Fade to Red

“Really not Beckham’s?” she asked incredulously.

“I can’t believe this.” Roxie shook her head. “No, he’s not. Why? You thought he was?”

“Well, yeah, I kinda did,” Chloe admitted. “You’ve never told me everything that happened that night with Beckham. He even looks like him, Rox! I’ve thought it more than ever with you being on this tour—you’ve been so weird with him.”

“Look, Mama, I can hold my breath underwater! Count!” Leo went under.

Roxie started whispering fast and snippy. “I lost my virginity to him, Chloe, and then he had no idea who I was the very next week. I’ve been carrying around that little grudge with me for the last 5 years or so.”

“Oh,” Chloe looked at Leo who popped up, “I hoped he was.”

“How many seconds was that? Twelve?”

“Maybe thirteen,” Roxie told Leo.

“I’m go

“So he really is Ke

“Yes! I told you he was Ke

Chloe sighed.

“Why does everyone think I’m such a liar?”

Silence.

“And stop being so disappointed!” Roxie snapped. “Just because Beckham looks all shiny bright with his cleaned up self doesn’t mean he is.”

Leo popped up between their legs. “Was that fifteen?”

“Fourteen,” Roxie said.

Back under.

“It’s just sad because I bet Beckham actually wants him to be his. And no one is a bigger loser than Ke

Roxie started to say something and then stopped. It was true. Beckham had seemed almost disappointed when she’d said he wasn’t Leo’s father. She had a moment of sadness that Leo didn’t have that.

She’d barely dated Ke

“It doesn’t do any good to wish. It’s just not true.”

“Well, damn.”

“What did you say, Auntie?” Leo’s head came out of the water and he was gri

“I said dammit,” she sighed.

She paced the floor and studied her makeshift collages. She wished she was back in her apartment where she could think clearly. Everything had gone to hell. There was no way that was Beckham’s son. No way. She was supposed to have his son.

She snatched the remote from the counter and turned off the TV. This changed everything. If Leo was Beckham’s son, she’d have to … accept him. She didn’t want to upset Beckham. If he lost his son, he’d have a hard time getting over that and it would take longer for him to love her. She’d just have to get Leo to like her.

She’d need a few more days than she thought to deal with this news. It was going to take a little more work. The heightened security had been a bitch to deal with—it was driving her insane.

She removed the tacks from the latest picture of Leo she’d just put up by her bed. One by one she dropped tacks in her hand until there were so many, she barely felt it when one pricked her and she began bleeding all over the linoleum. She fixed the small holes in the picture, trying to piece them back together with her fingernail. In some places, you could barely see there was a hole there, but in others, it gaped even wider. His eyes, in particular, looked weird with all the holes.

The longer she looked at it, the worse she felt. Tears ran down her face when she looked at Beckham’s son. She put a towel over his head and went and printed a new picture. When it popped out of the printer, she wiped her nose on her arm and pi

There, that was better.

She would love him too. She’d always wanted to be a mother.

Everyone just needed to stay the hell away and let Beckham process everything he’d heard in the last two hours.

Nate called him an hour before he was supposed to go onstage. “I’m bringing someone to do the testing during intermission. It’ll take a few days to get the results back, but we can get started on finding out the truth.”

“Thanks, Nate. In the meantime, what do I do about Roxie?”

“She’s a huge part of your show. I can’t imagine someone filling that role at this point. Can you two do your job, no matter the outcome of the test?”

“I can’t imagine pulling that off. At the moment, I regret ever meeting her.” He let out a big breath, not believing what he was saying. “I don’t know if I can move on, Nate. I’m beyond pissed. Why didn’t she tell me she had a little boy? She’s had plenty of time to tell me. It just doesn’t add up.”

“I don’t know, Beck. Think about it, though, she could be telling the truth. Why wouldn’t she tell you if he was yours? She talked about providing for him. She could have gotten millions out of you by now, if that’s what she was after.”

Beckham squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re right. If he’s not mine, I’ll owe her a big ass apology. But if he is, I’m go

The words ‘my son’ echoed around his brain, staggering him with their weight.

He thought of his conversation with Leo and how much he’d liked the kid in such a short amount of time. His heart raced at the thought of Leo being his little boy.

“Sounds like she’s go

Anthony showed up before he left the bus.

“Roxie says she’s not dancing tonight,” he said, wringing his hands.

“Like hell she’s not. If I have to fake it, so does she.”

“Beckham, she’s shaken up. You need to talk to her. She told me about her burned clothes.”

Beckham lifted his eyes to the ceiling. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten about that. He felt bad for a moment, but then caught himself. What if this was just another stunt she was pulling? That didn’t make sense … why would she ruin all her clothes? He was losing it. Fuck it, he needed a drink more than life.

“Are you listening to me?” Anthony gave him a little shake. “We had to send someone out to buy her something to wear tonight. And then this with her … son. I don’t know—maybe it’s not a good idea.”

“Roxie thinks it’s Brooke messing with her things, which we need to deal with, but I can’t even think about that right now. We have security on Roxie. Howie set up security for Leo. And the press isn’t go

Anthony’s stare leveled him. “Beck, I know you’re angry, and I don’t know what to make of all this, but Roxie is not a bad person.” He put his hand on Beckham’s shoulder. “And I’ve never seen you happier than you were the other day, with her.”

Beckham shrugged. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I’ll see if I can get her out there.”

Before Anthony was all the way out the door, Beckham called him back in.

“Hey, where did all this come from anyway? Who leaked this story?”

“That trampy journalist was on a gossip show earlier, pretty sure it was her.” Anthony pursed his lips. “Mariette? Miriam? Mi-something Wethers.”

“Well, fuck me. Mirielle Wethers. I don’t know whether to thank her or bury her. Maybe both, if I’m lucky.”