BECKETT
Something is wrong with her.
I know it, not because she’s crying or shaking or telling me what’s going on—but because she’s lying right beside me, stiff and silent, her brow furrowed for the past hour like there’s a war happening behind her eyes and she doesn’t trust me enough to say a damn word about it.
I press a kiss to her neck, slow and steady, trying not to come off like I’m asking for anything—just testing the waters, seeing if she’ll soften, breathe differently, give me anything. But she doesn’t.
Ashley’s crashing out and I don’t like it. She’s not usually this quiet. It’s been more than a week since I've been here and I’ve memorized her routine.
She talks in her sleep, huffs when I hog the covers, makes some kind of comment even when she’s tired as hell. But right no
