I looked down at Sheila, who was chomping at the bit to go outside. "Five minutes," I said. "I'm sorry, girl, but I need five minutes to take a shower."
I ran to the bathroom, taking off my clothes and tossing them to the side like a wild person, not caring where they landed. I took about three minutes to scrub my hair and face, then got out and towel dried my hair and body before throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
I had on no makeup whatsoever, and my hair was still wet when I left for Lance's house. I barely remembered to slip on a pair of sandals. I took Sheila on a quick lap in the grass before we got in the car, but otherwise, I wasted no time whatsoever.
I really hoped I would hear back from him while I was on my way there so that my visit wasn't completely unannounced, but I didn't. He didn't call or text me back.
I pictured all sorts of outcomes while I was on my way to his house. In most of them, I threw myself into his arms and told him the whole thing has been a big misunderstanding. I thought of different things I would say to explain to him why I had said I was dating a guy named Nick, and then I reminded myself that perhaps he hadn't even heard any of that.
I wouldn't know until I talked to him. I pulled up at his house and instantly felt new round of heartache when I realized the Camaro was not there.
I contemplated leaving, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. I let Sheila out of the car and walked into his backyard with her. I stared at the markings on her back, remembering the story I told his niece and nephew. I absolutely could not lose him. I would not stand for it.
I sent him another text.
Me: "I came to your house. I'm here now. Sorry. I know I wasn't invited. I just wanted to see you. I guess I'll leave if I don't hear from you soon. Please call me."
I knew as I pressed send that it was a desperate message, but the fact of the matter was that I was a desperate woman.
Sheila and I were still in his back yard—way back by the citrus trees—when he called. I got so excited that I nearly dropped my phone when I tried to answer it.
"Hello? Lance?"
"Yeah." His voice seemed neutral and direct—not happy or sad, just normal.
"Hey, it's Sidney."
"I know."
"Did you get my message?"
"Yeah, I didn't have my phone on me. I'm at D.J.'s. I came over here to swim with the kids."
"Oh, okay. I was hoping to see you."
There was a long pause. Way too long. I was so anxious for him to say something that I almost asked if he was still there.
"Sidney," he said finally. He sounded reluctant. "I, uh, I think…" he trailed off with a sigh.
"You think what?" I asked, feeling desperate.
"I think we shouldn't talk. I think I might have felt too much too fast. I think it's better if—"
"You didn't," I said, not letting him finish. His words caused me to experience a gut-clenching mixture of hope and desperation. I felt all the blood leave my head, and I propped myself against the nearest tree because it was suddenly difficult to stand or think straight. "You didn't feel too much. It's not too fast," I said.
"Sidney, I think I want more from you than you can—"
"I want that too," I said, cutting him off again. "I can do whatever you're saying."
He made a frustrated sound like I wasn't understanding where he was coming from and I wasn't letting him finish.
"Can you please just come to your house and talk to me?" I pleaded. "Can I please just see you and talk to you in person instead of over the phone?"
There was another long pause.
"Please, Lance."
"All right," he agreed. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Thank you. I'll wait. I'll be here."
The fifteen minutes that followed were perhaps the longest minutes of my entire life.
My heart pounded the entire time. I had a tennis ball in my car and I threw it for Sheila to fetch, but even that didn't make the time go by any faster. I looked at my phone what must have been ten times in between tosses just to check the time and make sure he hadn't called or sent me a text message.
The sun was setting, and I kept looking at the sky, thinking about what a beautiful backdrop God has given us and trying to be thankful for the small things—trying to fight the feelings of hopelessness.
Finally, I saw Lance's car turn into the driveway. He parked next to his truck, and I watched from about twenty feet away as he got out of the car. He closed the door and slowly walked around to the back of it. He leaned against the trunk and regarded me as if he expected me to cross the remaining distance.
He was guarded, distant.
I felt heartbroken.
He had on jeans and a t-shirt with sandals. His clothes were dry, but his hair was still wet, and he ran his hand through it to get it off of his forehead before crossing his arms. Sheila was off leash, and she ran up to him, wagging her tail. Lance bent at the waist to greet her as I headed toward him.
"Jonah thought you were gonna come by the studio," I said, figuring it was just about as good a place as any to start.
"I did go by there," he said, standing again. He gave me a regretful half-smile. "Jonah wasn't there. It was just you and the guitarist, sitting on the couch."
I stared at this gorgeous man. He was the picture of perfection, leaning against that car with his damp hair. He looked like he had been chiseled from stone—a work of art. His guarded expression pained me. He was clearly hurt, and I was the one who had made him feel that way. I felt the oddest urge to collapse at his feet—just getting on my knees right there at his feet and beg him to know how very much I cared about him.
I didn't do that.
I settled for standing there, a few feet in front of him, absentmindedly shifting my stance and not knowing what to do with my feet or my hands.
"Could you hear what we were saying?" I asked.
"Yes, Sidney."
"Did you hear me say something about a guy named Nick?"
"Yes, I did, Sidney, and that's what I'm saying. You obviously have other things going on, and that's fine. I should have known better than to let myself get so, I don't know, involved. Whatever."
"Not whatever, Lance. I'm involved, too."
"Not like me, Sidney. I was…" he hesitated.
"You were what?"
"I was all in. I was ready to… never mind."
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"Say it. Please."
"I had already given you…" he stopped talking, made a thoughtfully pained face, and placed his hand over his chest as if to say that he had already given me his heart. "It's stupid," he said, dropping his hand and shaking his head. "I should have known better."
"No, you shouldn't have," I said, desperately. He wasn't looking at me, and I shifted so that I was in his line of vision, begging him to make eye contact with me. "I was all in, too. I am all in, Lance. There is no Nick. I mean, there was, but it's been years. I haven't seen him in years. I lied today. I only said I was seeing that guy because of you."
He let out a little scoff like that made no sense whatsoever, and I took a step closer to him. Sheila walked away, and neither of us had the capacity to pay attention to her.
"It's true, Lance. Please listen to me and understand what I'm saying. That guy asked me if I wanted to go out with him, and I wanted to tell him that I was already seeing someone… that I was already seeing you. But then, I panicked. I knew you knew those guys, I didn't want to make things awkward for you. I was in this weird situation where I didn't know if you were ready to say we were seeing each other or not, so I just said the only thing I could think of to make him stop asking me. There's no Nick. It was a lie."
"Was everything else a lie?" he asked.
"What?"
His eyes met mine and he stared at me with a serious expression.
I could hardly breathe. I didn't breathe.
"Everything else you said, Sidney. That whole bit about your family. T
he part about your dad leaving, and your aunt and cousins moving in when you were a kid. Was all that made up?"
I felt hot tears begin to roll down my cheeks at the sheer embarrassment of it all. Not only was I embarrassed for having been called out for saying all that, I was also mortified that he knew any of it.
"Don't cry," he said, glancing away as if he couldn’t stand to see me.
"I can't help it," I said, wiping my face with the back of my hand. My words came out in a high-pitched whimper and Sheila, who had been on the patio, came back to me. I didn't acknowledge her, but she stayed by my side.
"Was it the truth?" he asked.
"Yes," I admitted, still unable to stop the tears. "It was the ugly, stupid, ridiculous truth, Lance."
"That's an issue, then, Sidney. Don't you think?"
"I knew it would be an issue. That's exactly why I didn't tell you."
He gave me an irritated, disbelieving scowl. "It's an issue that you felt like you could have that conversation with Trevor Yates but not with me, Sidney. That's the issue. You think it was fun for me to sit there and listen to you telling him things you never told me? Do you think it was fun for me to hear you talk about your feelings, and your childhood, all that real stuff with someone else? It wasn't. It wasn't fun at all. I hated it. You were being real with him—saying things that made me feel like I didn't even know who you really were. I hated him for being the one who got to see you open up like that. I wanted to physically hurt him, to fight him."
I loosely covered my face with my hands and stood there staring through my fingers at his legs and feet, and the pavement.
I was heartbroken and I didn't know what to say to fix any of it. I felt empty, and I wanted more than anything for Lance to take me into his arms and tell me he forgave me and that everything would be all right.
Chapter 16
I was reeling.
I was ashamed, hurt, angry, confused, heartbroken, and lovesick, and I had no one to blame but myself. Somehow, I had to figure out a way get Lance to understand how much he meant to me, but I couldn't even think straight, let alone put together a coherent string of words.
I was not going to leave that place until I knew I had given everything I had to straighten things out—to make things right—to make him understand. Only the perfect words would do, but they simply weren't coming to me.
Everything I thought of saying felt wrong.
Everything that crossed my mind felt inadequate.
So, I did the only thing I could think to do.
I prayed.
I prayed that God would give me the words to show Lance my heart.
That prayer, and the thought of God in general, made me think of the conversation he and I had about the sky.
"The sky," I said, looking at him with tears still welling in my eyes. My voice broke a little, but I continued. "The sky is this huge part of my day, Lance. I see it when I look out of windows, or when I step outside… it's just always there. And now, when I see it, I notice how it changes... how it's different every time I look at it. I appreciate its beauty, and I'm truly thankful for that gift. Something you said, even though it was just a little piece of our conversation, brought me closer to God—made me see and appreciate a new aspect of Him." I put my hand over my chest. "That's real, Lance. Or, when we were walking on the beach and we talked about having kids and the type of parents we wanted to be… the type of life we wanted to give to our children. That was real. The feeling I got when your dad hugged me and called me sweetheart. That was real. I am real with you. I can see how you would think the conversation I had with that guy was different than the things I say with you, and it was, but it doesn't mean it's real and the things I say with you aren’t. When I'm with you, I leave out the humiliating parts of my life—not because I value you any less. It's the opposite. It's because of how important you are to me. In the short time that I've known you, Lance, you have become precious to me. I experience you and get to know your family, and I can't help but want to be a part of it all. I didn't want to jeopardize my potential place in all this by telling you the things I hated about myself—the stuff I wish I could forget or would go away."
I stood there, staring at him and feeling totally exposed. I had nothing to lose, and I knew I needed to come completely clean, so I continued.
"I didn't care what that guy thought about me, so it was easy for me to tell him all the ugly stuff, Lance. But, with you, I care. I care very much. I don't want you to know that my mom barely got out of bed for almost a year when Dad left us, or that he doesn't know how to spell my name. There's so much that happened when I was a kid that I'm embarrassed about. I don't want you to know that my mom and aunt have barely scraped by all these years—that they hate their jobs, they complain about going to work, and they are always behind on their bills. I cringe when I think about you meeting my cousins or me having to introduce any of them to your perfect family. I didn't keep any of that stuff from you because I wasn't being real, Lance. I did it because I didn't want to mess things up with you. I wanted to be the right girl for you—the one who could just seamlessly, miraculously step into your perfect life and share it with you. I wanted to be everything you wanted and needed."
"My life isn't perfect," he said. He seemed a little softer when he said it, which gave me hope.
"Lance, I did not tell that guy any of that stuff because I cared more about him. The opposite is true. I didn't care what he thought about me, so I just unloaded all the ugly stuff. I've been so scared of you seeing that side of me that it kind of felt good to get it off my chest. I guess I was hoping that running it past someone else might give me confidence to let you see that part of me eventually. It doesn't make it right, but I hope you can at least try to see where I'm coming from. I just assumed you would lose interest if you knew that stuff about me, and…" I trailed off, feeling overcome with emotion. I touched my chest again, and tears gathered in my eyes. "I already had my heart so set on you," I said, trying not to cry, but failing. "I wanted you so badly that I tried to just ignore that part of me—wish it away—pretend it didn't exist."
He regarded me thoughtfully for several seconds before reaching out for me. He took me by the arm, pulling me toward him, pulling me into his arms. I collapsed onto his chest. I had never been so relieved in my entire life. I had no idea what he was going to say or if things were going to be okay, but at least I was in his arms—at least I made it this far. I rested my face on his chest, and tentatively wrapped my arms around him. Lance did the same thing, softly taking me into his warm, all-encompassing embrace.
"The stuff you're so ashamed of, Sidney," he said thoughtfully. "The ugly stuff, the stuff you wanted to hide… it's what makes you who you are. It's what shaped you into the caring, compassionate, hard-working person you are. All that stuff you want to forget is exactly what makes you a good daughter, a good teacher, a good steward of your things… that stuff is what makes you the woman you are. The woman I can't help but love."
My stomach flipped. A hot, gushing, electric sensation happened in my body as he spoke. Had he just said he loved me? I dared not hope I had just heard that.
Carefully, I shifted to stare up at him. We were holding each other and standing so close that all I could see was the underside of his jaw as I stared upward. I regarded his tan skin and little indention at the base of his neck. I stretched up and placed a delicate kiss near it, right on the side of his neck. He smelled like Lance, masculine and woodsy with a hint of salt that I could both smell and taste. I absentmindedly surmised that D.J. and Emily must have a saltwater pool. He held me tighter when I kissed him, rubbing my back with long, gentle strokes.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered.
"I'm sorry too," he said.
I didn't know what he could possibly be sorry for, but I didn't ask. He pulled back, looking down at me and taking my face in his hands. He kissed my cheeks, two and then three, four times, right on the tracks of my tears.
I stared into hi
s dark blue eyes. They glittered with hope and sincerity, like he was looking directly into my soul. "I want to be the man who hears it all, Sid. I don't want you feeling more comfortable with anyone than you do with me."
I nodded. "I'm sorry," I repeated.
"I don't want you to be sorry. I just want you to be mine."
I nodded again. "That's easy," I whispered.
He gave me a little smile before he kissed me again… once on the cheek and then again closer to my mouth.
"I'm jealous over you," he said. "I saw you on that couch, and I hated myself for ever even thinking of that commercial. I seriously wanted to storm in there and fire everyone the spot. If the whole thing hadn't been pretty much finished, I probably would've done it."
I held him tighter, smiling a little even though my face was tight and sore. He dropped his hands from my face and wrapped them around me again, still staring down at me.
"I'm glad you thought of the commercial," I said, sincerely. "I had so much fun doing that. I never dreamed I'd sing in front of people, much less dress up and do the whole act… Plus…" I added.
"Plus what?"
"Plus, I got to work with some super-hot musicians."
Lance's face crumpled into to one of mock disgust and disapproval, and my smile broadened. I was obviously teasing him, and we both knew it.
"Too soon?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, the hint of a smile touching his lips.
He could tell by the way I was holding onto him, staring up at him, that he had nothing to worry about. I was a hundred percent devoted to this man and couldn’t see myself ever feeling any different.
"No, what I was really gonna say was that if there had never been a commercial, things might not have turned out the way they did with us. If I had never sung the song that day, you might not have ever talked to me."
"Oh, I would have figured out a way to talk to you, believe me. I wanted to talk to you the instant I saw you. I remember seeing you walk toward the tunnel that day. I thought please, God, let that girl be coming to this wedding."
All In (Miami Stories Book 2) Page 11