Beckham - Olivia T. Turner Page 0,1

“Especially to a kid.”

“It’s my family history too,” she says, looking indignant. “I wanted to know the truth.”

“You don’t want the truth,” I say. “Believe me, you don’t. I’ve been trying to forget the truth for almost thirty years.”

“It couldn’t have been easy for you,” she says as she reaches out and puts her hand on mine. “But it doesn’t have to define you. I think you should talk to someone about it.”

“I think you should eat your ice cream and drop it.”

“A girlfriend can help you get over it.”

“I’m over it,” I snap.

A few awkward minutes pass and then she’s back at it again. “Is it true about your uncle?”

God, this girl doesn’t know when to quit.

“Nixie,” I warn.

“Uncle J told me.”

“That’s enough,” I say as I explode out of the seat. “I’m waiting outside.”

I toss the rest of my ice cream into the garbage as I head to the door. The girl behind the counter perks up as I approach the counter on the way out.

“Don’t like the chocolate?” she asks with her chest puffed out. “How about you try that caramel—”

I just can’t right now. I walk right past her and out the door. My heart is pounding as I head to my bike and sit on it, waiting for my nosy little niece to finish up.

The thought of my uncle always gets me all amped up.

That fucker… Twenty years later and he’s still haunting me…

I’m still pissed at Nixie when I see her get up from the booth through the window. I was really looking forward to spending some one-on-one time with her, but then she had to drag up a bunch of bad memories and ruin it.

I hate that our afternoon got ruined. I haven’t seen too much of her since we bought the duplex. She’s living in the downstairs unit with Jaxon and Stella, and I’m upstairs by myself. I miss her.

But even I know that it’s better for her downstairs. Stella has become a mother figure to her, which she desperately needs. She’s better off down there. And when Stella has her baby in a few weeks, it’s going to feel like a real family. Something I can’t give to her…

My anger washes away when she steps out of the ice cream parlor and looks at me with an apologetic look. She’s just a kid after all. The melted ice cream down her arm to her elbow is enough proof of that.

“I’m sorry, Uncle B,” she says with a quiver in her chin.

I just reach for her and pull her in for a hug, holding her as tight as I can without hurting her.

“I was just trying to help,” she says into my armpit.

“I know,” I say in a soft voice. “I’m sorry I overreacted. You want to get on with our fun day?”

She looks up at me with a smile and nods.

I hop on my bike and feel her climb on behind me. She’s the best thing in my life.

And she’s slipping away…

Four hours later, we’re sitting beside an empty pizza box and painting each other’s toenails.

Nixie loves painting toenails and I’ve been volunteering since she was seven-years-old. She’s eleven now.

“How is that?” I ask as I admire my artistic skills.

She looks over and gasps when she sees what I’ve done. “Wow! You always do the best butterflies, Uncle B,” she says when she sees the monarch I painted onto her baby toe. “What do you think of yours?”

I laugh when I look down at what she did on my foot. “Colorful,” I say. “The pink is a nice touch.”

There’s a knock on the door and then Jaxon bursts in like he always does. He’s got a big excited grin on his face as he comes over.

“Good news!” he says. “Oh, I like that butterfly.”

“Right?!” Nixie says as she looks at her baby toe again.

“What’s the good news?” I ask my little brother. “Are you going to finally get a haircut?”

Nixie snorts out a laugh as Jaxon runs his hand through his long hair. “Never.”

“Then what?”

“Hell Fire is hosting us at their bar tonight for a fight night,” he says with a grin.

Nixie shakes her head. “That’s good news? I thought Stella would have civilized you by now but you are still very much a primitive barbarian.”

“Stella likes that I’m a barbarian,” Jaxon says with a grin. “She makes me wear a loincloth after you’ve gone to bed.”

“Whoa!” Nixie shouts as she plugs her ears. “Eleven-year-old alert! I don’t need to hear