Fade to Red

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 pi

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?”

“I haven’t been playing games. I want you. Remember? I said I want everything.”

They stared at each other for a moment before crashing into each other again, holding nothing back.

A faint knock on the bus door got louder and louder.

“I’m not answering it,” he whispered. “Let’s pretend we aren’t here.” He carried her toward the back room. His hands gripped her bottom as he lifted her higher and he squeezed. “Ahhh. Fuck me. I’ve been dying to do this for months.” He squeezed her cheeks harder. “You have the best a-”

The knocking got louder.

“Ignore it,” he whispered.

“You should see who it is.”

He growled and set her down, bending to level with her eyes. “I’m busy.”

She crinkled her nose and laughed, backing up. He advanced, intent and steady, ready to pounce.

When she reached the door to his bedroom and stepped in, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, her back to his chest. A mirror faced them and he looked at her in the mirror before moving her shirt aside and kissing down her neck and shoulder. He glanced up and saw her watching him and smiled, his tongue softly tracing where his lips had been.

Her eyes closed and she leaned her head back onto his chest. His hands went under her shirt, igniting her skin.

“Roxie,” he whispered, his fingers tickling her stomach.

She opened her eyes and he was still watching her in the mirror. He unbuttoned a button on her shirt, and another, and all of them until her breath was sucked dry. With a flick of his hand, her shirt was on the floor and her chest fell with each exhale.

“I’ve been waiting a lifetime for you, Roxie Taylor,” he said softly.

She reached up and unclasped her bra and turned around.

“You can’t possibly know how beautiful you are.” His voice was hoarse.

He picked her up again, burying his face in her breasts, and kicked the door shut behind him. She leaned up on both elbows when he laid her on the bed. He stood over her.

“I can’t move,” he said. “You’re too much to take in, lying there on my bed.”

“Don’t make me wait,” she whispered.

He jumped into action, tossing his clothes on the floor while her eyes grew round.