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as the room starts to spin.
    Beckett speaks, but his voice echoes in my head. “Babe.” He drops down to a crouch next to me, his massive hands on my cheeks, his eyes fighting to catch mine as I heave in and out until a haze covers his face. “It's okay, I’ve got you.” The words sound like an eerie tape being played on super slow.
    Beckett leans his forehead gently against mine, holding my face, and I can smell his clean, spicy scent. My mind drifts as I start to lose consciousness. Suddenly the panic leaves me and I wonder what Jordan is doing right now.
    I’m coming, Jordan. It will all be okay.
    They must have turned out the lights. The last thing I hear is Beckett’s voice in slow motion.
    “Stay with me, babe. We’re okay—”

    I hear voices again, swimming back in. Echoing around inside my head. I feel like I’m floating.
    “ . . . talking to you about the fucking fire.” That’s Beckett’s voice, growling at someone. Someone he’s irritated with. Yeah. Detective Northrup. I remember. “That is not fucking happening today. So if that’s on the dance card, we’re leaving and she’s gonna lawyer the fuck up. If you want to help us, like you said you would, then tell us what the fuck is going on with her brother . End of discussion.” Beckett’s voice is hard and loud.
    My hero.
    I shake my head and smell his fresh scent, feel the heat from his body. Suddenly I realize I’m not sitting at the table any more. He’s got me curled against him, sitting sideways on his lap, my head resting on the hard bulge of his shoulder.
    For a moment, I'm reminded of when we make love, how the muscles in his shoulders tense and flex when he holds his body above mine, caging me with his arms. I let my eyelids drop and my mind drift into the memory, letting the comfort of his strength cover me even as my thoughts move, just for a moment, to how he feels inside of me.
    I let out a small exhale through my nose and shift against him.
    He immediately turns his face down toward me, his warm breath on my nose comforting me. His hand gently brushes the hair back from my forehead.
    “Hey, you,” Beckett greets me. “You’re back.” He smiles and I don’t know how he seems to always find a smile for me in the darkest of moments. Somehow he knows that it brings me just the light I need.
    His smile means everything is going to be okay.
    It means that no matter what, he’s got my back. And he will go to the ends of the earth to make me happy.
    But we both know that the smile is a mask. Behind that smile, in the deepest part of him, he hurts for me. He hurts almost more than I do. For every harm done to me, he feels it a hundredfold.
    I ache to stop hurting him. To stop him from taking on all my burdens. But I'm sure the only way that will ever happen is if he is dead. Even then I'm not sure he would stop.
    “You sure you don’t want me to call EMS?” The detective’s voice drifts through the clearing haze.
    “No. I’ve got her.” Beckett shifts me on his lap, sitting me upright another few degrees. No part of me wants to move from the safety of his lap. For the first time since this scene unfolded, I feel safe.
    “I’m fine,” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t apologize,” Beckett says softly down toward me.
    Then he shifts again in his seat, his head upright, staring down the detective. “We didn’t come in here expecting you to make some veiled threat about the fucking fire.” Beckett starts counting things off on his fingers. “Her mother, who she thought was dead, is now alive and well.” One. “Her brother, whom she loves more than anything in this world is on a plane to Cairo–” Two “–with his newly adoptive father.” Three. “A man we thought we knew and trusted.” Four. He waves his fingers at the detective. “She’s got enough crap on her plate today to last most people a lifetime. So right now the only thing I need to hear is the words, ‘I’m sorry for upsetting you’ come