It only took one touch, and her stiff posture let him know they’d lost ground. Before last night, she’d begun to melt into his touch. There was no melting tonight. When her eyes met his, it was confirmed. His voice faltered and he missed a beat. Scrambling for control, he held his mic out to the crowd and let them sing a few bars of his song while he looked at Roxie. She wouldn’t look at him.
He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and kiss some sense into her, but he threw his frustration into the music instead. She matched his aggression, and it was hot as hell.
As soon as they’d done their final encore, he whispered in her ear. “I’m not giving up. You’re coming with me tonight.”
“No, I’m not,” she whispered back to him.
And then she surprised him. “Anthony was right,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away.
What the hell did you mean by that? He texted her in the middle of the night, unable to stop thinking about her. He was startled when she answered right away.
I need to keep the peace on the bus. And it was all going so fast anyway.
And a minute later: I’m still not sure about you, Beckham.
He cursed and continued tossing and turning all night long.
The next day was torturous. They drove all day and didn’t arrive in Tampa until late that evening. He ran along the beach at midnight and got up with the sunrise, running until the stitch in his side wouldn’t let up. He was so distracted he ran into another jogger and nearly knocked her over. She never even said a word when he apologized. Hopefully she wouldn’t show up later in the media, looking for money to exploit his absentmindedness.
He hadn’t texted Roxie again. He didn’t know what to say. He was snappy with Sierra that afternoon and she told him to go run again. He would have if it hadn’t been time for dinner.
Nate called as he was leaving to eat.
“Have you seen the latest pictures?” he asked.
“No—where?”
“I emailed them to you. Hang on, I’ll text it real quick.”
When Beckham’s phone buzzed, he pulled back and opened the picture. It was a little blurry, but it looked like him dancing … a long time ago.
“What is this?”
“Recognize the girl you’re with?”
He looked at the picture again and to the left of him, her eyes staring up at him, was Roxie.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Is this news to you?” Nate asked.
“No, she told me about it the other night … I didn’t remember her.”
“These are the things you’re supposed to tell me, Beckham, so I can do damage control. The press is running with this. I hope you really like this girl, because the media will either have you married in about two minutes or they will demolish her.”
“I do,” Beckham said. “I really like her.”
“Okay, well, I’m gonna have another talk with Johnny and Al to make sure they’re on top of her—you know not everyone will be excited about this.”
“I know. Thanks, Nate.”
Beckham heard him before he saw him. That little voice sounded so familiar. He rounded the corner of his bus, rushing to get inside the auditorium on time.
“Beckham!” the little boy called. He dropped the hand of the girl he was with and ran over to Beckham.
The girl waved shyly at Beckham but stayed back.
“Mavid!”
Leo’s head fell back and he laughed. “You’re so funny.”
That lisp. It slayed Beckham. “So great to see you, little dude. What are you doing here?” He bent down and gave him a fist bump.
“Visiting my mom.”
“Awesome. I haven’t seen your mom since tryouts! Where has she been hiding? Are you having fun?”
“Yeah, just got here, but we went to the beach once already.”
“Well, that’s great.”
“And you see my mom every-”
Howie put his hand on Beckham’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time.” A golf cart rolled up to Beckham.
“Sorry, buddy, I gotta get to the show. You watchin’ tonight?”
“Whatever she says.” He pointed a thumb behind his shoulder and grinned.
“Gotcha. Well, I’d love to see you again before you go. You should come visit me on the bus…”
“Yethhh!” Leo shook his fist up and down and ran off, yelling, “Bye, Beck!”
Beckham smiled all the way to the back entrance. He jumped off the cart and ran inside, waving to the fans who were screaming on the sidelines.
Suzanne hurriedly put product in his hair and tamed the waves. Someone new powdered his nose. She grinned at him and got to work.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Coco—Tracy took a few days off.”
He glanced down and tried to hold still and not sneeze while she passed the makeup brush over his face. She had on a pair of cowboy boots that were an unusual shade of blue.
“Cool boots.” He held still but his eyes studied her. “You remind me of someone…”
She smiled and shrugged. “I hear Zooey Deschanel sometimes.”
He laughed. “That’s it—you really do look like her! It’s a compliment. She’s a nice girl.”
Anthony came through, clapping his hands. “Move it, Beck. They’re gonna be bitter pretty soon if you don’t get out there.”
“Thanks, girls. I’m gonna trust that you made me look good in less than five minutes.” He made a face and ran toward the stage.
Roxie was smiling tonight. Not at him necessarily, but it was apparent she was happier than the last time he’d seen her. He’d take it. Either way, whether she wanted him or not, they were scorching together onstage. He never wanted to look away. She turned him inside out. It was all he could do to focus on the words of the songs. He lived for every moment he could touch her again.
Backstage, he bypassed the VIPs and ran to catch up with her before she went to her bus.
“Tonight, Roxie. Come with me. Let’s have dinner … or walk on the beach? We have a short drive, so I don’t think we’ll be leaving until later.”
“I have family here … I think we’re gonna drive on to Miami and stay in a hotel tonight.”
“I’d love to meet your family…”
She nodded. “Yeah, you will. I still need to tell you all about them.” She looked over his shoulder and cringed. “You better go though—a riot’s starting back there with beautiful, impatient women…”
He leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek and then the top of her hand before he went to autograph CDs and cleavage and shirts. He drew the line at underwear. Never again.
Ian borrowed a car that morning, so they could go swim in Roxie’s hotel pool. It felt like summer in Miami—January be damned—and he wanted to take advantage of it. Donny called right before they left. They usually spoke at least once a week, with Ian wanting to hear everything the doctors were saying, and Donny only wanting to talk about the tour. But this morning he sounded happier than he had in a long time. He was done with chemo, and his doctors couldn’t believe he was doing so well. Donny said he had a whole new outlook on life, and that it was worth it to be sick, to feel this grateful for life now.
After they hung up, the conversation kept playing back in Ian’s mind. He loved Donny and hoped he had a lot of years left. But he didn’t ever want to get so detached from living that it took nearly dying to see what he had. The thought seemed foreign now—he knew how great his life was and didn’t think the gratefulness would ever fade, but … it happened all the time. Even people who seemed to have it all struggled with complacency, boredom … discontentment. What kept passion alive?
Water splashed in his face and he was glad for the distraction. He didn’t need to get all emo on their morning off. He’d keep thinking about it though and maybe a song would come out of it, maybe some answers. He looked down at his little girl and thought his love for her would explode right out of his chest. She loved the water. He held her back against his chest and her little feet went crazy, kicking. Leo jumped in the pool and swam up to him, smiling at Journey. The little boy was such a nice kid, and he was gentle with Journey, so that made Ian like him even more.