Beckham’s face cracked into a wide, disbelieving smile. “So you and Jonah were trouble together?”
“Oh yeah, he and I fed off our troublemaking ways back then. We’d constantly be doing things and covering for each other. Our friends were similar, too, and we rarely ever fought. I know some people who fight tooth and nail with their siblings since birth, but that’s not us. Do you have any siblings?”
He shook his head. “Always wanted a little sister, though. I’ve had a protective streak in me since I was a kid, so I think I’d be a good big brother. Just me, though.”
“That’s good, too. You got all your parents’ attention whenever you wanted it.”
“And that’s a good thing?” Beckham’s brow arched.
I recognized that look. “Did you and your parents butt heads?”
“We did much more than that.” He took another drink of his wine, finishing his glass and dabbing at his lips with the cloth napkin on the table. “My coming out wasn’t exactly butterflies and rainbows. When I told my parents, I was sixteen. They both flipped. My father worse than my mum. We got into a physical brawl, curses were shouted, punches were thrown, lips were busted.”
“Jesus, Beck. I’m so sorry…”
“It’s all right. Now it is, at least.” Beckham’s face darkened, like a shadow had passed over him and him alone.
“It’s not all right, is it?”
He took a moment to answer. “No. No it’s not.”
I reached across the table and put my hand on his. I didn’t even think twice about it, just did it. My thumb traced small circles on his skin. “Maybe there’s time for things to be fixed. People always come around, especially when they’re family.”
“How about when they’ve been buried six feet under?”
Words escaped me. I squeezed his hand in mine. The pain and regret in his eyes was clear as day.
“I never got the chance to fix things,” Beckham continued. “He kicked me out of the house at sixteen. I was on my own, and I made it. I survived. When I moved to the States, I never looked back.” He took a breath. “Until I got a call from my mum last month. We had been able to fix things, me and her, something like ten years ago, but me and my father never… we couldn’t work it out. So I get a call and she tells me about the funeral, about how I need the closure. They had started talking a few years back.”
“That’s why you were in London.”
“I went to the funeral. I didn’t get any bloody closure, but I did get a sealed letter written by the man being buried, delivered by his widow I assume.”
I felt like my head was spinning on my shoulders. “What did… no, you don’t have to tell me. I’m just being nosy.”
“I wouldn’t be able to tell you what’s inside even if I wanted to. I’ve lost the damn thing.”
“Oh, Beck.”
His head dropped. He took his hand from mine and set them on his lap. My heart broke into a thousand different pieces.
“Whatever was in there, doesn’t matter now. He’s dead and so is my childhood.” He shrugged, a steely expression taking over. “Guess that makes us even.”
“Your mom wouldn’t have any idea what was in there?”
“No. They had fixed things but still weren’t a hundred percent open with each other. I don’t think she ever forgave him for pushing me out. Or herself for letting him.”
My heart felt like it was in a vise grip. I could see the twisting pain that made itself home inside Beckham’s chest. His eyes turned toward his fist, his smile curving down into a deep frown. It surprised me: how strongly I felt Beckham’s pain, like I’d just been physically punched in the gut.
“You’re going to find it, Beck. I’ll help you look.”
He shook his head, eyes still turned downward. “It’s over. I went to the funeral and got whatever bullshit closure I could. I don’t need whatever was inside that damn thing.”
I could tell Beckham wasn’t being truthful, but it didn’t feel like my place to press. “All right,” I said, sitting up a little straighter in my seat, “this weekend, we’re turning it into a date. We’re going to hunt for that letter.”
Beckham’s head rose, his eyes locking with mine again, a tiny smirk playing on his face. “A second date, huh?”
“Why, were you done after this one?”