Chapter 2

"Will! How's my favorite social worker and neighbor-by-proxy? Got big plans for the weekend?" Cameron's friendly tone couldn't hide the bags under his eyes or the worried look in them. He'd popped into my office and dropped his oversized body into the chair beside my desk. Cam was a good-looking guy but nowhere near as hot as my neighbor, who happened to be his cousin and partner.

"Cameron, it's always good to see you. My plans involve staying home this weekend and working on my garden. Stop trying to kiss my ass. What do you want?" There was no way he didn't want something, and given his fake jovial tone, it must be a big something.

"Yeah, so here's the thing… Beckett managed to get himself knocked around today." At my widened eyes, he held out both hands in a hold-on gesture. "He's going to be fine. He's got sore ribs and not even a real black eye. He did get knocked in the head though. The doc said he'll need someone to stay with him if he wants to leave the hospital. I offered to call his mom, but he said fuck no to her. I can't stay because I need to catch a flight. So what I need your do-gooder heart to do is go stay with him." Cameron sat back in his chair with one ankle crossed over his knee and a self-satisfied smile that strongly resembled the Cheshire cat.

"Stay with Beckett? Stay with the neighbor who refuses to speak to me? Stay with the neighbor who threw away delicious cinnamon rolls I made with my own two hands? That's the person you want me to give up my weekend to babysit?" I knew my tone was scornful, but damn, those had been delicious cinnamon rolls.

Beckett, amazingly hot and terminally taciturn, was my not-so-welcoming neighbor. In the eighteen months I'd lived on Almstead Island, he had ignored me for approximately all of them. In the beginning, I'd greeted him with friendly waves and the ill-fated cinnamon rolls, but when I didn't even get a grunt in response? The message came through loud and clear. My neighbor was just not that into me.

"C'mon, how bad can it be? He'll probably sleep the whole time. If he's awake, he'll be hiding in that loft of his, reading about who fucking knows what. It's right next door! You don't even need to change your plans, just where you hang out during the day." Cameron's posture was decidedly more tense and a lot less charming. "Look, if there was anyone else I thought he'd let stay with him, I'd be asking them right now. I know he's difficult to get along with because, ya know, I've been related to him my whole life." I couldn't help but snort at that one, but I let him continue. "I know he likes you because he told me about the cinnamon rolls, and he told me he felt bad about it. Seriously, you are, quite literally, the only option. Please."

"Dammit, Cam. Don't do this to me."

Cameron's relieved voice called for me to come in when I knocked. It looked like some sort of stand-off when I peeked my head around the door. Beckett's brows were furrowed and drawn. As always, he was silent and watched the room. Stoic and imposing even in a hospital bed, wearing a ridiculous hospital gown. His dark hair was military short. The chocolate-brown eyes I wished were happy to see me had faint crinkles at the edges, evidence of long days outdoors. His jaw was strong and covered in a neatly trimmed scruff that would probably feel amazing against my skin. Broad shoulders tapered into a trim waist. At the gown's neckline was a pelt, but not too much, of dark chest hair.

I did love a hairy-chested man. The bedsheet did nothing to obscure his long, tree-trunk legs. One foot was sticking out over the sheet, and damn, even that was sexy. The man was a smoke show. One who'd made it abundantly clear he was wholly uninterested in me or my many charms, if I do say so myself.

"You babysitting me?" Beckett's voice couldn't have been more petulant if he were lying on the floor, refusing to move like a toddler. The timbre was gravelly and deep but with an undefined something more. It sounded like a bit of shyness, but that would be insane given his general I don't give a fuck attitude. It could be eagerness, but that made even less sense than shyness. I was officially making shit up.

"Yep, I'm the lucky guy." It was impossible to miss the harrumph from the bed that followed my answer. Ignoring any grousing would be the easiest way to avoid it altogether. My instincts told me I'd get plenty of practice ignoring bad tempers and maybe a few tantrums over the next few days.

The doctor finished signing the discharge paperwork and officially released Beckett. At some point, Cameron must have brought regular clothes for Beckett to change into. He produced a gym bag from somewhere and handed it off to Beckett, who promptly disappeared into the bathroom to change.

After the door was quietly shut, Cameron turned to me with furrowed brows and a worried expression. "I know he can be a jackass, but are you sure you don't mind?"

"Cameron, relax. I'll be fine with Beckett, and he'll have to get over having me there. Yeah, he can be an asshole, but he's practically down for the count, so I'm pretty sure I can take him."

I hoped my facial expression radiated calm competence and not wishful lusting. Honestly, it was probably a toss-up. Cameron was obviously preoccupied with his upcoming flight, so he didn't seem to notice either way.

"In fact, I think it would be best if you just leave now, and we'll make our way out of here on our own. You need to catch the ferry, and I definitely know the way to Beckett's house. There's no reason to stay. I have your number, Papa. I can take it from here."

Cameron's laugh was rueful. "If I have to be something, I'll take being that one's papa over his Daddy because ew. Cousins are not my type." Well, that was definitely not what I'd expected from Cameron, but we didn't have time to unpack all of that. With a friendly wave, he was out the door, and I was left with a grump who'd been in the bathroom for far too long.

"Beckett, you okay in there?" My question was met with shuffling, a thump, and what sounded suspiciously like an unhappy moan. "Beckett. I need you to answer me. Are you okay?" More shuffling and not-answering followed. "Last chance. I need an actual answer, or I'm coming in." My voice was firm. The one I used when a response was nonnegotiable.

"Fuck. I'm…uhh…fine. Just give me a minute."

The pain in his voice was unmistakable and clearly laced with embarrassment. I tried the door handle, and it was unlocked. Slowly, I pushed open the door and peered around the wooden slab to see the problem.

Beckett was sitting on the closed toilet seat with his hospital gown tossed on the tile floor. His shoes were on the floor, along with a pair of gray sweats. It was at this moment that I realized Cameron hated me. How was I supposed to be professional and disinterested with acres of flesh before me?

Beckett had managed to get one leg into his pants, and in the universe of small favors, he'd also managed to put on his should-be-a-sin-tight white T-shirt. The black boxer briefs he wore didn't leave much to my imagination. Lordy, he must make someone in this world happy with that package. He looked…proportional.

I shook my head to rein in my wayward thoughts and forced myself to focus on the injured man in front of me.

Focus.

Beckett was hunched over, elbows propped on his knees, and his large hands gripped the sides of his head. His fingers edged close to the gash and the goose egg on the back of his head. Thankfully, the cut wasn't bleeding. There was a shiny coat of medical-grade glue covering it. Yeah, this was not an appropriate time for my lusting.

"Beckett? What's going on? Do you need me to get a nurse?" My voice was low and, I hoped, soothing. The last thing Beckett needed was anything else to hurt his brain.

His scrunched brow and exhausted voice made clear what a struggle it was for him to be in this position. "I'm okay. Leaning over is making me dizzy and my head feels like someone is rattling around my skull with a hammer."

Uh, that's not what okay means.

"All right. Let me help you so we can get you home and into your own bed."

I crouched in front of him and lifted his foot through the leg of his sweatpants. His running shoes were on the floor next to him, so they went on next. When that was done, I scooted under his one arm and let him use the other to brace himself on the wall rail. On my count of three, Beckett hefted himself up, and I finished pulling up his pants. Once he was fully dressed, I returned him to the hospital bed so I could snag an aide with a wheelchair to take us to the parking lot.

Beckett had always struck me as the epitome of the strong, silent type. He'd never given me any indication that he was interested in friendship with me or, honestly, anyone else. Whenever we'd run into each other in the ER, he'd always been polite but never familiar. Now that I thought about it, I didn't think I'd ever seen him acknowledge the mad flirting from the staff that happened when he came in. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't over the top, like third-grade winking and junior high-level innuendos. It might border on harassment.

Cameron was usually with him, and he ate that shit up and flirted right back. Beckett? He kept his impenetrable gaze, said the bare minimum to anyone, and left as quickly as possible. According to Cameron, he was one of the best officers in their department. His detachment allowed him to work efficiently without getting heated or caught up in the drama—on scene or in the department.

I felt like shit for lusting after this absurdly closed-off man who was currently whimpering in pain. Seeing his discomfort should've erased whatever errant thoughts were creeping through my mind. Beckett needed someone to take care of him, not perv on him. That job would be mine. With my newfound resolve firmly in place, I set out to find an aide who could take us from the hospital room to the entrance. Once found, I sprinted ahead to bring my car around to the front doors.

By the time I'd jogged to the employee parking area and pulled up to the patient area, the aide and Beckett were at the curb. I stopped directly in front of the doors and got out to help him. Beckett stood on wobbly legs, walked the few feet to my car, and gingerly got in. He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. His clenched fists and deeply furrowed brow made me wince. He made no move to pull his seatbelt around, so I leaned toward him. "Hey, you need your seatbelt on. I need you to be safe." Beckett ignored me entirely. I leaned over him to click it into place.

Beckett didn't speak, but there was the barest hint of a smile on his plump lips, which surprised the hell out of me. Self! Stop it. You promised. Since I was no longer allowing myself to dwell on those lips and wonder if they were as soft as I imagined, I straightened and headed to the driver's seat.

Thankfully, the drive was blessedly uneventful and smooth. I pulled up to his cabin and glanced over. As best I could tell, Beckett hadn't moved since we'd gotten into the car. "Hey, we're here."

Once again, he made no attempt to handle his seatbelt and didn't move to leave the car. I exited my side and circled around his. I reached across him and unlatched the belt. As gently as I could, I jostled his shoulder to wake him if he was actually asleep.

His eyes fluttered open. Oh my, to the deity of your choosing. Those chocolate eyes. Those lashes. I was going to ruin my own good intentions in less than twenty minutes if I didn't get ahold of my thoughts. Between the proximity of getting his seatbelt off, touching the solid, deliciously muscled shoulder, and the unique scent that was just Beckett, my thoughts were going headlong into decidedly impure directions. I'd be all about it if my urges were reciprocated or he wasn't sitting in the front seat of my car in pain.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, let's get you inside." Beckett's head turned toward my voice, and a faint smile ghosted over his lips. It wasn't an expression I'd seen on him before, but to be fair, I'd never been close enough to see any expressions on him. Details. That smile was just for me. It had been decided. Intellectually, I knew it was the good drugs they'd given him, but whatever. My theory was better.

With the executive decision made on claimed smiles, I gently nudged his legs out. Satisfied that he'd get out the rest of the way on his own, I turned to grab the gym bag out of the back seat. As we walked, I poked through the bag's pockets, looking for his keys, and headed toward his front door.

"The keys are for the back door. I don't even have a key for the front." His words were spoken in a barely there whisper and with considerable hesitation. Hmmm, that might explain the cinnamon roll debacle. I changed directions and headed around to the backside of the cabin.

Beckett followed behind me slowly but didn't take the finally located keys from me. I entered first and held the door for him to follow me in. He mumbled a barely audible something that I was sure was supposed to be thank you. I set the bag next to the back door. There was a short hallway straight ahead with a door to a bedroom at the end. To the left were a few more doors and a doorway into the kitchen. I headed for that one.

Damn. I wasn't expecting this. The downstairs was a Pinterest hygge dream. The fabric sofa in the living room was made for movies and Sunday naps. The club chairs had cable-knit blankets tossed across the back and looked equally comfortable. The wide-plank wood floors had a patina that couldn't be fake and were partially covered by thick braided rugs. Along the front window sills were healthy plants, much unlike the dead ones in my own home.

The kitchen was perfect. The cabinets across the back and the island were painted a forest green so deep it looked almost black. They were topped by live-edge butcher-block countertops worn with age and character. The stainless-steel appliances gleamed like they'd just been moved off the showroom floor. Over at the window was a deep copper farmer's sink with more freakishly healthy—how did he do that?—plants on the windowsill. The backyard, with its brambles and messy beds, was visible in all its overgrown glory. Glimpses of my own cabin were hit-or-miss through the thick forest.

Beckett followed in behind me and stood off to the side. His exhaustion was evident, and he just looked done with everything. "It must have been a while since you ate. I can whip something up in that kitchen that I'm not completely and totally jealous of, so you can lie down with a full stomach." I kept my volume down, hoping it wouldn't hurt his head too much. His face scrunched up, and he rubbed his hands on the sides of his pants.

"Uhhh, I'm not sure I have anything to whip up." I turned to open the fridge and see my options, and—oh my fucking hell. The thing was actually empty, like honest-to-God empty. To make sure, I looked back again and realized I had overlooked a lone packet of takeout soy sauce. How filling.

I tried the door on the far side of the kitchen, which I guessed correctly was his pantry. Partial success! I found a few cans of ancient-looking soup. Those never go bad. The crackers looked more recent, so I grabbed them too. I brought the food back into the kitchen and started looking through cupboards for a pan to heat the soup. Beckett hadn't moved from his spot. He watched me through hooded eyes.

I captured his gaze and nodded to the stool at the island. Beckett sat without a word. His easy acquiescence to the invasion of his kitchen surprised me. It didn't seem like he used it much, but most people would still be a little bothered by someone coming in like they owned the place. Beckett took it all in stride. Maybe his head hurt too much to care? The grump I knew him to be had all but disappeared, replaced by a soft-spoken man with distinctly shy vibes.

Since I had nothing to do while the soup was heating, I grabbed his bag, intending to take it to the bedroom. Beckett jumped up and reached for the bag in my hand. He didn't quite manage to hide the unsteady sway when he made a grab for it. "Nope. You look like you're going to fall over. Sit back down and tell me where to find your bedroom." Again, he didn't argue. Beckett immediately returned to the stool, pointing toward the hallway.

"It's at the end of the hallway." His low-pitched voice was downright sinful, and the dirty thoughts I'd told myself were not allowed came rushing right back to the forefront of my brain. Would he be compliant in the bedroom? He'd followed my directions since we arrived, and I imagined him following my lead there too. What would those pretty lips look like wrapped around my cock? I bet his moans would be in that same deep bass.

My mind wandered to a quick fantasy of a needy Beckett on his knees, sucking my cock while my hands carded through his short hair. He'd moan in his deep timbre while I babbled about how his talented mouth was going to make me come straight down his throat.

This was going to be a long day.