TWELVE
I watchBeckham all throughout dinner, noting he’s a bit twitchy, like he’s mulling hard over something. As far as I know, he’s open with us about most everything. But he’s holding back, and I’d bet anything it’s got to do with whoever that woman in the sexcapade photos with him is.
It’s not until after dinner when we’re cleaning up the kitchen that I realize I’m not nearly as stealthy as my stalkery friend.
“You got something you need to say?” he grits out. “I feel you probing my brain like a fucking alien or something.”
Echo’s ears perk up, but she glances away through the glass-paned patio windows into the backyard where Wilder is running around with Chase. He gets a pass from cleanup duty since he did the cooking. She pretends, for the moment, like she’s not listening as she goes about bringing plates and utensils from the table and setting them on the counter next to where Beckham and I are working together to load the dishwasher. Our eyes connect, and she gives a little shrug, then shoos me with her hand, her gaze landing on Beckham. Her brows flick up. She definitely wants me to try to talk to him.
I exhale, steadily, rinsing my son’s mess of a bowl. “Yeah. You seemed to understand I was going through some shit in my head. And”—I pause to gather all the silverware—“I thought I could return the favor. You seem bothered by something.”
Eyeing me with apprehension, he runs his hand over his stubble-lined jaw. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“But you’re not, unless something drastic has changed since last night. We were all thrown by those images of you appearing… Hell, I had the chore of removing them from the entryway.”
Beckham’s eyes go wild as they slide in Echo’s direction. A controlled, slow exhale feathers past his lips.
“Beck, please talk about it with Royal if you need to.” Echo doesn’t turn around, simply continues to stare out the window. “I can go outside, if you’d prefer I didn’t hear what you have to say. Even though it’d make me sad.” She sucks in a breath, glancing over her shoulder. “I trust you to know what or who you need.”
I rinse my hands off, then dry them as the air in the room thickens with tension. Beckham swallows hard, his hands shaking so violently I have to rescue a plate from his faltering grip before it goes crashing to the floor. I calmly set it in the dishwasher, then shut it. Quietly, I grit out, “Beck, man. Talk to me. Does Wilder know what’s going on?” My eyes search in the depths of his for the answer. No. I don’t think he’s even shared the entire story with Wilder.
Beck leans back against the cabinets and counter, lifting his hands up until they rake through his hair, gripping it tight. “He knows the woman was my fucking nanny. That’s all.”
I hear Echo’s gasp, but she’s not who I need to focus on right now. “That’s all, huh?”
He releases the vise-like hold on his hair and drops his arms to his sides, staring down at the floor. Dejected. Repulsed. Betrayed. I get all that and more when I search his face, the stance of his body.
I blow out my exhale through pursed lips. “Fuck, man.”
Just then, Echo pulls the door open for Wilder and Chase, who is giggling like crazy. “This boy needs a bath, I think.”
Quick steps sound in the hallway, and Kara pops her head in. “Did I hear someone say it’s bath time?” Her keen eyes read the room fast, and she holds her hands out for Chase. Fortunately, he goes running into them, no problem. “You wanna play with your boat in the tub, buddy?” He nods, waving at us over her shoulder as she takes off with him.
Wilder props his hands on his hips, his astute gaze taking in the strain on Beckham’s face. “What the fuck did we walk in on?”
Beckham pushes off the counter, shakes his head, then strides to the back door and takes off across the backyard.
Echo brings her hands to her cheeks as she tracks Beckham’s movements. He’s pacing out there, chest heaving. She brings her gaze to Wilder. “The nanny. He told us it was the nanny. I don’t know if he was going to say more than that.”
A puff of air bursts from between my lips, and I clench my teeth. “I didn’t think I was pushing. I offered to let him get out whatever he needed to because there’s no way he goes from being traumatized enough to drink himself into a stupor to… fine.”
“What do we do?” Echo hasn’t taken her eyes off him. The good news is, he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.
A moment later, my phone vibrates in my pocket. My brows furrow, but I pull it out, noting that Beckham is now sitting on the lush grass in the middle of the yard, his legs drawn up, and his head bowed. And, yep. He’s got his phone out.
Can you come out here?
I glance up. “He’s asking for… I don’t know if he means me or all of us.”
Wilder groans. “Ask.”
Did you want all of us?
Yeah. That’s fine.
May as well rip the fuckin’ Band-Aid off.
“He says all of us, but I don’t think he’s happy about it.” My heart squeezes at the pain I see radiating from his muscular body. I get the feeling he wishes he could crawl inside himself and fuckin’ disappear.
“Shit. Okay. Let’s go.” Wilder gestures that I should lead the way. “You take this one. Could you do that for me? I’m afraid of what he’s going to say. Afraid I won’t fucking handle it well. I don’t want to upset him.”
Echo’s eyes ping-pong between us. “I agree. This has got to be a sensitive topic, and it might be for the best if only one of us is asking questions. And you’re”—she wrinkles her nose—“I dunno. The most matter-of-fact, I think. It might help.”
I nod, sucking in a breath before exhaling hard. “Okay. I’m on it.” We exit the house, cautiously crossing the lawn to Beckham. The sun has gone down, so we’re under the blissful cover of dusk now, where everything seems hazy and unreal.
The three of us situate ourselves around Beckham, with me sitting at his side, but he hardly registers that we’re here with him. The only movement he makes is a slight twitch of the muscle in his jaw. I put my hand on his back, just like he’d done with me earlier. “Beck. You don’t have to tell us jack shit, you hear me? I think expelling whatever demon this is might help, but it’s up to you. Your call. Yours,”I grit out, hoping he understands that I’m not going to force him.
It takes him at least thirty seconds, but his gaze finally shifts toward me. His voice is hoarse as he murmurs, “Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” We silently nod our agreement as I rub my hand over his back. He clears his throat roughly before beginning. “She came to take care of me when I was around twelve. I’ve thought a lot about this in the last few years. I know now, from the moment she walked into our lives, she had her eye on me. Her sights set on what she was going to do. She would invite me to watch TV with her. She’d sit close. That’s how it started. She played a long game, though, so I didn’t see it coming at first.” His body shudders under my touch, and I so fucking bad want to pull him close. Echo and Wilder are tense, probably with similar thoughts running through their heads, as I can see it written all over their faces.
Beckham’s head lowers as he mumbles, “For a couple years it was mostly things like telling me it didn’t matter if I changed my clothes in front of her. Walking in while I was showering. Or commenting on how I was growing up and how all the girls were going to be after me.” His breath catches, and he pauses. “She thought I looked like a miniature version of my fucking dad.”
I have a suspicion we haven’t even gotten to the truly awful part yet, and I already want to find this woman and end her. My eyes flick to Wilder’s, and there’s turmoil brewing just under his skin, like it’s vibrating there, ready to burst free. Attempting to infuse calm into my voice, I murmur, “Okay. Do you wanna tell us more?”
“May as well.” He draws in a huge, gulping breath, like he’s hoping it will somehow fortify him for what’s to come. “I was fourteen when she first touched me.” Blue eyes flash as he takes in our expressions of shock. Surprise. Upset. Anger.
None of those are what he was waiting for. I see it in his eyes, he’d been expecting revulsion and disgust, and that pisses me right the fuck off. I tug him closer to me, feeling a Wilder-esque need to protect. “She was like a drug to me. Once we started, I couldn’t get enough. Megan. By the time I was fifteen, I thought we were in love. I was obsessed with her.”
Fucking. Bitch. As I let everything sink in, my brain ticks back to the note we found. I do need to know one thing. “The message scrawled on the back of that one paper—it was referring to Megan and Echo, right? Whether Echo knew about what had happened in the past.”
He gives a dark, truly demented chuckle. “Yeah, I’d guess so. I have a thing for women who are kinda maternal. Caretakers.” His eyes lock on Echo. “I’m sorry for this.”
Her lips are pressed tightly together. “Do you want my thoughts?”
His chest dips and jerks as they study each other. “Yes.”
“Your… obsession?” She says it like a question, but I know she realizes it’s the absolute truth. “It’s kinda like attraction on speed. It’s amplified. That’s all. That’s how I see it, anyway.” She chews on her lip for a moment while Beckham’s eyes bore into hers.
“You— You don’t think it’s a problem?”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “I don’t. What she did—she’s the problem. Not you. Never you.” Her gaze diverts to mine, silently asking me to finish it. She leans against Wilder, and he tugs her tightly to his side, letting her rest there. And maybe he’s using her to keep himself from flying off the handle, too.
I exhale carefully. “But what happened? With her, I mean. Megan.”
“We got caught. That’s what happens when you’re having sex every chance you can get, when you’re being fucking reckless.” He mashes his lips together for a moment, then wrenches some grass out of the ground and throws it. “My dad found us fucking in her bed.”
My teeth clench, trying not to let on how fucking furious I am. “Where did those images come from?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue. Maybe there was a camera in her room. Maybe my dad suspected? We didn’t discuss the mess I’d made. He sent her away, and that was that.” His face pinches. “Only it wasn’t. Because I couldn’t help myself.” His eyes connect with Echo’s. “I watched her. I found out where she lived, all cozy in a home with her husband and a couple of kids I assumed weren’t her biological children. Too old. But it pissed me off. She’d been talking about running away with me. One minute we were lovers and the next she had this husband—a whole-ass family—I knew nothing about. It about killed me.”
But I see that’s not the end of it. Not nearly. Not from the way he’s gotten all twitchy. “Beck …”
His eyes flash as he turns to me. “And then as I was enrolling in KU, I got…” He runs a hand over his face, his distress climbing off the charts.
His voice may have trailed off, but my mind has just been blown. “Oh, fuck. That was your first contact with?—?”
Echo and Wilder exchange a look full of anxiety. Wilder’s chest is rising and falling faster and faster, the more Beckham reveals.
Beckham’s hands clench, and I don’t know if he’s realized he’s doing it. “We’re not supposed to talk about it, but suffice it to say I was told I might want to have a closer look at what she was up to. So, I stepped up what I was already doing.”
Alarm bells sound in my head. “Fuck. No. You don’t mean?—”
“Do you mean you weren’t the only one?” The harsh clip of Wilder’s tone, and the blaze of his eyes screams that he’s full-blown raging inside.
Beckham takes a long time to answer. Finally, I take hold of his jaw, staring into his eyes. “Talk to me.”
His breaths are unsteady and erratic. His chest heaves as the anguish pours from him. “No. No, I wasn’t the only one. The bitch was a pedophile. And I made sure she fucking paid.”