Beckett’s POV
My head feels like someone's taken a slapshot to it directly, and for a long moment, I don't move at all, just lie there blinking up at an unfamiliar angle of ceiling, trying to piece together exactly how I ended up here.
Fully clothed. Still in last night's suit, jacket twisted awkwardly beneath me, shoes somehow still on, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed like I'd simply given up mid-collapse. The cabin's spinning gently even though the ship itself is perfectly steady, and my mouth tastes like stale whiskey and poor decisions.
I groan, pressing the heel of my hand against my eyes, as the memory of last night arrives in fragmented, unwelcome pieces . . . Elodie's cabin door. Her voice, sharp and furious. The argument that started over me and my intoxicated i***t mou
