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“Becks?” Jackson’s voice was so small, like when they were kids and their parents would argue.

Huddled together in their closet, Beckett would play his guitar and feed Jackson one ridiculous prompt after another—sing a song about octopuses to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star; now a song about a dragon; no, not Puff the Magic Dragon, that one’s too sad; how about a song about a castle made of ice cream? We could pretend to go there one day, Jackie. Just the two of us. You and me against the world. Jackson’s voice would start out thin, tentative as he picked his way through nonsense rhymes and Beckett would play louder, egging him on, until the sound of their music making drowned out the sound of the shouting.

“Becks,” Jackson said again, turning hazy eyes towards his brother. All the anger was gone, replaced by something quiet, trepidatious, like when they were children. “I think I fucked up.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Alone in their hotel room, Kat unzipped her dress and put it in the laundry bag for the wardrobe team, removed the strapless bra and uncomfortable shapewear, slipped on her old tank top and shorts, soft with age. She washed the makeup from her face, the bright red of her lipstick refusing to budge despite scrubbing with the rough hotel facecloth. She brushed her teeth, massaged moisturizer into her skin.

And she waited.

Gideon had returned from the bar alone, a glass of Dr. Pepper for her clutched in one hand. “From Beckett,” he’d said.

But the Hayes brothers were nowhere to be found.

The text Beckett sent confirmed what Gideon had told her: Jackson wasn’t feeling well and he’d taken him back to the hotel.

Not feeling well. A phrase that could only mean one thing when it came to Jackson.

He’d not been feeling well a lot more often lately.

She’d grilled Gideon for details—yes, he’d sent Rodney with them despite Beckett’s protests; no, he didn’t think they needed to get medical assistance, but he’d reassess when they got back to the hotel.

They hadn’t stayed at the Gala much longer. Better if the entire band made a quiet exit before someone started asking questions about why the famous twins had left early. When the car pulled up to the hotel, Gideon went to Jackson’s room to make sure all was well, and she’d gone back to the room she shared with Beckett. He wasn’t there when she arrived, not that she’d really expected him to be. Though she’d hoped.

So she waited.

At last she heard the whirr of the lock, the shuffle step of Beckett’s uneven gait on the hotel carpet. He appeared in the doorway of their bathroom, his suit jacket long ago discarded, the first few buttons of his shirt undone beneath his vest. His bow tie hung undone around his neck, sleeves rolled up over his forearms. The bright bursts of ink on his skin were a sharp contrast to the black and white of his clothing and the somber expression on his face. His lips were pressed in a flat line, his eyes tired, more gray than blue.

“Is he alright?” Kat asked. Beckett nodded, rolling his lips through his teeth. He blinked rapidly and glanced away, moisture clinging to his preternaturally long eyelashes. “Hey, what is it?” Kat took his face in her hands, fingertips scratching lightly at the stubble on his jaw. “He’ll be fine. He’ll sleep it off. He always does.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his face into her palm.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He shook his head and released a bone-weary sigh that seemed to leave him ever so slightly lighter.

“You’re really worried about him.”

He chuckled softly, his lips tipping up in a wry smile. “Always.”

“This is what he does,” she said, though even she was struggling to believe it. “He parties too hard, and he makes a fool of himself, and tomorrow he’ll buy everyone lunch to apologize. Just like always.”

His eyes darted between hers, and for a moment she thought he might have something more to say. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he caught her by one wrist, dragging her hand down his throat to rest flat against his chest. His heart thudded beneath her palm, steady, reassuring.

So why didn’t she feel reassured?

“Unless you think it’s more than that?” she asked.

“No. You’re right. It’ll be fine.”

She ran her eyes over him, a sinking sensation in her stomach. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

His grin didn’t meet his eyes. “You worried about me, Luna?”

“Always.” She patted his chest and started to pull away, but he held her in place with a firm press of his hand over hers.

“No teddy bear barricades tonight,” he said, and though the words were light, teasing, there was something urgent in his eyes that gave her pause. “Please.”