by Zart, Lindy
Due to the sudden freakish pretzel obsession, Maggie decided she must be hungry. She stopped in the kitchen and ate an apple before going in search of her trainer. Maggie heard the television from a nearby room and headed in that direction.
“Hey,” she greeted as she walked into the den. “What are you doing in here?”
Lance pushed a button on the remote control and the television shut off. He sat up on the couch, his blank expression raising her suspicions. Blank generally meant guilty on Lance. “Nothing. What are you doing?”
“I was reading in the four-season room, and then I realized it was too quiet.” Reading was close to the truth.
The den was a combination of dark wood and powder blue and cream. A rock-sided mantel with a functional fireplace was beneath the flat screen television, a couch and two recliners in marshmallow white were the furniture, and framed pictures of family and friends lined the walls. There were a few pictures of Lance up there with the rest of the cast of ‘Easier Said’, much to his arrogant delight. Upon his initial viewing of the room, it was the first thing he noticed.
“Did you miss me? I thought you liked it when I was out of sight, out of hearing distance.”
“I do.” She didn’t. Lately whenever Maggie was alone, there was a void, a spark of life that should be there and wasn’t.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Lance wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Maggie didn’t take her gaze from him as she walked to the front of the couch. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“Twice I’ve asked you what you were doing, and twice you responded with nothing. What is it? Were you watching porn or something?”
“Maggie,” he groaned, closing his eyes.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I know most guys do.”
He opened his eyes, locking her where she was with their liquid heat. “Is that so?”
“Yep. It’s normal, I guess. Don’t feel bad.” She patted his arm.
“I’m not embarrassed,” he said, eyeing her hand until she removed it. “And I wouldn’t feel bad about it if I was watching porn, but I wasn’t.”
Maggie swiped the remote from the coffee table and shook it in the air, daring him to try to take it from her.
“But I’ll tell you one thing.” Lance paused for dramatic effect. “I wasn’t thinking about sex until you mentioned porn,” he said dryly.
She went still, remote control limp in her hand. Maggie swallowed around a dry throat. “Oh?”
Lance slowly stood, closing the distance between them. Dressed in a black tee shirt and dark green athletic shorts, he looked relaxed and like he completely belonged in her house, in her life.
“Oh, yes.” His tone was gruff, but the crinkles around the corners of his eyes ruined it. Lance put an arm around her, pulled her to him, and while staring into her eyes, snatched the remote control out of her hand. “Too easy.”
It wasn’t until he’d moved away that the double meaning of his words sank in.
“I’m too easy?” she demanded, watching him cross the room. “I know you weren’t referring to me.”
“Of course not.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re more trouble than anything.”
“Trouble. What? Me?” she sputtered.
“I think I spoke quite clearly.”
“You’re the one who’s trouble,” Maggie announced, pouncing for him and grabbing ahold of the remote.
She tugged, and he tugged back.
“What were you watching? Why don’t you want me to see it?”
“It was dull. Tasteless. You’d regret knowing it if I told you. It was a big yawn fest.”
He grunted when her elbow jabbed him in the ribs. Maggie laughed when he tickled her in the side.
“Stop it! I hate being tickled. Lance!” She lifted her foot and stomped on his.
Lance wrapped his arms around her, and with his front to her back, he went still. His mouth was next to her ear, causing a shiver of awareness to course down her body. Every part of his body was molded to hers, and she swallowed around a tight throat. He rested his forehead against the back of her head, and Maggie’s breaths started coming faster. She opened her mouth to reply and nothing came out.
“Are you trying to fatally wound me?” he asked.
“Let go of the remote control and you won’t have to find out,” she promised huskily.
“Maggie, I am not letting go of this remote, no matter what.”
“What is that?” she screamed, pointing at the floor.
“Nice try,” he said, chuckling.
“You don’t see it?” Frozen, with potent fear laced through her voice, Maggie stared down.
“Nope.”
“What about now?”
“Maggie.” His tone said he was above such childish antics.
She went limp in his arms, a sigh of defeat leaving her. “Okay. Fine. You win.”
As soon as Lance relaxed his hold, she ripped the remote control from him with a cry of triumph.
“Give that back.” Lance stalked her, eyes dark with intent.
“Nope. It’s mine and you can’t have it.” She ran around the couch with him in pursuit.
“I’m the guest. I was using it. It’s temporarily mine.”
“Nothing is yours, not even temporarily. Want to know why? Because you’re the employee, not the guest,” Maggie modified, turning in the opposite direction when he tried to block her.
“Are you always going to throw that in my face?”
She snorted. “I could throw worse things.”
“Like your nipple death trap bra?”
“I got rid of it,” she argued.
His eyes went smoky, his expression and stance set for wooing.
“Stop it. I’m immune.”
“Since when? That kiss we shared a few days ago says otherwise.”
Maggie blinked, warmth flooding her veins at the reminder. “I was acting. I’m an exceptional actress.”
“Mmm. Is that so?” Lance rubbed a thumb over his mouth, and her eyes were drawn to the motion. She wasn’t able to look away until he dropped his hand. “Even you can’t act that well.”
Briefly pausing behind the couch, she pointed the remote control at the television and pressed the ‘on’ button. “Let’s see what form of debauchery Lance Denton gets his pleasure from when he’s alone.”
He caught her around the waist, the force of his movement and his weight toppling them forward and over the back of the couch. It was too late—the sound of young, familiar voices filled the air. Face down on the couch cushion and legs in the air, and with Lance beside her, she lifted her head to look at the television screen.
The air stopped inside her lungs. Maggie watched for a moment, not able to talk. It was them during an episode of ‘Easier Said’, crazily in love with one another. Struck hard with emotion, she swallowed, striving for nonchalance when her insides were screaming with yearning. Maggie placed her chin on her fist and continued to observe the younger versions of Lance and Maggie. Lance was quiet beside her, and that was just as well. She didn’t know what to say to him right then.
“This would make a great yoga pose,” she said after a time, her neck and back stretched to the point that they were sore.
When Lance didn’t respond, she finally turned her head to look at him. He wasn’t watching the television—he was watching her. The look on his face was open and raw, like a wound always kept hidden, until one day, it could no longer remain so.
Swallowing hard, she looked down. “You watch these a lot?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They make me happy.”
Maggie looked up in time to catch his sardonic smile as he added, “And nostalgic, and maudlin.”
Unveiled as they were, she couldn’t take the look in his eyes any longer, and needing somewhere else to focus, Maggie chose his lips. It was a bad idea—perfectly chiseled, hard when they should be, soft when necessar
y, a shade of mauve that couldn’t be replicated—she wanted them on hers.
As though reading her mind, and knowing what she desired, Lance dropped his attention to her mouth. When he looked up, his eyes were midnight blue with lust. “I think, if I’m going to remain uninvolved with my clients, I must forbid you to look at me like that.”
“What am I looking at you like?” she asked, breathless with the need to touch him. Maggie would take a moment of that perfect love they’d once shared, even if it meant her heart would never recover.
“Like you ache for me.” Lance touched a lock of her hair, the expression on his face pained. “It wouldn’t even be sex, Maggie, it would be . . .”
He sat up on the couch, helping Maggie to an upright position.
“Yes?” she pressed, legs and arms crossed protectively—not against Lance, but against herself.
“Sadly fast, and I fear, unsatisfactory for you,” he said, a smile clearing the emotion from his face.
Maggie swallowed, knowing that wasn’t what he’d been about to say, but thankful that that’s what he decided on. They needed to take a step back, lighten the mood, and stop staring at each other with hunger in their eyes.
“Like the first time?” she teased.
Lance scowled. “I made up for it.”
Maggie tried to laugh, but it sounded choked. He did. “Yes. Right. You’re right. I’m going to go outside. I need some air.”
She jumped to her feet and raced for the front door. Once outside, she turned to shut the door and found Lance directly behind her, a lone eyebrow lifted.
“Hey,” she said breathlessly.
“Hey.” Half of his mouth lifted. “I needed some air too. Can I hang out here with you?”
“Yeah. Sure. Why not?”
Maggie plopped down on the steps and studied her splayed fingers, inhalations coming too fast, her scalp hot and prickly. Lance sat beside her, silent and still. She moved her fingers up and down as though they played an invisible piano, and then she clasped them together and stared at her shirt. It didn’t take long for the quiet to become too much, too heavy.
“How come you never mention your daughter?” At his sharp look, she explained. “Parents like to talk about their kids, brag about them even. You should hear my sister talk about her twins. I love Nick and Nolan, but they aren’t perfect, and she acts like they are.”
Maggie continued when he didn’t comment. “You and I have been around each other for weeks now and you’ve mentioned her maybe once. I understand not talking about your ex-wife, but I don’t understand how you can go without talking about your baby.”
“That could be considered nosy.”
“Yeah? Well, so is going through my cupboards and drawers, but you still did it.” She gave him a pointed look when he remained mute.
Lance’s face clouded over and he looked at the street. “She’s not my daughter.” He glanced at her with a sick smile on his face. “Hence the recent divorce.”
Maggie swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“Olivia was having an affair for the duration of our marriage with her high school sweetheart. They broke up right before I met her. I was the rebound guy.” He looked at her. “You should never marry the rebound guy. Remember that.”
She rolled her eyes. “There has to be a guy first before there can be a rebound guy.”
Lance studied her. “Yeah.”
Uncomfortable with the intensity and directness of his gaze, Maggie looked away. “Why didn’t she just divorce you? Why stay married? Did you know the baby wasn’t yours?”
“I don’t know why Olivia stayed. She liked the money, the fame? She was scared to hurt me? Who knows?” He picked up a leaf and twirled it between his fingertips, eyes trained on it. “I didn’t know Ivy wasn’t mine until I caught them. I was supposed to be out of town on a promotional shoot. I got home early, decided to surprise Olivia with dinner.”
Lance’s smile was wan. “What are the odds of going to the grocery store to pick up steak sauce and catching your wife and daughter with another man? And it wasn’t just seeing that—it was seeing the three of them together and knowing they fit and I didn’t. I was the husband, the father, and I didn’t belong. He had his arm around Olivia and he was grinning down at my daughter like she was his. Seeing them together . . . there was no denying it. Ivy was his, not mine.”
“What did you do?” Her voice was a croak, strung taut with sorrow for him. Lance’s life was ripped away from him, and even if it had been an illusion, that didn’t mean the loss of it hurt any less.
He chucked the leaf, but the wind brought it back to the ground near the steps. “I went home and waited. Confronted her, listened to her cry, died a little at her confession. I wouldn’t call it a perfect marriage, but I was happy enough. The joke was on me.” He tried to smile, but it fell flat.
Maggie looked away from his sad eyes. “What about the guy? He was okay with the way things were, with sharing them with you?”
“Olivia told me she planned on leaving me. She hadn’t gotten the courage to do it yet. I imagine he wasn’t happy about the arrangement.” He shrugged. “I had my and Ivy’s blood drawn, to Olivia’s fury. She didn’t want her baby’s skin pricked. I argued that I didn’t want to continue to think a baby was mine who wasn’t. She finally consented. The blood test confirmed it. The legacy of Lance Denton was a fallacy and will not live on.”
“Someday you’ll have a wife and kids who are yours and no one else’s,” she told him, not sure if that was the right thing to say.
“Excuse my frankness, but I really don’t want to think about kids or wives in any context at the moment.”
“Right. I get it.”
“I suppose you think I deserved it. You would be correct.” His smile was twisted. “Guess I finally got payback for all the times I hurt people.”
“No one deserves that,” Maggie told him. Too much emotion leaked out of the words and made her voice tremble.
The caricature of a smile faded from Lance’s face and his eyes lightened with gratitude. “Thank you.”
“I mean, you could apologize for breaking my heart and maybe I’d forgive you. I thought you were the sun and nothing anyone said or did could make me think otherwise, no one except you.” She looked down so he didn’t catch the faint, self-deprecating smile on her face.
Maggie looked up as he slid closer. The cool cobblestone seeped into her back as she waited for an apology that may or may not come. It was so long ago that it shouldn’t matter, but that hurt teenager she once was needed it just the same. Maggie as an adult needed the man that sat beside her to give that to her. She didn’t understand why.
Lance’s lips flirted with a smile and she wanted to blame the sun for the heat that crashed over her, but they sat in the shade. “I am sorry for how I treated you.”
His face was near enough that she noted a faint scar on his jaw, one that hadn’t been there years ago. Gray stars framed the pupils of his eyes and silver streaks of light filled the irises. They weren’t blue eyes—they were the darkest galaxy filled with white fire.
“I didn’t know what I was doing. At first, I hated how you looked at me. Because when you looked at me like I was important, I wanted to be, and I couldn’t take the pressure of trying to live up to that. I couldn’t be what you deserved. In the end, I loved how you looked at me and I hated that I did.”
“It’s okay now,” she told him, meaning it. “Obviously, at first it wasn’t. You were everything to me, and you shouldn’t have been. But some of it was my fault too. I pushed you to tell me things you couldn’t, and when it was all over, I was cruel. And I’m sorry for that.”
“We’re both sorry. Aces,” he murmured.
They both grew quiet, lost in the past where teenagers fell in love, and summer never ended. Awkward first kisses, the strength of a hug. Where sunshine was a song and everyone danced to it. Beaches, white powder sand, waves—where kids were high on life and what it brought. First love
s, last loves. The smell of campfires, the thought of being with the one person who made their heart wildly pound. The one who lit them on fire and had the power to extinguish them as quickly.
“You were messed up. But so was I.” She bumped her shoulder to his before placing her elbows on the stone to recline. She looked at the street, watched a woman walk by pushing a black stroller.
He shook his head. “I was more than messed up.”
“So was I,” she said again, lifting an eyebrow in challenge when he looked at her.
Half of his mouth quirked, the partial smile filleting Maggie’s hormones and logic. Her fingers itched to touch his face, smooth the crease from his brow. It was time to find something else to do.
She shot to her feet and wiped off her shorts. “Shouldn’t we be exercising or watching a show on exercising or weighing me or . . .” She trailed off when he stood up as well.
“I miss her.”
“Who?” Even as she asked it, an image of his ex-wife came to mind. Maggie had seen the photographs of Lance and Olivia Denton. Olive-toned skin, bright blue eyes and a full red mouth. She was exotically beautiful. Maggie pushed the jealousy and inept feeling away and focused on Lance.
“Ivy.” He glanced at her. “Even though she isn’t mine, it seemed like she was.”
“Of course it did,” she said softly. “She was yours. You were her father. It doesn’t matter for how long.”
“The first time I saw her, it was like finally everything made sense—all the bad, all the screw ups, everything—I looked at her and it was all worth it. She was my redemption, my purpose. That tiny little being had the power to wipe my slate clean,” he whispered, staring at the ground.
“Have you tried to see her?”
Lance looked at her. “Honestly, I can’t stand the thought of talking to or being around Olivia right now. I hope at some point I can be civil with her. I don’t want to act like I’m Ivy’s dad. I only want to know her, in some context.” He shrugged. “It’s all fresh yet. We’ll see.”
“Maybe you could write little notes to Ivy,” Maggie suggested. “It could be cathartic to you. And someday you could give them to her.”