The seconds pulsed in the air like bullets hitting their target. She turned suddenly and practically ran away.
Beckham was so stunned, he didn’t move until Anthony came down the hall with everyone else.
“You gonna stick around?” Anthony asked as he was passing Beckham.
Beckham had planned to say something to the group—to welcome them and thank them for committing to the tour—but he was so confused by what had happened with Roxie that he shook his head.
“I’m gonna head back home. Thanks for being here,” he said to the dancers. “I … well, I’ll see you later in the week. Don’t let Anthony be too hard on ya!” He tried to sound light, but knew he just needed to get out of there before he could screw things up further.
He sped home in his Jag, winding around the hills faster than he should. He was so angry with himself, but the more he thought about it, the more he resented Roxie’s attitude. What the hell? He hadn’t really done anything that awful. The whole thing was just embarrassing.
When he got home, he walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottled water. He’d rather have a Jameson and Coke right now, but he’d settle for safe. Damn Roxie. She’d already made him want to cave on two of his vices and they’d barely spoken.
He picked up the phone and called Anthony. He knew his phone was off, but he wanted Anthony to hear the message as soon as he was done with rehearsals.
“Hey, Anthony. I need to talk to you about Roxie Taylor. I’m thinking Vanessa might be a better fit for the sets with me. I got Roxie all worked up today … and I just don’t see us having much chemistry when it comes down to it.”
He knew that was a lie. She might not feel it, but even as much as she had humiliated him, he still wanted to wrap his hands all over her body.
“Anyway … think about it. I’d be more comfortable. Vanessa and I have worked well together before—it wouldn’t be as far of a stretch.”
He hung up and felt better, but knew he had another call to make. She answered on the first ring.
“Hi, honey. How did it go today?”
“Hey, Ma. I left early. I’ll go back in a couple days. They don’t really need me yet. Anthony’s got it.”
“Okay, well, do you want to come over for supper tonight?”
His mom had her southern accent still, and nobody anywhere did good southern food like her. He always felt his accent slide on just a little more when he talked to her.
“That’s just what I need, Ma. When you want me?”
“You know you can come over whenever you feel like it,” she said.
“How ’bout I get a few things done around here and then I’ll be over. Is Sierra there?”
“Sure is. She’ll be glad to see you. Come on.”
He hung up with her and felt better yet. Time with his mom and sister always did him good. His dad had passed away a little over five years ago, with no warning. It had shaken their whole world. A seemingly healthy man, he’d had a heart attack in his sleep and died instantly. Nothing would ever be quite the same without his dad. It was part of the reason Beckham was anxious to be done with all the traveling—he knew his mom and sister needed him around more.
When his dad died, months went by that he barely came out of the stupor. His mom and sister didn’t talk about it much anymore, but when they did, they always bawled. He never wanted to put them through that again, and he hoped one day he could make up for the time they’d lost.
He planned to talk them into Italy when the time came. It wouldn’t be that hard—they’d gone to Italy a handful of times together and always talked about what it’d be like to live there. The slower pace of life sounded better all the time.
When he got to the house later that afternoon, he ran up the steps and walked right inside.
“I’m home. Anybody here?” he hollered.
“Back here, honey,” his mom called.
His sister stepped out of the kitchen and came walking toward him. “Hey, stranger. How are ya?”
“Better now. It’s been a long day,” he admitted.
“Well, come on. Once Ma found out you were coming, she put together a feast. You’d almost think you were her favorite or something.”
“No, the daughter always trumps, you know that.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Is that how it works? You better tell Ma that.”
Sierra was a few years older than him and they’d always been close. She teased him about being the favorite, but she had always been so proud of him. He’d tried every tour to convince her to come sing backup with him, but she wasn’t interested. When they finished their family traveling days, she was done. She didn’t want to see the inside of another tour bus.
“I need you to get her to stop trying to set me up. I don’t need a hipster musician. That’s all she wants to set me up with? Give me a nerd any day!”
“Shut up. That’s so offensive!” Beckham jabbed her in the side. “I resemble that!”
She groaned. “You know you’re a nerd in sheep’s clothing. All this hip rock star vibe thing you got going … I know you’re just a nerd begging to be loved.”
He gave her another good jab until she slapped his hand and tattled.
“MA! Beckham is picking on me!” she hollered.
“Oh, please.” He did it again just to annoy her. “Sierra’s calling me names,” he yelled, laughing and backing away as Sierra tried to pinch him.
Their mom came out with an apron on, wiping her hands on it. “There you are. Have you two already started? Come on, set the table, B. It’s almost ready.”
And just like that Beckham felt himself again. Well, almost.
“Please go on tour with me this year. Please, Sierra. I need you. Please.” He clasped his hands together and got on his knees, following her like that all the way to the kitchen.
“What is your problem?” she laughed. “I’m too old for tours. I have a good job, thank you.”
“Don’t you miss singing? It’s in your blood. I know you miss it.”
“Occasionally, I do … but not enough to get in a bus with all your crazy entourage. That time in Japan cured me. Your fans are cuh-razy. No, thank you.”
Twice today I’ve been rebuffed with fake politeness, he thought and then shook his head. Roxie wasn’t going to bust his good mood. They started eating and he was still on the topic.
“Did I mention Ian Sterling is going?”
“NO, you didn’t tell me!” Her eyes were huge. “You should have opened with that.”
“Oh, even I knew that, honey. It’s been all over the place, for the last month.” Their mom lowered her head, but her eyes were still on Sierra. “You should turn on your TV once in a while.”
“Ian Sterling.” Sierra breathed his name.
Beckham snorted. “No hip musician for you, my ass.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s different.”
“Um, yeah,” he said sarcastically. “Actually, you’re right, he is. I like him a lot. So come on. You’ll like his wife too. And you’d learn the material like that.” Beckham snapped his fingers. “I’ve got great singers, but it wouldn’t be like it is with you…”
The thought of having her with him made everything seem so much better.
“I’m gonna tell you two something and don’t you dare breathe a word of it to anyone. Not even yourself,” Beckham whispered.
“Oh gawd, you’ve always been so dramatic,” Sierra said.
“I’m retiring. This might be my last year—hell, I want it to be my last tour. I’m ready to be done. I’m almost at the end of my contract and I know they think I’m going to stay with the label, but I haven’t signed anything and I’m not going to. I want us to move somewhere very far from L.A. at the end of next year … Italy, perhaps?” He wiggled his eyebrows at his mother. “I’m walking away.” He picked up his fork and dug into the food, feeling better than he had in a long time. “I’d like you to be there with me, Sierra.”
Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. They looked at him like he’d just bombed a country.
“Well, say something!”