AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We were walking to one of his favorite nightclubs. “You alright?” I asked, dropping my arm.
Beckett pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Better now. Thank you.” His yellow-green eyes were gentle and kind, but there’s a fierceness inside all Cobalts, even him. “You smoke?”
I nod. “Do you?”
“More than I should.” He handed me a cigarette before taking one out for himself. “I think my mom would rather I tattooed my entire body before I inhaled these.”
“Say no more. I can make that happen, man.”
He laughed, then lit my cigarette before lighting his own. “You do a lot of ass tats?”
“You’d be surprised,” I laughed into a grin. So we got to talking about me being a tattooist in an Ivy League town of New Haven, Connecticut. And how he was thinking of one day getting a tattoo, despite the ballet not loving them on dancers. Makeup could cover it.
We ended up at the nightclub, and instead of treating me like a brick wall, Beckett talked to me the whole night and introduced me to some of his friends. I didn’t drink on-duty, but I danced. So that was the start of every good thing we had.
Where I’d be his wingman when he picked up people. He’d end most nights walking back to the apartment complex with me. Talking about life, the world.
I didn’t just feel like I knew him. I felt like he trusted me more than he’s ever trusted anyone. Sometimes, even more than his own twin.
I’d go with him to sex clubs. I’m straight. I’ve seen him fuck. I know intimately what Beckett likes to do, and as a friend, I told him what I like too. As his bodyguard, I had to be there, but no, I didn’t participate. And I’ve never hooked up with him. But I wonder if I were someone else, someone more judgmental, maybe he wouldn’t have gone.
Maybe he doesn’t go anymore with O’Malley protecting him, and he’s lost something he enjoyed doing.
I don’t like that for him either, but I can’t change what happened.
Beckett faces me quietly. His dark wavy hair is virtually curly, his shirtless chest ripped. He has muscles and tendons that sculptors would admire. A body that’s a work of art. One that works too hard.
“Let’s talk,” Beckett says. The words might sound casual to most, but I can hear the subtle bite.
Is he angry?
When Beckett asked for a new bodyguard—when he got me transferred off his detail—we didn’t talk about it. I didn’t tell him it was okay. I didn’t wish him well.
I was devastated. I was losing the person I saw day and night. The person I couldn’t imagine not protecting. Never pictured being anywhere else but with him. Some nights it felt like Donnelly and Beckett Take New York.
It felt like a novel of my life. Not a handful of chapters.
“You pissed at me?” I wonder.
He tilts his head, staring faraway to the left in thought.
I shift my weight. “I’m not the one who requested a transfer—”
“I had to,” Beckett interjects quickly, hurt flashing through his eyes. “You’re the one who never told me about your aversion to drugs. I shouldn’t have had to find out from your friends. You should’ve told me. I would’ve never…” He trails off, his gaze staying on mine.
“You would’ve never done cocaine?” I state with no ounce of hope because I know it’s not the truth even as I say it.
He knows it’s not the truth, which is why he doesn’t say it himself.
Beckett is honest. Always.
He chose to kick me off his detail rather than quit using, and I expected it. I always expected it.
Because I know addicts.
I know they disappoint you. I know that no matter how much you love them, it won’t help them. It just makes everything more painful.
“I thought about all the times I coulda told you to stop,” I mention to him. “I thought about all the times I enabled you ‘cause I didn’t think it’d matter to you what I said. I’ve thought about how maybe it would’ve, and I hate myself for not trying.” I take a strained breath and my eyes hit the painting on his wall. A knot tightens in my stomach.
“I stopped,” Beckett says softly.
I believe him. “I’m glad, man.” I’m really glad.
His fingers glide through his dark hair. Floral tattoos spindle down his arm. I remember when I inked those for him. Tension still lines his jaw and chest.
“You still seem pissed.” My pulse is on another ascent.
His yellow-greens flicker to me. “I heard you took Joana on a date.”
I didn’t expect that. “That’s what’s got you all pissy?”
Beckett rolls his eyes. “She’s not someone you should fuck around with—”
“She’s my best friend’s sister. I’d never fuck around with her. I was teaming up with her to jab at Oscar. It was a joke. Pretend.”
