Chapter Sixty-Five

Harlow

I keep staring at the table because if I look anywhere else, especially at Beckett, I’m going to fall apart faster than I already am. My breathing’s messed up again. Too fast, too shallow, like there’s not enough room in my chest, like my lungs forgot how to work. Beckett sits right beside me, close enough that I feel the heat of him, but he keeps his hand on the back of my chair instead of