The emotion is both powerful and paralyzing. Motivating and malignant.
And. It. Is. Inside. Me.
I toe off my shoes as Lance shifts into gear and drives along the highway, music thumping through the speakers, wind whipping my hair into a frenzy.
We arrive at the house and by the time I find my shoes, Lance is pulling open my door, the obscenely large unicorn in his arms.
I wrap my arms around the belly of the animal, but Lance doesn’t let go. “We haven’t tried out the fire pit yet.”
It’s a warm summer night, but the breeze coming off the ocean brings a noticeable chill with it. And I’m in no hurry to go back to my room alone. “Let’s do it.”
His face lights up with a smile that stretches between broad, high cheekbones and is punctuated by the cleft in his strong chin. I have an urge to lick it, to swipe my tongue through the shallow groove already dusted with golden stubble. Lance releases the unicorn into my grip, and we walk inside.
“Wanna grab drinks and I’ll start the fire?”
I drop the unicorn on the couch in the living room and swallow at the casual tone to Lance’s voice, as if we’re a real couple who do this sort of thing every night. “Sure.”
In the kitchen, I open a bottle of beer for Lance and pour myself a white wine, adding a few ice cubes. Not exactly classy, but the ice serves two purposes. It dilutes the wine, and since my head is already spinning, that’s a good thing. Plus, the cold is refreshing. Just looking at Lance sets my skin on fire. I linger in front of the freezer for a minute longer than necessary, cooling my cheeks.
By the time I get out to the fire pit, the flames are already dancing within the stone enclosure. And when I hand Lance his beer, an electric charge shoots through my arm at the brush of his fingers against mine.
He pats the cushion beside his thigh. There’s enough room for me beside him, but I lift a brow and gesture at the remaining three curved armless chairs surrounding us.
“I like having you close.” His answer is straightforward and honest, no pretense.
My defenses turn to ash. I sit.
There is nothing soft about Lance. He’s all hard lines and packed muscle. But when his arm slips around my shoulders, pulling me close, his thumb sweeps along my neck in a gentle motion. I rest my cheek against his chest, curling my hands around my wineglass and staring up at the stars. “Tell me a story.”
“What kind of story?” he asks.
“Anything, really. There’s something about sitting around a fire, looking up at the stars, that makes me think we should be toasting marshmallows and telling stories. But since I’m stuffed full of sugar and cake, I’ll just take the story.”
A few beats of silence pass between us before Lance’s deep voice joins the crackle of the fire. “Once upon a time, there was a boy who climbed onto the roof of his family’s house every night, just so he could stare up at these same stars.”
“You climbed onto the roof?”
“Not me, a boy. Well, until he decided to take his chances on a rainy night and fell off. Then the boy was stuck inside with a broken leg for the next two months.”
“And after that, did the boy every climb out on the roof again?”
“Almost every night,” he says on an exhale, his heart rate steady and sonorous beneath my ear.
“Why? Once he knew the risks, why not just look outside the window?”
“Because on the roof, he was closer to the stars.” His voice quiets. “And on the roof, he was out of reach. Far above everything he had to see in the light of day. The unopened, unpaid bills covering the kitchen table, most with Final Notice stamped somewhere. M—The boy’s father just left them there, so every afternoon, he did his homework on a steadily rising pile of bills.”
“And did the boy grow up to be like his father?”
“No. He’s nothing like his father. He knows how to focus, how to work hard. He’s successful.”
“Is he happy?”
“Sometimes.” He looks at me, a flicker of something I can’t quite read in his expression. Or maybe a question I don’t understand. “Now it’s your turn.”
I consider my options. I can choose something silly, something light. Each word an obvious effort to rebuild the wall between us. Or I can follow Lance’s lead, revealing a part of myself that actually means something. And do my part to knock down that wall even more.
“Once upon a time, there was a girl,” I begin my story just as Lance had, “who went to work with her mother. Until then, she thought she had the perfect family. But that night, she found out it was all a lie.”
“I thought you said your life was boring.”
“Not me, a girl. She saw her mother with another man.”
“What did the girl do?”
“Nothing. But at night, she would sit by the window of her bedroom and stare out at the stars, wishing she was anywhere else. Then she went to college, and never came back. Not for longer than a night or two, anyway. It was too hard to feel sick to her stomach every time she looked into her mother’s face. Every time she saw her parents pretending like they were in love.”
With Lance’s story sitting heavily on my heart and my own spewing from my mouth like a sewage pump, I’m struck by how much toxic waste we’ve been carrying around inside ourselves.
“They’re still married?”
“Still married. Still pretending. He knows about the affair, too. She told him. And he forgave her.”
The ice clinks in my glass when I take the last sip, and Lance glances down at me. “Have you?”
I shake my head slowly. Not giving voice to the answer that sits like lead inside my mouth. No.
“I—I should probably get inside.”
I stand to go, and he reaches for my wrist, encircling it with his long fingers. “I don’t want tonight to end.”
There’s such vulnerability inside his gaze, and the wall I’ve been trying to keep between us is a pile of rubble. Escaping to the safety and solitude of my room is a tempting option. Safe. But it’s no contest against the mystery that swirls inside Lance’s eyes. A mystery I’m compelled to explore, despite the risks. Or maybe even because of them. “Me neither.”
He stands, too, his wide shoulders and muscular neck at eye level until I tip my head to take in the entirety of his face. “Don’t go back to your room. Stay with me.”
My eyelashes flutter as I push myself to be completely honest. “Tonight has been perfect. If I go back to your room, we both know what will happen. And I’d hate for anything to overshadow . . .” My voice trails off as I struggle to explain. I want to keep the memory of our night untainted and frozen in time, like a scene from a snow globe.
“I promise, I won’t let that happen. But don’t make me go to bed alone, without you in my arms. Not tonight.”
Chapter 41
Lance
Vivienne crawls across the mattress and slips beneath the sheets, her hair spread across the pillow like crimson brushstrokes on a white canvas. I grasp my shirt from the back of my neck and pull it over my head. Her eyes unlock from mine, hungrily devouring my chest. They follow my hands as I unclasp the button of my jeans and tug at the fly, pushing the denim from my thighs and to the floor.