“It’s my heart, Corin. I know when something’s wrong. Just chill out.” He laughed but it sounded more like a bark. He wiped the drying clay from his face.

Before I could think better of it, I reached out and grabbed his hand, gripping it in mine. So tight I could crush bone.

“I saw your face. I saw it, Beck!” My words sounded like a plea. A desperate, naked plea.

“Corin, it’s okay—”

I shook my head. “I’ve seen that look before! Don’t brush me off!”

I was being ridiculous. Deep down I knew that I was overreacting but I couldn’t help it. Beckett’s episode had triggered me. And I couldn’t rein myself in.

Beckett looked over at the Webbers and I realized I was making a scene. I quickly got to my feet and left the workshop without another word.

I walked out into the dark shop and tried to get myself together.

Beckett was a sick man. Very sick. What was I doing becoming invested in someone who could leave me at any moment?

I had been through that twice. I couldn’t do it again.

“Corin.”

Of course he had followed me.

“Don’t. Just don’t,” I said, bracing myself against a table. “I just need a moment.”

Beckett took my shoulders in his hands and pulled me around to look at him. “What’s wrong? Why are you freaking out like this? I told you it was nothing!” He was getting upset.

“I just can’t—”

“Can’t what? Be around me? Why? Because I could drop dead at any moment?” Beckett sounded so angry.

“I thought you were different, Corin. God, I thought you would be the one person who wouldn’t look at me like I was always dying,” he agonized. His fingers dug into my arms and he held me tight. So tight.

“You don’t understand.” He would never get it. I wasn’t sure I could ever tell him.

“Understand what? That I’ll always be the guy whose heart stopped? Yeah, I’ve gotten pretty used to that role. I had just hoped I didn’t have to play it with you.”

“I can’t lose you,” I whispered. I covered my mouth, horrified at what I had said.

“What?” Beckett asked, frowning.

“I’ve lost so many people, Beck. You scare me. You scared me. I don’t look at you as the guy who could die. I look at you as the guy who could devastate me.”

Why in the hell had I said all that?

What was wrong with me?

Damn my lack of filter!

But what I had said was true.

Because things with Beckett were precarious and terrifying.

And real.

The realest thing I had experienced in a very long time.

“Corin,” Beckett murmured, and I could see his blue eyes, bright in the dark.

It was quiet but for the sound of our breathing, shallow and loud.

He leaned in, his thumb pressing against my lips. I didn’t know what he was going to do. I didn’t know what to think. What to feel.

But I was feeling.

I was feeling so damn much.

I was drowning in these complicated, unfamiliar emotions.

He was close. So close.

Too close.

Not close enough.

“Corin,” he said my name again, softly. Oh so softly. Almost reverently. As if my name was the most important word he had ever spoken.

I shivered. I couldn’t help it.

The butterflies in my chest pushed and pressed, squeezing a beating, lonely heart.

“God, Corin,” he repeated in a tormented whisper.

His hands moved from my face to cup either side of my neck. Fingers pressed against my thumping, thumping pulse.

Electricity sparked. Blood rushed through my veins. I was dizzy and light-headed and overwhelmed.

I wished I could say something. But words were lost. None would have been good enough anyway.

Because this powerful, out-of-control moment was swallowing the both of us.

“Corin,” he whispered again, moving closer. Leaning down.

I could feel the heat of his mouth against my skin. Not quite touching.

My eyelids fluttered closed and I waited.

I gripped my hands at my sides. Scared to touch him. Hating myself because I wouldn’t.

I waited…

Slowly, ever so slowly, I felt it. His mouth on mine. It was warm and dry and everything it should be.

Perfect.

Beckett let out a sigh. Straight from his heart to mine, and my entire body went liquid as I opened my lips to let him in.

Letting him inside where he belonged. Where he would stay.

He was careful. As if he wasn’t sure whether I would push him away.

Maybe I should.

But I wouldn’t.

Then with a groan his kiss became urgent. Mashing of lips against mine. Kissing deep. So deep. His teeth, his tongue, his lips devoured me. His fingers inched their way up into my hair and I shivered.

I was buzzing. Tingling. Filling up and overflowing.

I let my lips tell him everything I couldn’t put into words. My fear. My panic. My trepidation.

And my hope.

My god, my hope.

It was there, burning bright.

Because of Beckett Kingsley and his beautiful, perfect kisses.

“Touch me, Corin. Please,” he begged against my mouth, and I felt an odd wetness on my cheeks. Tears I hadn’t realized were falling.

I loosened my rigid arms and wrapped them around him. He sank into me, bending at the knees so he could pull me up against his chest.

I could feel the pounding of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. I pressed my hand over it, needing the reassuring reminder that it was still beating.

I tentatively let my other hand roam up and down his back. Feeling him. But wanting to touch so much more.

“Corin. Corin. Corin,” he chanted my name. Like a prayer. Like a song.

Or a wish for something he wasn’t sure he could have.

“Beck,” I sang back. Strong. Sure.

I felt it. The moment when my life changed.

This was it.

What I had been waiting for.

And then his phone rang.

Discordant tones, vicious and violent, pulling me straight back into the ugly, dark present.

My eyes popped open and I pulled out of his arms. I ran fingers over trembling lips.

“Fuck,” Beckett cursed, pressing his hand to his mouth, bruised and swollen from kisses passionately given.

He ran his hand through his hair and looked as though he wanted to pull it out.

Our moment had passed.

It was gone.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream.

But I did neither.

He closed his eyes as though in pain and when he opened them again, he gave me a strained smile. A fake smile.

His phone beeped with a new voice message and he growled in frustration, pulling it out of his pocket. “I’m so sorry,” he said, searching my face. I gave him nothing. My mouth tingled and I could still almost feel him. There. Mixed with breaths and heartbeats.

“Shouldn’t you call whoever that was back?” I asked.

Beckett looked at the phone in his hand, then at me. “It’s just my buddy Aaron. I’m sure it’s not important. He probably just wants to bitch about the ball game on TV.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Corin. You matter! This,” he grabbed my hand and pressed it to his chest. Over his steady, thumping heart. “This is what matters.”

The phone went silent but the air hummed and crackled between us.

I was trembling in the aftermath of what had just happened.

Because it had been so much more than kissing.

Beckett with his fragile heart.

His temporary life.

My world was in limbo. Not sure it would last.

Terrified. Fearful. Afraid to open myself to someone I couldn’t be sure would stay.

I had forgotten what it meant to live.

I wasn’t sure I was ready to begin now.

I felt a sharp pain in my head and rubbed my temples.

“Say something, Corin,” Beckett begged.

I pressed my fingers to my mouth, wishing I could still taste him. But I couldn’t.

I watched as he rubbed his ICD scar.

“We’re friends, Beck.” Three words that said everything.