by Snow, Jenika
Finally, she nodded. “Yeah, I think we should probably have that talk now.” She looked down at her shirt and started picking at it. “Let me just get changed, okay?” She glanced up at me and I nodded.
“I figure we can eat first. I ordered some pizza, got that peach beer you really like, even rented that cheesy comedy we watched years ago. You know, the one where the guy has no filter and blurts out anything he thinks?”
She chuckled softly, and I knew she’d been taken right back to that memory, the one where we’d been teenagers sitting on the couch, throwing popcorn at the screen.
And that’s what I was going to do tonight. And whether she slapped me, told me to fuck off, or hell, maybe in my wildest dreams forgave me, I was just going to throw everything in and hope for the best.
She headed into her room to change, and I got everything ready, grabbing the pizzas, the beer, and headed into the living room. Hell, I had everything set up for the movie, even popped some fucking popcorn and put extra butter on it like she liked.
I had everything ready to go about an hour ago, even though I didn’t know if she’d be up for the idea of hanging out with me. But I was thankful as fuck that she was and so damn excited to spend some time with her.
I didn’t know how the conversation would go, but surely it couldn’t be as awkward as it currently was between us.
At least I hoped it wasn’t. I hoped things would be repaired. I hoped we could be like we were… even if what I really desired was Lenora as mine.
Chapter Six
Lenora
I was thankful Beckham hadn’t wanted to talk right away. Instead, we ate pizza, drank beer, and watched the movie we’d seen far too many times over the years. It was nice, comforting, and it brought back so many wonderful memories.
But I knew we needed to talk about the real issue at hand. I knew we were going to have to bring up things that hurt, things that dug at the proverbial open wounds. But maybe it would be therapeutic, beneficial for everybody and everything. Maybe it would help heal us, patch the relationship.
I sure as hell hoped so.
The movie ended, and we sat there in silence for a few seconds. He was on one end of the couch, and I was on the other, an oversized throw blanket over my legs, which were tucked underneath my bottom. I had one elbow on the arm of the couch and rested my head on my palm. My heart started beating fast, because I knew what was next.
But instead of jumping into that right away, I started in on how my life had gone down the shitter, so to speak.
I was deflecting like hell.
“Long story short, my boss is a sexist, sexual harassment lawsuit walking on two legs, which is ironic, since he’s an attorney.” I swallowed the disgust I felt. “I was his glorified coffee getter, and when I refused to have sex with him, well, he found some bogus discrepancy and fired me.” I rested my head back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “Then my roommate told me she was moving in with her boyfriend and not renewing the lease on her place. So I was now homeless. And to make matters worse, my car finally ended up kicking the bucket, and it would have cost more to fix than it was worth.” I shrugged. “I didn’t have extra funds to repair it anyway.” I exhaled, because my story was so fucking depressing it almost didn’t even sound real.
“And you couldn’t turn to your mom?”
I glanced up at him.
“Not that I wish you had, but it’s really fucking sad you couldn’t even ask your mom for help.”
I shook my head. “I meant it when I said I haven’t been speaking with her. She texts me every now and then, oblivious or just ignorant to the fact that she fucked things up. She clearly doesn’t see it, but I’ve all but written her out of my life. It was a long time coming.” I sighed and closed my eyes. “I sound like one of those depressing country songs.” I snorted, but there was nothing funny about it.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and I could hear how much he meant those two words. “I’m sorry about you not being able to lean on your mom. I’m sorry that your boss is a dirty motherfucker who needs his teeth kicked in.” I looked over at him then. “I’m just really sorry, Lenora.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m fine. That’s life, I guess.” I looked down at my hands, picking at a thread on the blanket. “I’m just glad I could ask you for help.” I swallowed roughly. “You were the only person I could turn to, but after… well, after all that, I was terrified but had no other options.” I glanced back at my hands, feeling so nervous I could throw up right now.
“Lenora?” He said my name softly.
I looked over at him. The glow from the TV illuminated the darkened living room. The kitchen light was still on, and a soft, white light came from the other side, casting shadows across Beckham.
I thought about our last interaction, the last time we’d been face-to-face six months ago. And thinking about what happened, what was said, pulled me into the past until I felt like I was drowning in it.
I was crying. So was Beckham. Even his father was sobbing. And my mother, the one person who started this catalyst of pain and hurt, had left, not wanting the “dramatics” of the end of everyone’s story.
I looked over at Rob, Beckham’s father, and I felt my heart breaking for him. He sat on the couch with his head in his hands, his big body shaking. I’d never seen a grown man cry before, but when my mother’s infidelity came to light, when she admitted she no longer loved Rob, that she hadn’t been in love with him for a very long time, I literally watched the life fade from his eyes.
He been in love with my mother, that was clear. That was his mistake. It was very obvious he also thought they were going to be together forever, grow old, enjoy family holidays with grandchildren. He had their life mapped out.
I lifted my hand and rubbed my chest, an ache settling there. I looked back at Beckham. He glanced at me like he… hated me.
“Beckham,” I said, wanting to tell him none of this was my fault, that none of this was his. It wasn’t Rob’s or anyone else’s. It was my mother’s fault, only hers.
God, I was so sorry.
I took a step toward him, but he shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at his father. I could hear Rob sobbing softly, and when Beckham slid his gaze back over to me, the loathing I knew he felt for my mother in that instant was projected onto me.
“I had no idea.” That was the truth. My mother had always been an absentee parent, had never shown me much attention. I hadn’t noticed anything different.
“How could you have not?” His voice was like venom, acid over my skin.
I felt my anger grow. “The same way you didn’t see it. The same way Rob didn’t see it.” I saw his jaw clench almost violently.
“She’s your mother, Lenora.” The way he said my name had my heart stopping for just a second. He sounded like he didn’t know me.
“Beckham, you’re hurting. But please don’t take it out on me.” When I’d come home, everyone was fighting, yelling, insults being thrown out. That’s when I heard Beckham slighting my mother. That’s when I snapped.
All I saw was my mother with wide eyes looking between them, once again playing the victim. And I’d instantly gotten defensive. She might’ve been a shitty mom, but all I saw was the woman who’d given me life. And I guess that was my mistake.
Beckham had called her a whore, and something in me had defended her, screamed at him. It had been a rant, like this instinct to protect her, even if I didn’t know if she’d do the same for me. All I thought was... that’s my mom.
The dramatics of it all consumed me so much that I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I called him hateful, disrespectful, asked him who the fuck he thought he was. I did all this before I heard the entire story. And all the while, my mother stood back, not saying one word. And then she was gone, muttering about the dramatics and not wanting anything to do with us, grumbling how she was glad things were finally out in the open.
And it was only after she left that I found
out the whole story.
“Your mother is disgusting, Lenora. An unfaithful bitch,” Beckham said, his voice cracking from emotion.
“Stop it,” I begged, pleaded.
“Look at what she’s done to my father!” His voice was hard, hateful. He tipped his chin toward his dad, who still sat on the couch. “Look at what the fuck she’s done to him, Lenora. And you wanted to defend her? You wanted to defend her without knowing the full story?” He shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowing even more, this hardness moving across his face.
“You’re hurting. I understand. But please don’t do or say anything you’re going to regret later.” I probably shouldn’t have said the latter, but the words were already out, and I watched as his eyes widened ever-so-slightly before he regained his composure.
His jaw clenched, and he took a step back, slowly shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what was going on. I couldn’t believe what was going on either. The family was broken up. It was like I was thrown into this nightmare where everything I’d ever known was being ripped away from me.
“Do something I’ll regret?” He scoffed. “I already have by being part of your family.”
My heart hurt something fierce in that moment, at that comment.
“You’re just like her,” he said, and I felt the tears rush up. He knew how my mother was, how she’d been with me, and the fact that he said that cut me deep. “You want things to be smoothed over, things to go back to the way they were?”
I opened my mouth but snapped it closed, unsure what to say, unsure what I could say. The tears were already falling, because I knew where this was going. “You’re just like her, Lenora. It’s best that we will never have to see each other again, because looking at you only reminds me of her and what she did to my father. Looking into your blue eyes does nothing but piss me off and make me hate you.”
I felt like I’d been transferred to some different dimension, where this wasn’t the Beckham I’d always known.
“Come on, Dad,” Beckham said and curled his lip as he looked at me. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and get a beer. There’s nothing for us here anymore. Maybe there never was.”
And as he and his father started leaving, I found myself walking toward them and reaching out, taking hold of Beckham’s wrist and forcing him to stop. He looked over his shoulder at me, and all I saw was… nothing. Absolutely nothing reflected back at me.
“Beckham.” My voice hitched. “I don’t even know what’s going on right now. Please don’t leave.”
I felt the dejection from him, the distance. He pulled his arm away from me as if I’d burned his skin. “Just stay away from us,” Beckham said with so much hatred I couldn’t keep myself from crying out, the tears a steady flow down my cheeks.
“Beckham,” I whispered. What in the hell was going on right now?
The way he looked at me… it was as if he stared at the one person who ruined everything. My mother. He saw her in me. In this moment, I knew he was blinded by the hurt and betrayal, and I was the easiest target.
“Ah, fuck, Lenora,” Beckham said, pulling me back to the present and from my thoughts.
I realized I’d totally disconnected right then and there. I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks and quickly brushed them away. He moved closer, and I took a stuttering breath.
“You broke my heart, Beckham,” I finally admitted. I’d never spoken those words out loud.
He was by me a second later, embracing me. I didn’t stop him, didn’t push him away.
“I know,” was all he said, his arms wrapped tightly around me as he pulled me impossibly closer. “I fucked up so badly, Lenora. So badly.” His words were so soft I almost didn’t hear them. “I fucked up.”
Chapter Seven
Beckham
God, I’d forever regret how I hurt her.
I was the reason she was like this, crying, her body leaning against mine, the desperation and sadness in her voice all because of me. And it had taken her contacting me and six long damn months for me to try to rectify this. But she wasn’t pushing me away, didn’t tell me to fuck off. She let me hold her, and God it felt incredible.
I didn’t know how long we sat there, her leaning against my chest, seeking support, comfort, my arms around her body, listening to her start to calm down. But I’d hold her forever if that’s what it took, if that’s what she wanted.
It was only then that I pulled back slightly, looking into her face. I didn’t stop myself from lifting my hand and running my thumb across her cheek, wiping away her tears. I wanted to kiss them away. I wanted to be the man who made sure she never felt like this ever again.
“I’m so damn sorry, Lenora.” Those words seemed so inadequate, so insignificant and tame in comparison to how I actually felt. “I regretted what I said as soon as it came from my mouth, as soon as I saw the hurt I caused you. I didn’t mean one goddamn fucking word I said that day.”
She wiped the remaining wetness off her cheeks and nodded, but she wasn’t meeting my gaze. “Why didn’t you ever reach out to me? Why didn’t you ever contact me if you were so sorry?”
I didn’t know what to say. But I couldn’t leave her wondering, couldn’t let that question hang between us. “Stupidity. Embarrassment.” I cleared my throat. “I picked up my phone so many times, Lenora. So. Many. Times. I wanted to call you. I’ve driven by your place more times than I can count, more times than I even want to admit. But in the end, it was fear that kept me away.”
She looked up at me then, and I saw the confusion on her face. “Fear?” She exhaled slowly, and I waited for her to continue, because honestly I had no idea what else to say. I didn’t know what to say or do to make things right. “Why would you possibly be afraid to reach out to me?”
It was my turn to exhale as I shifted on the couch and leaned against the cushion, putting a little bit of distance between us so she could breathe, so she didn’t feel like I was crowding her. “Because I was sure I had done irreparable damage. For the last six months, all I’ve done is think about what I said to you, how I looked at you. None of that was your fault. I projected my anger for your mother, the hurt I knew my father felt, onto you. I’d seen my father’s heart break, and because you were there, trying to reach out to me, trying to make things better… I just lashed out.” I felt so many emotions right now. So many they were drowning me. “And I’ve regretted it every fucking minute of every day since then, Lenora.” My chest hurt, my heart aching. I lifted my hand and rubbed my sternum, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and embrace her.
She felt incredible when I held her, and I wanted to keep that feeling, to bottle it up for when I felt like shit. I could draw upon it and feel like a brand-new man.
“But I was humiliated. I hurt you so deeply that I knew you’d never speak to me again, so when you called me, it was like fate was giving me another chance, like destiny had put us in each other’s lives once more.” I ran my hand over my hair, lightly tugging at the strands at my nape. I was frustrated with myself. I hated myself. “But that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have waited so long. I shouldn’t have been too afraid, too embarrassed to call you. I should’ve made things right as soon as I said that crap to you.” I looked into her eyes deeply, wanting her to see how true and genuine my words really were. “But listen to me, Lenora. Listen as closely as you’ve ever listened to anyone before.” My heart was in my throat, beating wildly, fast, and franticly. “Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do for the rest of my fucking life, I will make it up to you. I will make things right.”
I heard her breath hitch and wondered what she thought. She had every right to slap me, to curse me out. I wouldn’t blame her. I’d welcome it, because I deserved it. I deserved her hatred and her loathing, but God, I didn’t want any of it. I just wanted her.
So I just said it, laid my cards all out there.
“Because I love you, Lenora. I’ve loved you for years.”
The smile she gave me w
as soft, sweet. “I love you too, Beckham.”
I’d wanted—dreamed—of her saying those words to me, to say she was in love with me. But I knew the love she felt for me wasn’t the kind I had for her, that I fantasized about. And that was okay. Because I would take Lenora in my life anyway I could get her.
“Will you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me?” She was silent for a long time, so long that I thought maybe she’d never answer, fearing that when she finally did say something, it would be the opposite of what I desperately needed to hear.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear for six months, Beckham. I should hate you, never speak to you again, but I can’t. I love you too much.”
We stared into each other’s eyes, and I didn’t stop myself from reaching out and pulling her in close, burying my face in the crook of her neck, closing my eyes, and just inhaling deeply
She smelled good, like my happiness and memories that wrapped up in this euphoric sensation I always felt when I was with her.
“I love you so fucking much, Lenora. Not seeing you or talking to you this half a year has been hell. And I only have myself to blame.”
She wrapped her arms around me, and I shuddered, my body shaking slightly, because it felt so damn good to have her close.
“I love you too, Beckham.”
I was a big man, strong and powerful. I wasn’t afraid of anything, didn’t back down when challenged. Men were afraid of me, because I had confidence, because I didn’t let anyone fuck me over. But this woman… this woman could bring me to my knees faster than anything else on this planet. Only this woman had any kind of power over me.
I leaned back and cupped her cheek, smoothing my thumb right under her eye, feeling how smooth her skin was, how warm she was. I dipped my gaze down to her lips, not wanting to cross lines but feeling so vulnerable and bare right now that I couldn’t stop myself.