Main Bonus #95: Silly Stringing Beckett's Bedroom (Phoenix) (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

SPOILER WARNING: This bonus scene takes place during SILVER SWEET and we highly recommend reading the book before reading this bonus. You will get spoiled.

I JUST AGREED to prank my boyfriend while he’s in Philly and while I’m in New York having dinner with his neighbor down the hall—Joana Oliveira—and a girl he calls a literal fucking demon—Harriet Fisher. Not to mention, Tom and I just became boyfriends officially less than twenty-four hours ago. Chances that he rescinds the title, in jest, are high.

My lips try to tic up.

I kind of miss Tom.

Fuck.

I roll my eyes at myself. We’ve barely been apart. I should have my fill of that nepo baby by now. We’re always together. Space isn’t the worst thing.

All on our feet in this fancy as fuck studio apartment, Joana heads to the stairs of the loft to grab the silly string.

Harriet and I take the wine glasses and cheese back to the high-end kitchen. I finish off my white wine with another swig.

This place would feel like a hotel if the studio weren’t so lived in. A dirty hamper sits beside the media console, and a clipped snack bag is left out on the circular black coffee table. Think it says, Nagaraya original cracker nuts.

A Phillies magnet pins a photo of Joana and her siblings to the stainless-steel fridge. I move closer to the pic. She must have another brother. They’re in front of a boxing ring, Joana standing between Oscar and a guy who looks like him with all his best features exaggerated. Sharper jawline, more intense eyes with a scar beneath, and dark curls that appear styled and cut to fashion.

Since Joana has on white boxing gloves in the pic, I assume they came to support her fight or practice or whatever she’s doing there. It’s easy to see the pride in Oscar’s eyes, which smile as much as his lips. Even her other brother seems happy for his sister.

I sweep the photo again. “You have two older brothers?” I call out to Joana.

“Yep! Oscar and Quinn.” She comes down the stairs with an Amazon box. “But Quinn is only two years older than me. Oscar is twelve.”

Twelve years older. “Damn.”

“We should eat before we destroy their apartment, Jo,” Harriet proposes, then jabs a thumb toward the oven while opening a cupboard. “The chicken should be done in less than twenty.”

“Good point.” Joana tosses the box near the toaster. “We need the energy to vandalize.”

“And to not burn down your apartment,” Harriet adds, setting three charcoal plates on the white marble island. I find silverware and add forks and knives to the place settings.

Harriet sits on a barstool while Joana slips on a black mitt and checks the chicken.

Not cooked through yet, she just removes the potatoes, then shuts the oven and throws the mitt on the counter. “I bet we’d all survive and stand the burn,” Joana says, spreading her hands out on the island. Her gaze swings to me. “What about you, Phoenix?”

I slide on a stool beside Harriet. “I fuck with fire,” I say.

Harriet nods, “Parents named you well.”

A low laugh rumbles in my chest. “Yeah, I’m still waiting for the part where I emerge out of the fucking ashes. I mostly just feel lit on fire all the time.” I eye Joana, who I just met. “TMI.”

“TMI you’re all ragey inside?” Joana gathers her dark curly hair in a claw clip. “That’s not too much information. That’s not enough information. I need the cause of your rage and the date and time.” She pops a red grape in her mouth.

I try not to look long at the purple bruise under her eye. Professional boxer. Never been friends with one. Never even met one before Joana. She must see me staring because she adds, “I will punch them.”

“If someone fucked with me, I would’ve punched them first.” I motion to myself. “Rage.”

She motions to herself. “Retribution.”

Harriet points at her own head. “I’ll be saving myself and running away from the fire, especially a literal kitchen fire,” she warns us.

“Fight or flight, she’s on flight,” Joana jokes.

I smile when Harriet mimes a bird with just her hands, flapping her fingers. “I’m not into a jail sentence,” she admits.

“It’s not fun,” I confess.

Joana straightens up. “I heard about that.”

Great. I ask, “From your oldest brother?” Oscar is Charlie’s personal bodyguard. I’m sure my arrest history was discussed with the Cobalts’ private security.

She surveys me with a nod. “I’d be interested in the TMI here since I really only heard the bare minimum.”

I catch myself grinding my teeth even revisiting that memory. One I haven’t shared with Tom yet. I promised I’d tell him after the tour. “It was a bad night,” I say. “One I would do everything not to repeat.” I stab my fingers into my sternum. “It was on me.”

“You deserved to be arrested then?” Joana wonders.

“Yeah.” The oven beeps, and this time, Joana pulls out the cooked chicken. I don’t get any deeper into the charges tonight, and when Joana joins us on one of the stools at the kitchen island, we all eat dinner and chat about music and hot sauce. Several bottles scatter the counter, and I pick one that looks like it won’t sear the roof of my mouth off.

I douse my chicken in a normal amount I’d use.

Then Joana says, “So you really rock with spice.”

I hesitate. “The fuck—how hot is this?” I’m about to read the label, but she steals the Brazilian hot sauce bottle from me.

“Just try it.”

I cut a piece of chicken breast. “This feels like a fucking set-up.”

She tries to smother a smile. Birdie would be grinning right now too and goading me to eat it. He’s going to really like Joana, but then again, he likes most of the friends I make and adopts them easily as his. Girls especially tend to draw toward Bird. Sexually and platonically. I can’t even fucking say why, but Steffi hangs around him more than she does me.

Harriet chews slowly with a head shake, swallowing to say, “You don’t have to eat it, dude.”

“I dare you,” Joana adds. “Or you can go with Harriet’s reverse dare.”

“Anti-dare,” Harriet throws up devil horns.

Fuck it. The whole piece goes in my mouth, and I chew through the tender bite. It’s not a regret until the hot sauce hits my tongue. I swallow and cough violently into my fist. “Fuck,” I wheeze out.

Harriet slides off the stool while eating a piece of chicken off her fork. She goes to the fridge.

Joana pats my back. “How serious is it?” She sounds uneasy. “Harriet, is he turning red?”

I cough again. “I’m…fine,” I wheeze into another harsh hack.

“Like fine, as in you want to be fine? Or really fine?”

“Really—” I cough and try to swig some water.

Harriet pulls out a half gallon of milk. “Can I use this?” She looks to Joana.

“You don’t need to ask anymore. Take anything, touch anything.”

“Cool, thanks.” Harriet pours the two percent in a glass, then slides it over to me.

I nod in appreciation and down the milk in several gulps, cooling off the itching burn against my throat. Fuuuck. When I can finally speak, I tell Joana, “Never again. Get that shit away from me.”

Joana laughs. “Another one bites the dust.”

Harriet actually smiles.

Leaving the barstool, I wash off the hot sauce from my chicken in the sink before I bite into it again, still tasting some cayenne, but the seasoning isn’t spicy to me. Once we’ve all eaten and we’re washing the dishes together, Joana snatches the Amazon box off the counter.

“We ready?” she asks.

I shut the dish washer, and Harriet gives her a tight shrug. “They might be on their way back. Should we postpone?”

I check my phone. “I don’t think they’re on their way home yet,” I tell Harriet. “Tom would’ve texted me.”

Joana sticks her feet in fuzzy pale purple slippers that match her socks. “We have at least two hours then. That’s more than enough time.” She digs her short nails in the box’s thick tape. “If you don’t want to take the fall, Harriet, we can just say the two of us did it.” She tilts her head toward me.

“I’ll join,” Harriet says, and I lead the way out of the apartment, holding the door open for them.

On our short walk down the hall, Joana tears through the tape with one strong pull. “This better be silly string.”

“Because the inverse would be?” I ask, stuffing my hands in my cargo pockets for the key to Tom’s apartment.

“A drunk purchase after four cocktails and two nightclubs.”

I try the pocket on my thigh. “Wow, so the silly string was a sober purchase.”

“Disliking Beckett is a sober activity.”

“Forget you’re one wine deep tonight?”

An amused smile quirks her lips. “Not even tipsy. I could walk several straight lines.” She demonstrates the straight-line sober walk while sifting through bubble wrap. “Let’s just hope this isn’t a new bra.”

“Bra is better,” Harriet suddenly says.

Our attention veers down to the five-foot-one scowling blonde. Harriet shrugs at me, her arms crossed. “It’d be funny if she left her bra in Beckett’s room, dude.”

I frown. “I thought we’re fucking with all the Cobalts, not just Beckett.” Where is my fucking key? I dip my hand in my back pocket.

Harriet presses her lips together in a tighter scowl.

“We are,” Joana assures me. “Tom and Ben included.”

Harriet releases a strained breath through her nose.

Does she not want to mess with Ben? Is she afraid her boyfriend will take this that fucking poorly? I wrack my brain around Ben’s reaction, but all I can think about is Tom’s. I’m almost positive Tom will get over it in two seconds and end up laughing.

Joana plucks a canister from the box. “No bra.” Her eyes light up. “Silly string is a go.” She hands a canister to Harriet, then one to me.

The Cobalts are having their secret Wednesday tea party back in Philly, and I do not care to join that, most especially since tonight just got a lot more interesting.

We’re about to silly string the Cobalts’ apartment.

If we can get into it.

We’ve reached apartment 2166, and I only feel my wallet and phone in my pockets. Fuck. “You have a key on you?” I ask Harriet since I must’ve left mine back in Tom’s bedroom.

“Not sure.” She blinks out of her scowling state and uncrosses her arms, turning more toward me. She has on her usual low-rise plaid pants and a cropped top to show off her belly button piercing.

“Fisher.” I point at her belt loop where the key fob hangs next to a pager-clip thing that holds her phone.

“Yeah. I got it,” she mutters, unhooking the key fob.

I don’t know Harriet that well yet, but she’s being fucking weirder than the Harriet I’m used to being around.

I make a confused face at her.

She glares.

I was just about to ask if she’s good, but I hold off in front of Joana. Just met her. Don’t know how close she is to Harriet, other than they’re definitely friends. Joana is reading the instructions on the silly string.

She bought five canisters.

Harriet unlocks the door, and we all go inside. It’s much larger than Joana’s studio apartment down the hall.

I shake the canister of silly string, then glance at the label. “Royal blue?”

“To rub their favorite color in their face.” Joana sets the ripped-apart box on the kitchen counter.

“Tom is going to rub this in my face.” I check the other two canisters. All fucking blue. I give her a hard look. “The fuck, really?”

She extends her arms while walking backward into the living room. “It’s an FU, not a decoration. They’ll be picking silly string off the ceiling for weeks.”

Harriet walks deeper into the apartment with Joana. “Not to burst your bubble, dude, but they will hire someone to deep clean, so it’s not even worth aiming at the ceiling.”

I remember Tom’s brothers hired a cleaning crew after his birthday party in April.

“It’ll still feel really good,” Joana says with a smile, trying to coax one out of Harriet. “You can’t burst my bubble, and there is too much room under mine. Come under the Joana bubble, Harriet.”

“I’m like Edward Scissorhands. I shouldn’t be under any bubbles.”

“You might be a fucking doomer, but I’ve yet to see you destroy shit or hurt anything, Fisher," I say.

“I can kill a mood, St. Pierre.”

“Haven’t seen it yet.”

“In due time.”

I tell her, “And aren’t you pre-med?”

“See, Phoenix is right,” Jo chimes in, picking up what I’m implying with ease. “You’re Edward Scalpelhands. You’re going to save us all one day.”

Harriet exhales a big breath. “Okay, yeah, whatever. I’m here and doing…this.” She grimaces at the silly string in her hand. “Cool, cool.”

Joana passes the pull-out sofa, barely glancing at the glittering New York skyline—one that stole my attention the first time I walked through here. She must be used to the view in her apartment. “Should we divide up rooms?” Joana asks me. “You want Tom’s?”

“Sure…” I trail off, seeing Harriet’s widening eyes.

“We’re doing bedrooms?” she asks Joana.

“Yeah, why not?” Joana glances over her shoulder. She’s very close to the hallway that leads to Beckett’s and Charlie’s rooms.

“We could go ham on just the living room,” Harriet suggests. “There might not be enough silly string to do all the bedrooms too.”

  “Five cans?” She inspects her canister. “That should be enough.”

“Unless it’s half air,” I say, shaking mine again. It’s light as fuck. “We don’t know how full these things are. Harriet might be right.” I’m going to definitely talk to her about Ben later. Like what the fuck is his problem? I’ve never disliked Ben until maybe right now.

It actually hurts thinking it, knowing how much Tom loves his little brother. My eyes sear, and I stare at the wall for a long second.

“Let’s just hit up two bedrooms,” Harriet says.

“Okay, deal.” Joana begins to smile. “It’ll torment them about why we singled some out and not others.” She taps her temple. “As gross as it is, we have to think like Cobalts to fuck with the Cobalts.”

Harriet bobs her head. “Chess.”

 “Ha, Beckett plays checkers. This shouldn’t even be that hard.”

“Great, I’ll let you two play that,” I say, testing the silly string in the sink. A thin slimy blue strand sputters out. “Just tell me who we’re going for.”

Joana spins toward the hall she’d been eyeing. “Charlie and Beckett?”

“I’m down,” I say.

Harriet jerks back in surprise. “Not Thomas?”

Joana tips her head to me. “Phoenix is probably giving his newly minted boyfriend a pass.”

I push a hand through my hair. “More like I’d rather get back at Charlie and Beckett for making me strip down in an elevator.”

Joana’s brown eyes flame. “They did what?”

Harriet’s scowl darkens. “When?”

I have a feeling Harriet isn’t all flight. I don’t mention it though. “Back in March. I get why they did it,” I tell them quickly. “Don’t go scorched earth on them because of that. They’re just trying to protect Tom, and it was barely a strip anyway.”

“Barely a strip?” Harriet asks. “What does that mean?”

“I got to keep my shirt on.” I force a smile. “Beckett just thought I might’ve been using, so he was checking for track marks on my arms and the tops of my feet.”

“The tops of your fe…” Harriet’s voice tapers out, too stunned to finish.

Joana doesn’t say anything. She glances from the hall to us, then back to the hall.

“He thought you were doing hard drugs,” Harriet realizes with less shock. She’s keyed in on my eyes that I hope look less bloodshot than usual. I just clocked in six impossible hours of uninterrupted sleep somehow.

I’m guessing she’s seen me look like shit on more than one occasion and maybe even heard the Cobalt brothers theorizing about me being on something.

“I’m not,” I tell her. “And last thing I want is for my boyfriend to be anywhere near drugs.”

“I believe that,” Harriet nods. “Tommy wouldn’t date a cokehead…I don’t think.”

I laugh. “I think he would. But his brothers are lucky that I’m not one.”

“Amen to that.” Joana rattles her silly string. “So we’re in agreement? Charlie, king of the assholes, and his more assholish twin brother.” She points directly toward Charlie’s and Beckett’s rooms.

It suddenly hits me. “Wait—how the hell do you know where their rooms are? You’ve been in them before?”

“No.” She shifts her weight with strange apprehension.

I narrow my eyes at Joana. “Is that a lie?”

“I’ve been in Beckett’s bedroom—but not like that. I’m literally his neighbor. I borrow things like…toilet paper.”

I turn to Harriet for greater context here.

She shrugs. “They’re neighbors.”

I shake my head. “No, that doesn’t explain this. You can delivery-service that shit to your apartment. You don’t need a neighbor for TP. And you don’t need to go into someone’s bedroom for it.”

Harriet’s frown deepens at Joana. “You’ve really been in Beckett’s bedroom before?” So this is also news to her. “You know what it looks like then?”

“Like the most basic bitch room you can have, yeah.” Joana swings the canister toward the hall. “He has practically no décor. Everything is unsurprisingly blue. I give him shit every time I see it.”

“Every time?” I nod hard. They’re hooking up.

“A small number of times,” she rephrases.

I rattle my can again. “He’s just giving you a tour of his room or are you sneaking in there?”

“He’s let me in there to borrow things. Like a phone charger. Mine had a short in it.”

“So you’re friends with Beckett,” I state.

“Loosely. Barely. Fringe friends.” Joana redoes her claw-clip, squeezing the canister under her armpit. She looks like she’s sweating. “I’m not share-my-dark-secrets friends with Cobalts. I would never date those egomaniacs like you two.”

“Cobalt hater, got it,” I nod again. “You’ve kissed Beckett?”

“No.”

I don’t believe her.

“You’ve fucked Beckett?”

“No.” She drops her hand. “Like I said, he can’t have me.”

They have some kind of history, and if I didn’t just meet Joana, I’d probably grill her until I piss her off enough that she storms away and considers crowning me the king of the assholes.

“Tom and Ben’s shared room, plus Eliot’s bedroom and the living room,” Harriet suddenly proposes. “That’s my vote.”

Confusion smacks me in the face. She wants to silly string Ben’s room? I rake a harsher hand through my hair, but some relief crashes into me. Ben might not be the problem here, but I don’t know what is. Maybe there isn’t one.

Maybe Harriet is just so freaked out about doing something seemingly wrong, which seems more likely.

She’s so considerate of other people’s things, and we’re about to wreak havoc on someone else’s living space.

“Phoenix, you want to tiebreak?” Joana asks.

Harriet is skimming the label on the silly string can.

I throw my hand up. “My vote is Charlie and Beckett.”

“Sorry, Harriet,” Joana says.

Harriet lifts her shoulders. “It’s probably better this way. Mister Feathers is in Ben’s room, and this stuff looks toxic to birds.” Harriet mumbles out, “Beckett is just intense.”

“We can take the fall,” Joana reminds her, but Harriet assures it’s fine and she wants to protect the pet bird she shares with Ben. We go ahead and enter Beckett’s bedroom, and Joana wasn’t wrong.

It’s minimalist and sparse in personality. Unless Beckett’s personality is anal-retentive. For what’s in the room—some monochromatic blue books on the shelves above his desk—it’s well organized. But the surface of the desk is completely bare.

The navy-blue curtains are drawn shut over the New York view, and his blue comforter is tucked perfectly in the bed, pillows fluffed and placed upright at the leather headboard. Something feels off about the room…because nothing is off.

This is like a hotel.

“No goofy family photos,” Joana says. “It’s depressing.”

“Definitely feels weird,” I mutter.

Harriet hangs in the doorway. “I’ll go silly string Charlie’s room while you do his.”

“Sounds good,” Joana says, shaking her can before squirting at Beckett’s ceiling fan.

I spray his desk with the slimy blue silly string, and we hear Harriet call out, “Charlie’s bedroom is locked! I’m hitting up the living room!”

“Don’t forget the kitchen!” Joana calls back, then laughs as she sprays his bed.

It’s fun for a second, but I’m not surprised that it’s not the greatest feeling in the world. Evening Glory’s pranks on tour has put a damper on them for me. I’ve never liked them to begin with, but now, I feel more like an ass pulling one.

Then I remember the whole elevator situation, and I think, fuck it. Let Beckett deal with silly string for a couple hours. This isn’t even close to the hard time Tom’s oldest brothers have given me, and if they can dish it but can’t take it, that’s on them.

My can empties, and I check my phone, seeing I missed a text from Tom.

Nepo Baby: You’re having dinner with the demon?

I type with one hand while Joana’s can sputters out. Silly string cakes the walls, bed, ceiling, and desk. She crouches down to Beckett’s desk drawers, and I press send. 

Phoenix: Jealous you’re not at my tea party? How’s yours going?

I watch Joana open one, then another. I can’t tell if she’s familiar with his bedroom or not. Maybe…not. She keeps opening and shutting them, searching for a…pen? And a pad of paper.

She bends over the desk and writes on the pad, leaving Beckett a note. A vibration goes off in my fist, and I glance at my phone again.

Nepo Baby: Not a tea party. And…fine. Kind of tense. Abnormal. How are you?

I frown. Kind of tense? My chest tightens, the urge to be with Tom growing. I glance around the vandalized room. It’s a decent amount of silly string, but not enough to cover every inch of the room. There really isn’t a lot in one can.

Phoenix: Currently destroying your apartment with silly string.

Nepo Baby: Seriously?

Phoenix: Seriously.

“You want to write anything?” Joana asks, holding out the ballpoint pen—surprisingly not blue but black.

I shake my head. “I’ll just tell Beckett in person. I’m spending the night here, so I should see him when he gets home.”

She clicks the pen and leaves it beside the pad of paper.

“Love confession?” I motion to the note.

“If I ever write him one of those, you’ll need to call Harriet to check me for a concussion.” She flashes the paper at me. I read it quickly.

The brat down the hall was here.

“So he calls you a brat?” I ask like they’re hooking up.

Joana must see the accusation in my eyes. “He flirts with many girls. I doubt I’m the only brat to Beckett.”

“Just the only brat down the hall.”

“The only brat he can’t have.” Joana puts the note back, then wipes the sticky blue silly string off her fingers, using the bottom of her cropped hoodie. She smiles at the mess we created. “I almost wish I could stick around to see his reaction.”

“You could stay. They’ll probably be back in a few hours.”

“I can’t. I have an early morning tomorrow at the gym, and plus, I don’t want Beckett thinking I actually like him.”

“Do you?”

She releases a sharp laugh. “No, I prefer someone who has goofy family photos on their walls. Come on, let’s go help Harriet.”

I lead the way into the living room. We take the two remaining silly string cans since Harriet is barely through half of hers. She’s mostly squirted the kitchen counters and hardwood floors, avoiding the built-in bookshelves and furniture until Joana and I show up and take care of that ourselves.

“I’m going to head out,” Joana says, trashing the last empty can and crumpling the Amazon box. “You want to exchange numbers?” She’s asking me.

“Yeah, sure.” I take out my phone and watch Harriet open and shut the cupboard beneath the sink. She looks antsy as hell.

Joana reads her number out to me, and I send her a text, so she has mine. Then she hugs Harriet goodbye, who gives a stiff one in return, but Harriet says, “I’ll let you know if they plot to murder you.”

“Please remind them that I basically am the security team. They can’t touch me.” Joana lets go of the crumpled box into the trash like a mic drop. “See you two around.”

“Later.” I nod to her goodbye.

The door shuts, and Harriet squeezes the lip of the counter. I stare right at her, needing answers now. My impatience ramps up, and I feel jittery in my own body, a hundred times more restless. I can barely stand still.

Harriet nods to me, then eyes the door apprehensively. “Joana is a badass.” It’s a genuine compliment, but she’s caging breath.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. You want to go wait for Tom in his room or something?”

“I want to know why you’re acting weird.”

“This is who I am.” Her nose flares. “Sorry you don’t like it.”

I scrape my tongue over my molars. “Did I say I don’t like it?”

Harriet dives under the sink cupboard and pulls out Clorox spray, extra paper towels, and wet wipes. “I didn’t want to pop her bubble, but I’m going to clean this up and you can’t stop me. So don’t fucking try, dude.” She sends me a scathing glare, then takes all the cleaning products with her toward the hallway to Beckett’s room.

I follow her, my concern escalating. “I don’t think they’re going to be pissed about a harmless fucking prank, Harriet. And if they are, then Joana and I can seriously take the fall here. You don’t need to clean it up.”

“Yes, I do.” She rocks to a complete stop in the doorway of Beckett’s bedroom. Red flush drains from her face. “Oh my God. Oh fuck.” She intakes a staggered breath, then races inside and begins to feverishly attack the blue silly string like acid is eating through the floorboards. “We need to…get this off…right now. The bed—his bed.” Her eyes widen at the stained comforter when she peels string off. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She takes another inhale. “How are we…? The bed…how do we…clean?”

“Okay, okay, okay.” I pry the Clorox out of her hand. “Beckett won’t hurt you or hate you for ruining his bed, Harriet.”

“You don’t…he…”

“He what?” I ask her.

She shakes her head repeatedly, hardly blinking at the silly-stringed bedspread.

Shit. “Just sit down for a second, Fisher. Breathe. We have a lot of time before they get here.”

She rubs at the involuntary tears in the corners of her eyes, then kneels and scrubs at the floor with the wet wipes like little orphan Annie using a sponge.

“Jesus,” I mutter and take out my phone fast and send Tom a text.

Phoenix: Joana left, and Harriet is freaking out over the silly string. She’s just short of a panic attack. I don’t understand what’s going on.

Thankfully, Tom is fast to respond.

Nepo Baby: Is she cleaning it up?

Phoenix: Yes. Like frantically. She won’t explain it.

I spritz the desk with Clorox and use the paper towel to wipe up the sludgy silly string. My phone buzzes in my left hand, and I check it.

Nepo Baby: Beckett has OCD. He doesn’t share this with many people.

I let go of the paper towel and cover my eyes with my hand as emotion slams into my chest. Then I pinch my burning eyes hard and stare around the perfectly organized room that I fucking destroyed.

OCD.

Beckett is really private, and I instantly get why Harriet was trying not to share a very personal detail of his life with me. I swallow a lump in my throat, then message Tom back.

Phoenix: Jesus. Yeah. That makes sense. I’m helping her clean it.

I shove my phone in my back pocket. “Beckett has OCD.”

Harriet freezes, then blinks several times before looking up at me with reddened eyes. “You know?”

“Tom just told me.”

She releases the biggest breath. “So you realize now why we need to clean this mess up? Like all of it?”

“Yeah, I’m going to help you.” I kneel in front of her and give her a clean wet wipe. She eases more, and I ask her, “What happens when his things are out of order?”

“I don’t really know. He keeps to himself a lot. Anytime I step foot in here, it looks immaculate. Like untouched. This…” Her bugged eyes sweep the silly string dangling from the ceiling fan. “I don’t know what it’ll do to him, but it won’t be good.”

“Does Beckett keep any extra cleaning products around?”

“Maybe in the hall.”

I stand back up and exit the room to find an expensive-looking steam cleaner in the hall closet. Along with an organized basket of microfiber cloths, stain remover, and leather polish. I gather everything that’ll be useful, and when I return, I work on cleaning his bedspread. I cast a glance at Harriet while she figures out the steamer to mop the floors.

“Joana doesn’t know?” I ask.

“No.” She plugs in the steamer. “I don’t think Beckett wants her to.”

“How’d you figure out he has OCD?”

“Ben.”

I nod once. “Maybe he won’t care that Tom just shared this with me then.” I guess I’ll find out for sure tonight when I see him.

The very first Phoenix St. Pierre POV on Patreon! And it's a lengthy one! We love writing from his perspective, and adding more details to his friendship with Harriet -- and the start of his friendship with Joana -- is much needed and so very perfect for Patreon. All the extra details and relationship dynamics are why we love writing beyond the books so much, and we're so grateful you all love reading more about them too.

This night isn't over. You'll be seeing more of it from Harriet's POV as the Cobalt brothers return home from Wednesday Night Dinner.

We're so very excited that more is to come in the Silver Sweet timeline!

xoxo Krista & Becca

“Silly Stringing Beckett's Bedroom" Copyright © 2026 by K.B. Ritchie