Page 72 of For You & No One Else (Say Everything 3)

Eighteen

Beckham glanced at the clock for the first time in hours. He’d buried himself in his video-game project to get his mind off the way he’d felt watching Will and Eliza together. The irritation that had bubbled up, the jealousy, had been like acid in his mouth. He refused to let that shit eat at him. Eliza going out with Will was a good thing.

Tonight, Eliza had doubled down on her feelings about marriage. The wistful look she’d gotten on her face talking about Andi’s relationship had been undeniable. Eliza wanted that for herself. The love story, the wedding, a guy who could give her the happily-ever-after—if there was such a thing. He had a hard time believing anyone could be truly happy trapped in something that took a set of lawyers and a pile of money to get extracted from.

He’d caught himself giving Eliza his speech about the origins of marriage and had spilled details about his family that he never shared with anyone. He never slipped up like that, but afterward he’d realized why he’d done it. He’d wanted to win her to his side. He’d wanted her to realize that marriage was a trap and drop her search for ’til death do us part altogether, to step outside the matrix and see it for what it was. He wanted her to get it, to gethim.

He was such a dumbass. Awards could be given for how stupid he was being. He was making the same mistake he’d made years ago. Of course Eliza wasn’t going to magically change her entire worldview just because they’d had a great night in bed. He was delusional if he thought that would make any difference at all. He was only a temporary fix for her. A stopgap. Will and guys like Will were the endgame.

He couldn’t be.

The clock was inching past eleven, and Beckham’s brain was too tired to keep working on the project. He closed out the screen and then opened his browser. Like he did every few months, he typed in a web address he had memorized.

The page for his dad’s church came up, the happy shining faces of his parents and the rest of his family filling the screen. His dad looked cocky and proud, dark hair slicked back, blue eyes sparkling. His mom had that beatific smile of hers that made her look like a mannequin, and then his six siblings—one boy, five girls—were lined up in front of his parents by age order. He hadn’t even met his youngest sister. She’d been born after he’d left.

That gave him a pang. He missed his brother and sisters, but even if he tried to reach out to them, they wouldn’t be allowed to speak to him. Daniel, his older brother, would probably outright threaten him if he tried to come near. Beckham’s siblings all believed what they’d been told about him.That he was a lost cause, a threat to their pristine lifestyle, a nasty smudge on all that shine they projected to their followers.

They probably also blamed him for the TV show’s cancellation, which had happened a year after he’d left.Seven on Sundaydidn’t work as well when the Laketon brood had become six. They no longer had their black sheep to keep the drama going and the audience interested. His dad still broadcast his sermons and gave updates on the church’s web channel, but that audience was limited to those who believed his father’s teachings—a niche group at best.

On the website, the donation box was prominent in the top corner of the screen—money always at the heart of anything his dad did. Even with the show canceled, there were still options for donations, branded merchandise, a book about raising kids, a set of children’s bedtime story books, homeschooling curriculums, and public appearance requests with speaking fees listed. Beckham clicked on the Sign In link and typed in the fake credentials he used to get in to the protected pages. He’d set up this system for the family originally when they’d seen that the only thing that got him excited was technology, and though they’d changed up their security features, he could still get in without even blinking.

He got to the screen he needed. Through that, he could access his dad’s files, the drafts of his sermons, the business plans, even the secret emails he sent to one of the church widows, a woman he’d been having an affair with for a number of years. Beckham liked knowing he had dirt on his dad if he ever needed it to protect himself.

Even though he knew what he’d find, he clicked on the Family Profiles page. His name was still on there—Matthew Joseph Laketon—but the photo was of him at seventeen, dark-haired and not smiling. They couldn’t erase him.Seven on Sundayhad followed his family throughout his childhood, so his existence couldn’t be denied. But they’d done their best to minimize his presence. Under his name it saidAge:25Occupation:UnknownAbout:Some of God’s children fall off the path. The Laketons are praying that their son Matthew will atone for the things he has done and seek God’s love and forgiveness.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Beckham muttered.

The last thing under his name wasSpouse:Jessica Laketon.

Seeing that added line of text always made his stomach turn, brought him back to those horrible few months when that label had been real. Of course, in the church, it wasstillreal. The annulment in the Arizona state files made no difference to the church. Divorce wasn’t an option in his dad’s permutation of religion.

Jess’s name was a hyperlink to her entry in the church member directory. Beckham clicked on it. Her profile came up, her photo updated, her occupation listed ashomeschool aide. He stared at the photo, trying to find a hint of the feisty girl he’d first met when he was fifteen, but the blond woman on the page looked like a stranger.

Every time he went in and checked, he hoped that she wouldn’t still be there, that she’d left the church. But he knew that the more years that went by, the more unlikely it was that she’d ever leave. Jess had been raised in the church and bought into what his dad was selling—or, more likely, was too scared to question it. Eternal damnation was quite a threat. Or maybe they’d convinced her that because of the leaked video, she’d be seen as nothing but a slut in the outside world. That the church was the only place that would have her. Whatever the reason was, she stayed.

Beckham clicked deeper into her file and then opened another screen alongside it. Within a few seconds, he’d transferred money from an anonymous account into hers. He’d never forgive himself for what he’d done to Jess, the hurt he’d caused her, how publicly he’d destroyed her reputation, but sending her money every few months so that she didn’t have to depend on the church or someone else made him at least feel like he was doingsomething.

Jess knew where the money was coming from, and she was the only one from his old life whom he’d sent his contact info to. He wanted her to know she had a friend in the outside world that she could come to if she wanted to bail. But she’d never reached out or even acknowledged that she’d received the money.

He closed out the windows and shut down his computer, weariness pressing down on him. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying and failing to wipe away his grim mood, and then packed up his stuff. WorkAround was mostly empty as he made his way through the bottom floor, but the clicking keyboards of those who rented the hot desks at night provided the soundtrack.

Most were people starting their second shift of the day, coming here to put time into a side hustle after a long day at a pay-the-bills job. The coffee bar was still open, a perk of working in a twenty-four-hour operation. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d skipped dinner, but he didn’t want any of the prepackaged offerings they had at night. He’d roll through a drive-thru on the way home—get some proper late-night food.

The air was cool but humid when he stepped into the parking garage, the weather trying to figure out if it wanted to be winter or spring, and the scent of car exhaust filled his nose. He was digging in his backpack for his keys when a flash of pink caught his eye. He paused and turned his head in that direction. A few yards away, Eliza was standing near her car with Will. Her car door was open, Will was leaning his arm along the top, and they were both in profile as they talked, smiles on their faces.

Beckham was in the shadow of the stairwell where they wouldn’t notice him, but he shrank back a step to make sure he’d be fully out of view. He still could see them through the space between two concrete columns. He knew he shouldn’t be spying—hello, creeper—but he forced himself to watch. He needed to see this, to keep his head on straight.

Will laughed at something, his head dipping low and his shoulders shaking, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. Eliza put her hand on his arm, smiling at whatever the joke was, looking sexy as hell even in the washed-out glare of the garage’s fluorescent lights. Will lifted his head.

Cold awareness went through Beckham.

He’s going to kiss her.Beckham recognized Will’s body language, how he was looking at her, the way he’d shifted the space between them. Beckham’s hand tightened on the strap of his backpack.

Will dipped down.

***

He’s going to kiss me.The thought hit Eliza with one hundred percent assurance. She could feel the air shift as Will leaned in a little closer. The date had been a lot of fun. Will was sharp and funny, easy to talk to. Handsome. She hadn’t had such an enjoyable date in a really long time. A kiss seemed like the appropriate way to end it.

---