Beckett scratches underneath the cuff. “No. I just need the sink.” He still can’t meet my eyes. “Please.” His voice is a sincere whisper. “I didn’t want to worry her, but I have to wash my hands. It’s really bothering me…” He expels a taut, anxious breath. I realize his distress isn’t some deceptive thing. He’s uncomfortable being this vulnerable in front of me.
