Beckham

I don’t want to be back here, at the scene of the crime, but my mother begged me to come. After a week of not hearing from Sully, my nerves are shot, and I’m so damn tired, I can barely stand up. Fighting with some assholes seems like as good a way to spend a few hours as any.

“Good to see you alone this time, Beckham,” Asshole Number One says.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Come try my potato salad.”

“Look at this cake, it’s your favorite.”

“How about a hot dog?”

On, and fucking on it goes, as I make my way to where my parents are sitting. I see remorse in some of their eyes, making me feel a little better about them, and what went down last weekend. I still won’t forgive them for what they did, but I’m glad to see some humanity surfacing.

My mother speaks first. “You look tired.”

“It’s what happens when you don’t sleep.”

“Things are rough with Sully?”

“I’d have to be in contact with him to know that.”

“You aren’t speaking to him?” my father asks.

“He hasn’t spoken to me since last Saturday, and he left the country, so no.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. He seems like a nice young man, and you were happy with him.”

I close my eyes, trying not to cry. “He is, and I was.”

“Beckham, I brought you a plate of food.”

I look up to see the one of guys who went after Sully standing in front of me, holding out a plate, like it’s a peace offering. I’m not at peace right now, and it’s because of him and his friends. Friends who are standing with him, looking smug.

“I don’t eat during the daylight hours. I told you that last week.” I close my eyes again, because I don’t want to even look at any of them.

“He’s not here, so we thought you’d come to your senses.”

“What kind of American would choose to eat like a Muslim?” one of his friends asks.

“This one.”

My eyes pop open when I hear Dylan’s voice. The crowd parts as he walks forward with Nev. I jump up, hoping they’re here with news.

“Whoa, you’re Dylan Gallagher.”

“Can I have an autograph?”

“I need a selfie.”

Dylan ignores them all, coming to stand in front of me. I hug Nev, and smile at him. “Mom, Dad, you might remember Sully’s sister, Neveah, from the restaurant. This is her boyfriend, Dylan.”

My parents stand, and shake their hands. Everyone else just stands there in shock, looking at Nev like she’s a foreign creature. She pretends not to notice, but I see the anger in her eyes. She wants to lash out at all of them, just like I do.

“You can stop staring, because I’m not going to turn into a blonde, with blue eyes,” she tells them. “No offense, Becks.”

“None taken, Nev.”

“We wanted to invite you to celebrate Eid with us at our place next weekend,” Dylan tells me.

“What’s Eid?” one of the kids ask.

“It’s a celebration of the end of Ramadan. For three days, we feast, give gifts, do charitable work, and celebrate together.”

“Ramadan is that thing where you don’t eat.”

“We fast during the day, in honor of Mohammed, and God giving him the revelations which would become the Quran.”

“What is that?” another kid asks.

“In simple terms, it is the Muslim Bible.”

“Have you read it?”

“Yes, and Nev has read my Bible. One day, we’ll be married, and our children will know both.”

“So, you read about suicide bombings, and blowing people up?” the guy who called me a bitch last week asks him with a sneer.

“No. I read about many of the same things taught in the Christian Bible. Love, forgiveness, and acceptance. Islam is not about what evil men have tried to make it.”

“Whatever. I’m never wearing anything with your name on it again.”

“Please don’t,” he tells him, glaring back.

“Can I speak to you alone, Becks?” Nev asks me.

“You can use our apartment,” my mom says.

“I’ll just sign some autographs for the kids,” Dylan tells us.

“What about the adults?” one of them asks.

“Anyone who didn’t insult Sully last week is welcome to an autograph.”

I shake my head as we walk away. “He’s amazing.”

“He is,” Nev agrees.

“I’d love to celebrate with you. Thanks for inviting me.”

“You’re welcome. You’re always welcome at our home.”

“Without Sully?”

“Yes, but I must tell you, those people out there made me uncomfortable, and I’m used to being called all sorts of things online. They weren’t even saying the stuff they said to Sully, and I felt smaller around them.”

“I only came here for my parents.”

“I understand, but I just wanted you to know, I’m getting why my brother freaked out. We dealt with this when we moved to the U.S., and it was bad. So bad, sometimes I’m not sure how we survived it. I don’t like that he ran, but I understand it.”

“Where is he?”

“London, but he’s leaving for Paris in a couple of hours.”

“What? After they had attacks? He’s not safe!”

“He’s safe,” she assures me. “He has entourages in both places who love his unlimited funds.”

“I thought Matt cut him off.”

“He let him keep his credit cards, and lines of credit, but told him he’d have to pay the bills. He won’t hold him to it for this, although if he’d just been partying here, he would’ve made him pay.”

“I’ve been waiting for him to text me it’s over, so he can be with other women.”

“My brother is hurt, and angry, but he’s not stupid.”

“Only time will tell.”

She looks away, and then back at me. “I want you to bring him home.”

“What? How?”

“Matt has a jet waiting for you, money for you, and an apartment in Paris. Anything you want or need is at your disposal,” she tells me as she hands me the passport I applied for when I started at C&C, along with a credit card with my name on it. It’s black, and I know there’s no limit.

“What if he won’t come back with me?”

“He will.”

Can I do this? Can I go to Paris, and see him draped in other women? Can I convince him to come back to me—to all of us? Do I even want to?

“Yes. I’ll go.”

* * *

Sully

Another city, another club, same old games. The raven-haired twins on my lap seem to think I’m funny, even when I’m not talking. They laugh every few seconds, making me want to cover my ears. I just might do it if I wasn’t busy keeping their hands off my junk.

“Sensationnel,” one of the Frenchmen with me says, and I look to see what his “wow” is for.

No. It can’t be. But, it is. Beckham is here, in that damn sweatshirt dress and thigh-high boots. She’s here, and she’s walking this way.

“Sully.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’d like to say I’m in Paris for the first time to see the Eiffel Tower, but instead I’m here, in this club, seeing you with these women.”

“I will take you to see whatever you want,” the man who noticed her walk in says, placing his hand on her bare thigh.

I jump to my feet, pulling his hand away. “Touch her again, and I’ll kill you.”

The women call my name as I take Beckham’s hand, but I ignore them. I have to get her out of here, away from them and the ugliness of who I am now. I’ve no doubt she remembers this “me”, but I want so badly for her to forget it.

“Where are we going?” she asks, as I pull her out a side door.

“You are going back to Las Vegas.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“Who do you take them from? Who sent you here? My sister? Matt? You couldn’t afford this on your own, so who’s paying you to be here?”

“I came because I wanted to. Matt gave me a jet, but I’m going to insist on paying for the credit card I’m using when the bill comes.”

“That’s what we all say in the beginning.”

“You were going to pay for your own things from the internship,” she reminds me, but I don’t want to be reminded. “I know the people at the party hurt you, but they are just a few people. Those of us who love you, know you’re not who they said you are. Come home, Sully.”

“You don’t know! You know nothing! Go home. You shouldn’t be here. Go home! What do you want from me?”

“I only want you, and maybe a kiss under that sparkling Eiffel Tower when you’re not covered in the lipstick, and perfume, of other women.”

“You don’t want me.”

“I do, and I thought I’d done enough to show you that.”

She has. She’s done so much for me, and I know she cares. I know it, but I can’t accept it.

“Go home. Please, just go home, Beckham. Don’t come back here, and don’t try to save me, because it’s too late for that.” I hold up my phone, with the text I haven’t sent her. “I couldn’t send this, but you have to leave.”

She reaches over, and sends the message, before I can stop her. I hear the answering beep of her phone, and stare at her in horror. She glares back at me. “If you wrote it, you meant to send it. Go back inside, and fuck those women, like you want to. You’re completely free now.”

I let her walk away, but I don’t go back inside. I can’t, because it’s not the twins I want to fuck. Seeing her here, coming for me, cracked the wall I’ve put up again to protect myself. When she sent that text to herself, it crumbled even more. I just let the woman who loves me for me walk away, and I don’t know how to get her back.