“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
Beckham gave one hard thrust, burying himself deep inside me, and he blew, filling the condom, his cries telling me that his orgasm was tearing through him with the same force that mine had.
We both continued to twitch as Beckham pulled out of me. He took off the condom, tied it off, and tossed it into the trash. My breathing was ragged, my entire body feeling like I’d just completed a triathlon. My muscles were crying out for sleep while my heart was crying out for cuddles.
Beckham and I kissed the moment he got back into bed. We both wore drunken smiles, our eyes a little glossed over from the moment. “Sorry I made a mess out of your bedsheets,” I said, avoiding the puddle of come.
“It was worth it.” Beckham kissed me again, his tongue playfully flicking my top lip. “Come, let’s get washed up and I’ll change these sheets.”
“I honestly don’t think I can move, Beck. Not for another week, at the very least.”
Beckham laughed at that, his lips still against mine, his breath mixing with mine. “I don’t mind carrying you everywhere.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure what would be more suspicious: me walking like I have a pole permanently stuck up my ass or you carrying me around like some kind of adult baby.”
More easy laughter. More tender kisses.
Beckham, who was able to stand up just fine, got up to start the shower. I rolled on the bed, groaning, not wanting to move a single muscle. Somehow, I ended up with my head hanging off the bed, the rest of my body slowly sliding off.
Before I fell and got a head injury (and I swear, if I tragically forgot the absolute best sex of my life because of that, then just take me out back and put me out of my misery), I put my hands on the floor and moved to get up.
That’s when something caught my attention. It was a piece of paper peeking out from between two shoeboxes abandoned underneath Beckham’s bed.
No, it wasn’t just a piece of paper.
“Hey, Beckham?”
“Huh?” he shouted over the sound of the shower.
“Um, come here. Quick!”
It wasn’t just a piece of paper under Beckham’s bed.
It was an envelope.
21 Beckham Noble
My hands shook. Not noticeably, but I felt them tremble as I held the envelope in my hand. The night air fresh on my skin, cicadas sang from a nearby bush. All I really wanted to do in that moment was take Oliver back to bed and hold him until we both fell asleep. My body was spent in the best way possible, and I just wanted to enjoy the night with the man of my dreams.
Instead, we were sitting in my backyard wearing only our underwear, staring down at a letter that could change a lot of things for me.
“What’s in here,” I said, speaking my thoughts out loud.
Oliver shrugged. “You gotta open it to find out. Unless you’ve got some secret X-ray powers that you aren’t telling me about.”
I gave him a cheeky wink. “Why do you think I was so attracted to you right off the bat?” I dropped my eyes to his crotch. Oliver chuckled. On the other side of my fence, someone was walking their dog, the pup sniffing and scratching at something, its snout peeking in under my fence.
“All right.” I stuck a finger under the envelope’s seal. There were a couple of scratches at the corner of the envelope. We figured that either Mason or Jar must have found it in my room and started playing with it under the bed, where it somehow got jammed between two shoeboxes.
The sound of paper tearing filled the night air, mixing with the loud sounds of cicadas. I was sure my heartbeat could be heard in the chorus. Oliver didn’t mention my nerves as he watched, sitting on the edge of his seat. He looked up to me and realized I had paused.
“Sorry, what am I thinking. You should be doing this by yourself. I’ll leave.”
“No, what? Absolutely not. I was actually thinking about how grateful I am that you’re here right now.”
He smiled at that. His hand came to rest on my knee, his thumb making small circles. “You sure?”
I nodded and returned my attention back to the burning letter in my hand. I finished ripping open the seal and pulled out the letter. It was a single folded page. I took the thick piece of paper out and unfolded it, the envelope falling off my lap and slowly drifting to the concrete below.
The first line of the letter hit me hard in the gut.
“Becks.”
I said the old nickname out loud. A cry got caught in my throat, surprising me. The only person who ever called me that was my father, and the last time I’d heard it from him was before he found out I was gay. Before he kicked me out to the streets like some kind of broken television set, just junk to take up the side of the street before someone else took care of it.