Her eyes flickered to his and looked as blue as he’d ever seen them. His heart had started to pound back at ‘it was good then too’ and wasn’t slowing.
“I was naive. I thought magic was happening between us. When you kissed me, I imagined you felt it too. I thought every dream I’d ever had was coming true. We danced until the club closed. You did have more alcohol than anyone I’d ever seen, but like I said, I was naive and you didn’t seem drunk to me. You asked me to go to your hotel with you, and I didn’t even second guess my decision for one instant. I’d wished to be with you since I’d gotten hormones. Of course, I was going to lose my virginity with you, and hopefully be with you for the rest of my life too…”
Beckham dropped her hand and felt desolate instantly. He put his head in his hands. “Oh God…” Now he was the one who couldn’t look at her.
“I’d say my first time was probably better than most. The second time I felt like I’d gone to heaven and didn’t want to come back to earth.”
He glanced up and she gave him a small smile, but there were tears running down her cheeks now. He reached up to wipe them and she turned her face.
“We fell asleep then and a few hours later, a huge man came in the room, not Howie, someone else. He woke me up and told me I had to go. You were completely out of it, never woke up. There were tons of pill bottles on the nightstand, and I did wonder if you were okay, because I made a lot of noise while I got dressed, hoping you’d wake up and tell me to stay, but you never did. Your bodyguard or whoever he was didn’t give me any choice, he escorted me to a cab and sent me on my way. I knew you couldn’t possibly want that, so I followed you to the next show I could make a week later and spent every dime I had getting another ticket. I did the same thing as before, worked my way up to the front, dancing. But you were fixated on someone else that night. I just thought you didn’t see me and once you did, you’d be with me, so when I saw them doing the same thing as before, I ran back with the group going backstage. You had your arm around the petite brunette you’d watched during the show and I walked straight up to you. I said, ‘Hey, I didn’t get to tell you goodbye!’ You said ‘hey’ but looked confused. You started walking away and I ran after you, saying, ‘You don’t remember me? How can you not remember me? It was just a week ago!’ You pulled the girl tighter to you and said, ‘Sorry, babe … I meet a lot of people…’”
Roxie stood up and walked to the kitchen counter.
“It gutted me. I left that night and drove the three hours home in a fog, devastated. My sister found me crying in my bedroom. I told her we’d kissed the week before, but then you didn’t remember me. She couldn’t get past the fact that we’d kissed at all, she was so proud of me. I didn’t bother telling her the rest. I didn’t want her to know what a fool I’d been.”
Beckham came behind her. “Roxie.”
She stiffened and he stepped back. The silence grew until Beckham felt like he would explode.
“Roxie,” he said again and his voice broke. “I don’t even know what to say.” He took a staggered breath. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he said. “About every single part of that.” He rubbed his eyes and her face slowly came into focus. “You’ve treated me much better than I deserve. I can’t believe you didn’t kill me when you saw me again.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “This doesn’t make it any better, but just know that I had to be high out of my mind to ever forget you. It doesn’t seem possible. The moment I saw you dancing on that stage in San Diego was like a high beam turning on in my chest. I’ve lived each moment since then wanting to be with you.” He reached his hand out to touch her cheek, but stopped and let it drop. “I despise who I was and I pray every day that I don’t get even close to being like that again.”
He closed his eyes and when he opened them and looked at her, the tears were falling down her face again. It killed him to see her pain.
“I have to believe I never really forgot,” he said quietly. “And that’s why I haven’t been able to let you go.”
Roxie and Beckham sat on the couch. They’d stopped to fuel up and she’d nearly gotten off then, but he’d begged her to stay. She didn’t know what to say to him. It had all been said. Well, not all. There was always more to say, but, for now, she was done. Something close to relief was surfacing.
“Can I touch you?” he asked softly. “Hold your hand?”
The look on his face since she’d told him was already haunting her. She’d thought about this conversation many times over the years, imagined telling him off and inflicting him with some of the hurt she’d felt. But now that she’d told him, the bitterness she’d carried felt more like the sorrow that it really was. Being around him the last couple of months and seeing that he was more decent than she ever knew—it made a big difference. Maybe the hurt would ease now that she’d confronted it.
She let him take her hand. They sat quietly, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“How old were you?”
“18.”
He looked slightly relieved. “How old are you now?”
“23.”
He looked at their hands and squeezed. “I don’t know if you even can, but I hope one day you can forgive me, Roxie,” he finally spoke. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” He lifted her hand to his cheek and held it there. He looked at her, his eyes unwavering, and she believed him.
“Thank you. I think … it’s time I move on. Worse things have happened than all this.” She shrugged. “We were both a lot younger and both made mistakes,” she said. “I’ve acted like a child this whole tour. I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult. I’d hoped I wouldn’t even have to deal with you, you know, get lost in the group.” She gave a small smile. “Once I realized it wasn’t going to be that way, I should have left instead of being so awful to you.”
“I’m glad I talked you into staying. You’re the only one I’ve been able to see, Roxie.” The grey in his eyes seemed lit from behind. “And you have nothing to be sorry about.” He lowered their hands to his thigh and played with her fingers. “I know it’s too soon to ask, but … do I have any chance in hell with you?”
This time the silence was painful. It dragged on and on until he stood up and looked down at her. She stared up at him and was unable to look away. She tried to speak a few times, but couldn’t.
He pulled her up and they stood inches apart. They’d stood this way so many times before. Every night they’d touched more than this onstage, but now it was more intimate than it had ever been. She reached up and touched his hair, his ear, his cheek. His breath caught and he leaned into her hand. Her eyes closed as she traced his nose and his lips.
“I think maybe you’ve always had a chance with me,” she whispered.
Her eyes were still closed when he kissed her. Their lips had barely locked when her stomach dropped out. Her tongue touched his bottom lip, making him squeeze her tighter against him. Slow and deliberate, he teased just under her top lip until she gripped the back of his head and drew him in deeper.
Nothing felt close enough. She couldn’t tell if he was trembling or if it was just her. He fisted her hair, pulling her back to look at him, and when she did, he stalked forward and pinned her against the wall. His eyes looked wild, the color undefined, but the intensity made her whole body feel like lead. He lifted her up and wrapped her legs around him, his hands squeezing her thighs, but not going past that point.
The restraint was making her crazy. He kissed along her jaw and down her neck. She arched her back and he pulled away again, cursing under his breath. His eyes searched hers.
“I’ve had the hardest time reading your signals,” he said in a raspy voice.
“I won’t play games if you won’t, Beckham,” she whispered. She felt reckless and couldn’t bother caring at the moment. “What do you want?”