shake my head, tried to reassure him, but I just couldn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t talk. I thought I said no. Wanted to add on that I wasn’t having any doubts about him or us or the future I wanted with him, but my body wasn’t cooperating.
From somewhere close to the abyss of sleep, I felt the kiss he placed on the top of my head and heard theI love youswhispered in my ear, but thenthere was nothing but a dark, deep, dreamless sleep.
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