Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
I huffed. That sounded horrible.
“I think it’s bad enough that you make me sing like a fucking canary,” I muttered.
Beckett chuckled, and we headed down the hallway of operators’ units.
I wiped my forehead and let out another big breath, glad the clamminess was disappearing too.
“We’ll use your place,” he said. “Unless you want fresh air. You might want more of an open space after an anxiety attack.”
I didn’t care. I also wasn’t sure I knew the difference between a panic attack and an anxiety attack. Instinctively, it felt like panic was sharper and hit more suddenly, whereas anxiety could sit on your chest for ages and build up slowly until the pressure became too much to bear. But the two kind of walked hand in hand most of the time, right?
I punched in my personal code and opened the door to my unit, and Beckett walked in first.
He surveyed the room for a moment, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he lost some tension in his shoulders. Would he have freaked out if my place had been messy? He’d mentioned being tidy. Also, maybe not freak out. He didn’t strike me as a freak-out kind of man.
One side of my room had a sofa and a coffee table, with the little kitchenette in the right corner, and then my bed and a closet on the other side. It was perfect for me.
The sofa was on the small side, though, so when Beckett sat down there, I eyed my bed. I’d sit there.
“Um, do you want something to drink?” I opened my fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “I have water and Sprite Zero.”
“Water’s fine.”
I grabbed him a bottle too, and I tossed it to him on my way to the bed.
“Thanks. So, let’s discuss why the news of your family made you react that way,” he said.
Jesus, he didn’t even lube up first.
I blew out a breath and sat down, and I kicked off my shoes. “I feel bad for the women you date. You gotta ease into things.”
He uncapped the water. “I feel bad for them too, but for other reasons.” He took a swig and eyed me a little. “But fine.” He set the bottle on the empty table—except for the remote to my luxurious, huge eighteen-inch flat-screen on the wall. A remote he adjusted so it was aligned with the edge of the table, by the way. “You want foreplay? When you mentioned water and Sprite Zero, it crossed my mind for the hundredth time that your habits don’t match the usual soldier. No tobacco, no energy drinks, no alcohol… There. Enough chitchat?”
I actually had smoked. In Germany. Like, twice. “There was no chit for chat. You only chitted. If I don’t chat back, it’s just a chitshow.”
“Jesus Christ.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and huffed a chuckle, presumably at my awesome sense of humor. “This is next-level dad jokes.”
I grinned. “Dad jokes are fun.”
He harrumphed and shook his head in amusement. “My brother thought so too.”
Clearly, he’d been a genius.
Maybe the mention of Vince caused the humor to seep out of the room. Regardless, it was a good time to get back on track; I just didn’t want to. I wanted to avoid the topic for as long as I cou—
“The Quinns are your family, Leighton.”
This did not qualify as avoiding the topic.
I cleared my throat, set my water on the nightstand, and pulled my feet up on the bed.
“They’re not, though,” I muttered.
“Yeah. They are,” he responded slowly. “And now that we know who they are as people…? Pup, they would never reject you. Darius might come off as a stoic, antisocial hermit, but last I heard, he had three kids and a husband.”
I glanced at him. “He’s gay?”
He lifted his brows. “Well, I don’t think he’s straight.”
Huff. Very funny.
I dropped my stare again.
“Same could be said about his brother,” he went on. “Ryan’s a fun guy. The life of the party and one hell of a jarhead and sniper. And he lives with his wife and their boyfriend. And a bunch of kids.”
Damn.
I chewed on my lip. I’d certainly never seen any of that on social, and Ryan’s wife was one of the few who was open in public. She did post a lot of photos of children, except she always put emojis over their faces.
“My question is why you panicked in the cafeteria,” Beckett said. “We’ve talked about your old man’s family before. Was it the timing? The fact that several of us here know them? The subject matter on its own isn’t enough.”
I rubbed my forehead. Just like all the other times he’d asked me something I was uncomfortable with, I knew I was going to answer, and it annoyed me. Why did he need to know everything? On the other hand, what it boiled down to was how fucking pathetic I was, because if I told him I didn’t wanna talk about it, he’d shrug, say something mentor-like, and walk away. Or, even worse, he’d stay and just wait me out like Doc. Beckett wasn’t one to punish someone by leaving.