Conversations with friends...
"Thank you."
The words spilled from her lips the moment the door opened. She had gone over her speech on the way here, repeating it to herself over and over again in the car. This was not the speech she had practised.
"For?" Madison's voice trailed off, confusion marring her face.
"For Brent Edwards," Beckett explained. "I'm sorry that I didn't see how not worth it he was. And I'm sorry that I thought some guy - any guy - could have been worth more than our friendship."
"It's been years, Becks. Why are you apologising now?"
Maddie wasn't mad. At least, there wasn't any anger in her voice. Just... curiosity. Why, after all these years, did she finally apologise?
"Castle told me what you said," she confessed. "I'm sorry that I ruined your dinner. Although, I promise you, it had nothing to do with the fact that you were with Castle. I was just doing my job."
"I know." Maddie smiled, filling Beckett with a reassuring sense of forgiveness, after all these years. "But... you do like him."
She looked down, nervously. It wasn't a question. Maddie knew. Maddie always knew.
"Yeah, I do."
"Well, for what it's worth, he's like crazy into you, too. It's obvious."
Beckett smiled a sad smile. "I really am sorry that I didn't say anything when you asked."
"Don't sweat it," she said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Castle is great but, I promise you, there's no attraction there."
She nodded, relieved that Maddie and Castle seemed to be on the same page about their non-date the other night. She felt a little embarrassed about the jealousy she had felt, but at least now she could move forward knowing there would be no animosity there.
"So, what are you waiting for, Becks? Go get your man."
She would. But first, she did what she should have done years ago, she made her friend her priority.
"Actually, I thought that maybe we could get a drink and catch up?"
"That'd be great. Apparently, we have a lot of catching up to do. Let me just grab my jacket."
He looked around the table, eyes peeled for a slipping mask, a tell of any kind.
He didn't divulge stories of the cases he worked - poorly disguised as storylines - for the fun of it. He hoped that they would become invested, loose their focus, drop their poker faces.
Cannell dropped his chips to the pile, raising the bet. "Look, Rick, as much trouble as we go to with these novels, there's only three reasons to commit murder: love, money, to cover up a crime."
"Cannell's right," Connelly added. "I'd spend more time looking at your victim and less time looking at the game."
"Personally, I'd spend more time writing and less time hanging out with your cop friend," Patterson teased. "I mean, really, Ricky. Just one book a year?"
"Kind of thin, Rick," Cannell piled on.
Patterson sighed; behind the teasing, he only had Castle's interest at heart. "She seems like more of a distraction than a muse."
Castle shook his head, smile planted firmly on his face. "It's called balance, my friends. I write enough to be able to let myself get distracted."
Let, as if he had intended to get himself this deeply intwined in the twelfth precinct family. As if he had intended to fall for his muse. As if he had an ounce of control over any of this.
Falling for Beckett wasn't gradual, it was a dangerous free fall, and he knew it.
"Call it what you want, Rick," Connelly laughed. "You're letting a pretty girl lead you astray."
"Again!" Patterson and Cannell called in unison, erupting in laughter.
That was exactly what he was doing, but he was no stranger to his heart winning the fight against his better judgement. Two ex-wives were proof of that. But this time was different, this girl was different.
"This one might actually be good for me," he said, tossing more chips to the growing pile in the centre of the table. "Call."
"You really like her," Patterson mused aloud.
The three writers looked at Castle, eagerly awaiting whatever witty remark he would shoot back.
He smiled at his cards.
"She is a remarkable woman," he gushed, shamelessly.