Chapter 2
Beckham
Somethingwakes me from a dead sleep, though it takes a few moments for my surroundings to filter through the brain fog. Darkened hotel room. Unfamiliar bed. Soft, feminine skin pressed against mine, and the weight of an arm curled around my waist.
Shit. What time is it?
Stifling a groan of frustration, I slowly work to untangle myself from my bed partner’s limbs. Then I sag forward and let my head fall into my hands. What a night.
What a mess.
Sleepovers are something I never do. Ever. When I take a woman to bed, I leave—or she does—as soon as we are both satisfied and not a moment later.
I must have been more tired than I realized.
My trek into the city this morning was to meet with a potential client needing renovations. After a long day schmoozing, touring the job site, and then signing all that paperwork, by the time we parted ways I was exhausted. The thought of making the hour drive home held no appeal. Instead, I booked a room nearby. My evening was spent in the hotel bar, having a few drinks—and if I was approached with an offer for some company, well, who was I to turn that down?
Based on my current situation, I didn’t.
Buzzing from the nightstand wakes me further. I reach for my phone, and a glance tells me it’s well after midnight. There is a text alert lit up on the screen.
Simon:Happy Birthday, old man!
My lips twitch. The fucker is only four months younger than me.
Beckham:Thanks…
Simon:Drinks tonight to celebrate?
Beckham:Do I have to?
Simon: Yes
Beckham: Fine. I won’t turn down free drinks. But I’m getting top-shelf
Simon: Sure. Go crazy! You only turn 30 once
Most people love to celebrate birthdays. Not me. Too many bad memories. But as my oldest and dearest friend, Simon considers it his sworn duty to force merriment on me every year.
And, secretly, I appreciate that he cares so much even if I would rather amputate a limb.
With a quiet sigh, I set the phone down. Then I start to gather up my clothes. My jeans are on and I am reaching for my shirt when a sleepy voice says my name.
I turn to look over my shoulder and am greeted with a sultry smile. The woman—Julie. No, wait. Gemma. Shit. Maybe Jackie?—pats the empty spot next to her.
“Come back to bed, handsome,” she purrs.
“Tempting”—not really—“but I can’t.”
I slip my arms into my shirt sleeves and start working on the buttons, ignoring the pout on her face. She is pretty enough. Enthusiastic in bed. Nothing that warrants a repeat performance. Honestly, any attraction I may have felt earlier in the evening has long since faded.
Now I’m just… done.
“Come on,” she says, not phased by my disinterest. She sits up and lets the sheet pool in her lap. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Another time, maybe, seeing all that soft, peachy flesh would have my dick standing at attention. Right now, though? Nothing. Not even a twitch of interest.
I shake my head. “Sorry. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.”
Only an hour, in truth, but I’ve already been here way longer than I planned. Without a word, I grab my wallet, keys, and phone from the nightstand. When I head toward the door, I am stopped by another plea.
“Can I at least get your number?”
Not a chance in hell.
My hand twists the doorknob. I tug the door open. Pausing briefly, I say, “Good night, Jamie.”
“It’s Gemma,” she snaps.
Oops. That struck a nerve.
“Gemma,” I correct. “Enjoy the room.”
Then I’m gone.
???
The drive home is filled with nothing but an empty stretch of highway and my conflicted thoughts.
At first, I spend some time flipping through the radio stations, but the music just grates on my nerves. Finally, I give up. Silence settles in as soon as I switch the speakers off, but it does nothing to soothe me.
If anything, the quiet makes things worse.
With nothing else to occupy it, my mind starts to run rampant. Flipping through the catalog of reasons why this day is one I would rather forget. Playing the memories on a constant loop.
I hugged my knees to my chest and covered my head, rocking back and forth as shouts rumbled through the house followed by a loud crash. Seconds later, the front door slammed.
In the heavy silence that followed, I could just make out my mother’s quiet sobs. Her pain tugged at me. All I wanted to do was take it away.
Scrambling to my feet, I made my way toward the kitchen, careful to step over the pieces of broken ceramic and splattered food on the way. When I got close to my mother’s hunched-over figure, I stopped and tugged gently on her sleeve.
“Mommy?” I whispered.
Her head popped up. The sight of the bruise on her cheek, already starting to swell, made my eyes burn with tears. I hated it when she hurt.
Even more, I hated him.
“I’m okay, baby. Promise.” Her smile was wobbly and didn’t reach her eyes. “We can still go for your birthday lunch, okay? Let me just clean up this mess.”
But when she stood, she was limping. I wrapped my arms around her waist. Hugged her tight.
“We can just stay here.” I didn’t want her to get into any more trouble. Especially not because of me.
She ran trembling fingers over my head before bending to press a kiss there. “My little man. Always trying to take care of me. We’ll try again next year, yeah? I’ll make it the best birthday you’ve ever had.”
My mother made that promise every year. And every year, my father ruined everything just like he did every other day.
But my mother was worse in the end. Because she told me she loved me. She made me believe that she cared. Until the night she ran away. She left everything behind to escape her prison—including me.
I was all alone until the day Simon came along. We quickly became the best of friends and, before long, I was an honorary member of the Brooks household. They were my safe place where I ran to when I needed to escape. The source of all my happiest memories.
Being part of a loving family did come with a downside or two. Simon and his younger sister, Ellery, were relentless in trying to find out when I was born. No matter how much I told them it didn’t matter. Still, they finally dragged it out of me and every year, gave me a card (handmade by Ellery) and a gift (picked out by Simon). Then their mother, Sara, cooked my favorite meal in celebration.
I would never have admitted it then, but I treasured those gifts. Still do. And I saved every one of the cards that Ellery ever made. They’re still tucked into a keepsake box somewhere in my closet.
When I turned fifteen, things took a turn for the better. My abusive prick of a father went to prison—with the help of Simon’s dad, who was chief of police at the time. John and Sara then applied to be foster parents. They took me into their home and made a permanent place for me.
For four blissful years, I was truly a part of that amazing family. A family that celebrated me. That made every birthday special like I was important to them. Like I was truly their son.
But that fell apart, too.
My hands tighten on the wheel. A sharp pain hits me right in the chest like someone stabbed me with a hot poker.
Fuck. I still remember that first birthday, only days after they died. Remember the guilt and the pain that ate away at me. I stayed holed up in my dorm room, not wanting to go outside. Not wanting to see how the world kept right on turning while mine had imploded.
The phone in my hands was lit up with a text from Ellery. Just two words:
“Happy Birthday.”
My chest constricted as I read them again. I was in no mood to celebrate. Why would I be? This birthday came on the heels of losing two of the most important people in my life.
And it was my fucking fault.
If not for me, John and Sara Brooks would still be alive.
They had been driving to pick Ellery up from school when a truck ran the red light in their intersection. It barreled into them, head-on. Officers declared them dead at the scene.
But the reason they were out on the road? That was all me. They had wanted to surprise me on campus. Simon admitted as much after the funeral. The Brooks family had a whole weekend planned since my birthday fell in the middle of the week. They decided to make an early trip. They still wanted to celebrate with me.
Because I was “family.”
What a fucking joke. They died for someone who wasn’t even their flesh and blood.
They died for nothing.
How could Ellery and Simon even stand to talk to me? Yet here she was, letting me know she was thinking about me. Offering comfort. But I didn’t need comfort. Not when I was drowning in guilt.
No, what I needed was to atone.
An hour later, I pull up the long driveway to Simon’s house—my temporary residence—and notice that his police-issued vehicle is gone. Sucks that he got called in to work on one of his off days.
Still, part of me is relieved. It gets exhausting, playing pretend. Acting like everything is fine all the time. There are far too many demons in my past for that to be true, but I have had many years to perfect the different masks I wear.
Other than my brothers-in-arms, Simon is one of the only people who can see right through my bullshit.
As though thinking his name conjured him, I get another text alert on my phone.
Simon:Ellery made it home. Forgot to remind you that she was on her way
Beckham:Got it. Thanks
Shit. I had forgotten when she was moving back.
No, that’s a lie.
I knew down to the day when she would be here. Pretty sure I scheduled that client meeting in the city just to delay this little reunion. Now that I look around, I notice the sedan sitting on the other side of Simon’s truck. I had completely missed it before.
Dammit. So much for thinking sleep deprivation is causing me to hallucinate.
That thought makes me feel like even more of a jackass. My issues are my own. Ellery has nothing to do with them. She should hardly be punished for the way I let things between us fall apart.
Just another guilty weight that hangs like an albatross around my neck.
Because we used to be close, she and I—until we weren’t.