Page 18 of The Back Forty
“What?” she says innocently. “I had a feeling you were gonna make it a whole thing and have some long talk, try to ‘set expectations’ or whatever, so I gave him a heads-up. You’re not exactly known for being a top-tier communicator.”
I blink. “I’m the damn kingof communication. I run sales and marketing for four successful businesses.”
She lifts her hands in mock surrender, laughing. “Okay, okay, easy there,daddy. It was a joke.”
I blow out a sigh, trying to dial it back because that's another thing she does that impacts me more than it should. When she's teasing me, she calls me Daddy. And yes, I know how that sounds but to her it's just to get a reaction, to me,fuck, I think I like it way more than I should.
“You’re right,” I admit reluctantly, dragging a hand down my face. “I just didn’t realize you two had each other’s phone numbers.”
Before I can finish, she’s sliding onto the floor next to Beckham, bumping his shoulder with hers as she grabs the extra controller like this is their Tuesday night routine.
What the hell is happening right now?
“So, you're also good at video games?” I ask, genuinely confused.
She tosses me a grin without looking away from the screen. “Not really. But once I found out he played them, I figured I’d better learn fast.”
“Dad, she’s amazing,” Beckham says without hesitation, still clicking away at the controller, eyes locked in on the game.
And I just sit there, watching them. My teenage son and my employee, shoulder to shoulder, laughing like old friends. Like this wasn’t just something she did as a favor or out of obligation. Like they genuinelyenjoyeach other’s company.
Which is... new.
I guess I’ve never been around when Dani’s been here helping with Beckham’s schedule. I’d always assumed it was basic logistics. A quick school drop-off. A ride to practice. Homework supervision. The usual.
She’d always played it down when I'd call to check in if I couldn't get home in time.“Yeah, it was fine. Took him to football. Dropped him at Kirk's house. No big deal.” Not once did she mention they stayed up late playing video games like two roommates who’d known each other since birth and now that I do the math... no, no, she's closer to my age than his.
“Well, alright then.” I push up from the couch, my tone casual but my mind spinning with about six different thoughts at once. “Dani, when you get a second, mind stepping into my office?”
She waves me off without turning around. “Yeah, yeah, I thought we were on vacation, boss."
Beckham snickers something to her about me never taking time off and they both start giggling.
"I’ll be in there after we beat this level,” she calls sweetly.
I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I start down the hall. Because clearly, I’mnot the one running this house anymore. And maybe there’s more she’s keeping from me than I thought.
Chapter 8 – Dani
Three levels into our impromptu game and halfway through a family-sized bag of Twizzlers that Beckham and I destroyed like it was our job, I finally glance at the time and wince.
“It’s almost midnight. We should probably both head to bed.”And your dad's probably pissed that I haven't come found him yet.
Beckham slouches deeper into the couch cushions, game controller balanced on his chest. “What are you, my mom now?”
I smirk, stretching my legs out on the ottoman and toss an empty Twizzler wrapper at his head. “No, because if I were your mom, I'd probably be letting you stay up. Your mom is the coolest.”
He grins but doesn’t move. Classic teen tactic. I used to pull the same one on babysitters—stretch the bedtime conversation long enough and maybe, just maybe, they’d let it slide.
It worked sometimes. Especially when our parents were knee-deep in surgeries or double shifts and no one remembered to check if we brushed our teeth or slept at all. Beckham's also ateenager and doesn't need me telling him what to do but I can tell he’s exhausted, and I know he has football practice.
Still, I’m not his mom, a woman I've met on multiple occasions now. Frankly, I'm convinced she's a saint and it explains why Beckham is so amazing. Two great parents who love their son and coparent well. It’s the best case scenario for Beckham and probably the reason he’s so grounded. Why Lawson and her never tried to make it work is beyond me.
“Fine,” Beckham groans, dramatically pushing to his feet even though there’s no real fight behind his words. He shuts off the TV with a theatrical sigh. “But only because I’ve got history first period and that class is actual hell. You're getting better at this game, keep practicing and maybe we'll win against those losers next time we play.”
I smile. “Good night, Beckham.”
He throws me a lazy salute before disappearing upstairs, and I give it a beat before standing and stretching the kink out of my neck. The house is quiet now, warm and still. I pad barefoot down the hallway behind the living room, where soft lighting spills out from the crack beneath Lawson’s office door.
