Page 22 of The Billionaire's Secret Heir

Graham laughed again and Beckett found himself smiling. “This is so surreal. Tell me about your daughter. That sounds so strange to say. You have a daughter! What’s her name? How was it meeting her for the first time?”

“Becka.”

“Like Beckett. You have a mini me—I love it! When can you bring her over? What’s the aunt like? Madi, you said? Also, I’m so sorry that your ex died.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call her my ex. But thank you. And I haven’t met Becka yet.”

Graham seemed almost as shocked at this as he had been that Beckett had a daughter at all. A deep, hot shame flooded Beckett.

“You haven’t met your daughter? Why? Does the aunt not want you to? Or is this more of you being stubborn and trying to act like you don’t care?”

Beckett chose his words carefully. “It seems to benefit everyone if I stay out of her life and just help provide for her financially. They live in the Heights in a house that’s falling apart. I just drove by.

“You happened to drive by?”

“It was on the way.”

“Not unless you skipped all the highways and took a roundabout scenic route through Houston.”

“Maybe I did.”

He and Graham stared at each other across the counter, both with their arms crossed over their chests. Over the years, they had engaged in plenty of silent battles and many not-so-silent as well. Opposites in almost as many ways as two brothers could be, they shared one big trait—stubbornness. Their dynamic was still generally as strained as it had been before, though Beckett felt at times like Graham had taken on the older brother role in some ways. Or at least, tried to, with a bossy, know-it-all attitude that had done little more than push Beckett away, just as he was doing now. Which only reiterated the fact that shouldn’t have been surprising, but still was: being a Christian in no way made you perfect. In Beckett’s case, maybe not even better.

He was failing at everything. Disappointing his father and intentionally hurting him. Pushing Madi when she clearly told him to back off. Fighting with Graham.

Not even attempting to be any kind of father to his daughter.

“Beckett.”

Beckett broke his gaze and looked down at the floor. It was a gray wood tile. He remembered how excited Graham had been when they had them installed. Graham sent him a text—a selfie where he lay on the floor with Selena and Logan’s heads close to his, Selena’s long hair spread around them. She had been missing her top teeth. Beckett had been in a meeting, too busy to respond, then later forgot. He hadn’t liked the floor anyway. Wood tile! Why not pick one or the other? Why not just wood?

Beckett suddenly felt a many-sided shame. It burned inside his chest.

“Beck.” Graham’s voice had gentled. The kindness in it only made his shame flame brighter. “How can I help you?”

That was not the question Beckett expected. Everything felt new to him, suddenly. The orderly life that he had worked so hard to build had imploded. Starting with his father’s announcement and ending right here in his brother’s kitchen as searing pain rocked his chest.

It was not just shame he was feeling anymore, but actual pain radiating out from his chest.

Beckett panted, clutching at his chest, trying to stabilize himself on the counters. “Can’t … breathe … heart …”

Attack.That word choked in his throat as the floor rose up to meet him.

His last thought before the darkness: The wood-tile really is nice.

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