“Oh, you’ve got someone on your side now, don’t you?” Sierra said, laughing. She put a big dollop of ice cream in Beckham’s hair.
Leo’s eyes got huge and then his laugh took over. He stood up and tried to catch his breath but couldn’t stop laughing.
“Wait. Stop! Stop. Can’t breathe. Oh my goodness. They’re crazy, Mama!”
Roxie was laughing almost as hard. “I know it!”
Beckham stood up. “Oh, you think we’re crazy, huh?” He put the whipped cream on Leo’s nose. There was so much that the cherry stayed upright in the whipped cream.
Leo started the duck dance, trying to keep the cherry on his nose.
They all lost it then.
Sierra and Leo were playing Mario Kart and Leo kept winning, much to Sierra’s aggravation. While they were battling it out, Beckham motioned for Roxie to come in the other room. He leaned against the doorjamb and touched her cheek.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m feeling better.”
“Good. I’ve gotta get ready to go see Fallon in just a little bit here, but I’m wondering … would you want to come with me? I’d love for you to meet Jimmy. He’s great. Leo’s good here with Sierra. She mentioned earlier she was free to watch him, if we wanted. Or if you don’t feel like getting out, would you … stay … here? With me? I’ll be late, but we can watch a movie when I get back or something.”
“I don’t know, Beckham. This is … weird. I probably shouldn’t. Things are still not resolved with us, you know…”
“I know. I know.” He rubbed his hand over his head, making his hair go every which way. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let myself get sucked in by you today, but I just can’t … stop.” He shut the door and pulled her against it. He rested his hands against the wall and pressed his body against hers. “I’ve stopped thinking rationally,” he said. “I just … as much as I try to fight it, I need you, Roxie. I need to touch you. I need to be with you. I just want you in my space, making yourself at home with my things.” His mouth was an inch from hers. “I want to eat your lips. They drive me insane. That thing you do with your hair when you get nervous and you tug on it. I can’t take it anymore. And I know, believe me, I know we have a lot of issues to deal with, but when I’m with you, it just all fades away…”
He leaned back to look in her eyes and she couldn’t take it anymore either. She wanted to stay angry at him, but she just couldn’t. She grabbed his face and brought his mouth to hers. When his tongue touched hers, she moaned and then prayed to God that Leo and Sierra hadn’t heard her. She pulled back.
“No, please don’t stop. Please,” Beckham whispered, kissing her neck.
He went back for her mouth, kissing everywhere but right on her lips. For such sweet kisses, it was so intense. Like drowning without fighting to break the surface again.
Sink, sink, sink.
Let me drown if it means this.
She lived for more and when his mouth teased her lips, she stopped fighting it and kissed him with every shred of attraction, anger, and lust she felt for him.
Actually, it felt like a lot more than that.
It felt like breath.
Fuel.
Home.
It took every scrap of strength Beckham possessed to leave her in his hotel room. He could still feel her lips on him. Just a taste and he was ready to move heaven and earth to get another. He couldn’t convince her to come out with him, which was disappointing, but he thought he had talked her into staying there, so he was already looking forward to that.
Beckham and Ian had a blast with Jimmy. He knew Jimmy and Ian would hit it off. The three of them were completely in sync and did a segment where they sang everything like Elton John. Everything clicked into place like it was supposed to—improvisation came so easily when he was comfortable. His band joined The Roots, and that was a kick. If every night could be exactly like this one, he wouldn’t want to leave the business.
He shut the show down and was saying good-night to Ian and his band, when he checked his messages. There was a missed call from the lab. He called the technician’s number immediately and was happy when it didn’t go to voicemail.
“Do you have the results? This is Beckham.” He loosened his tie, so he could breathe better.
“I do. The results are negative. You are not the father.”
Beckham leaned against the car, feeling like he was just sucker-punched. He motioned for Howie to unlock the door. As soon as he did, Beckham sat down and leaned his head between his legs.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“We’re 99.8% sure,” was the reply.
“I guess that’s pretty sure,” he said softly. “Thank you. I appreciate you letting me know.”
He ended the call and put his hands on his head. He didn’t know what to think. Part of him wanted to redo the test at least a dozen times, even though that was nonsense. The other part raged for not believing Roxie in the first place. And another, very small part of him, hated her for being right.
He wanted so badly for Leo to be his. Had he imagined everything—the similarities, the bond, the rightness of it all—just because he so desperately wanted it to be? Was he that fucking lonely?
“Drive around, Howie. I can’t go back yet,” he said.
He was so ashamed of how he’d treated her. He couldn’t believe she’d had anything to do with him after he’d been so hateful. He imagined her earlier that night, pressed up against him, as hungry for him as he was for her. At least it had seemed that way. But he didn’t know what to believe anymore.
They drove for hours. He wanted to go in every single bar they passed, but instead gripped the edge of the seat so hard it hurt.
“You ’bout ready to call it a night, Beck?” Howie asked.
Beckham hadn’t spoken in at least a half hour.
“I guess so,” he said.
He went in the back entrance of the hotel and said goodnight to Howie at his door. He walked in quietly, hoping he didn’t wake up Leo and Roxie. Everything was neat and tidy. All the mess from the ice cream had been cleared out. He peeked in the bedroom, and they weren’t there.
He cursed, frustrated that she’d left, but really it was probably for the best. There was no telling what mood he’d be in tomorrow. He needed some time before seeing her again.
The guilt that he’d stayed out so long weighed him down. How long had she waited for him? Shit. It was 3:30. He wouldn’t blame her for being mad at him. He deserved it.
He sat on the edge of the bed and dragged his hands through his hair.
This was just all so fucked up.
He didn’t leave his room or talk to anyone until it was time to start the show the next night. The sound check had been taken care of without him. Nate and Anthony both called a few times, but he didn’t talk to either one of them. He’d stared at the mini bar until 6 that morning and finally fell asleep. The only person he’d called was his sponsor, Troi. They agreed to talk a few times every day, at least until Beckham felt stronger.
He felt the hurt emanating out of Roxie as she danced that night. It was his fault and he couldn’t stop it. She’d let herself be vulnerable with him the night before and he’d crushed it. But his own pain was just under the surface too. He was riding on the edge of self-destruction and didn’t want her caught in the crossfire.
The next day was a repeat of the day before. He had an early morning talk show to do and then his show that night. He stayed in his room until it was time to perform and came back the minute it was over. He’d asked the front desk to make sure the mini bar was cleared out, so he wouldn’t have that staring him in the face when he got in that night.
He stayed up late, packing for his flight to L.A. the next morning. He should have just stayed up, because when the alarm went off at six, he’d only gotten two hours of sleep. His head pulsed with pain as he rode to the airport. They’d chartered a private flight for his crew and Roxie was the first person he saw when he got on the plane. She was sitting next to Sierra. He knew she saw him, but then she hadn’t looked at him again.