Within This Frame

by Zart, Lindy

  “Well,” he said slowly, pushing past her and entering the room. “I know I plan on spending the night with you.” Lance unbuttoned his shirt. “Unless you tell me to go?”

  She didn’t move or speak, frozen by the heated way he looked at her.

  “Are you going to tell me to go?”

  “No, I’m not going to tell you to go,” Maggie said, closing the door. Pulse fast, stomach knotted up, she met his darkened eyes.

  “Perfect,” he said in a rough voice. “That makes everything easier.”

  Lance took off his shirt and chucked it to the floor, his expression determined. The undershirt went next, thrown behind him with total disregard. It landed on the large rose-painted vase near the window. Then Lance strode for her, stopping inches from her and firmly gripping her face between his hands.

  “I’m going back to Ohio, you’re going to Iowa.” It was a reminder, and a question.

  Maggie dug her fingers into his shoulders and nodded. She knew. If that one night was the only night they got to share again, she wanted to take it, and treasure it, and never forget it.

  “Maggie.”

  She frowned at his serious tone, looking into fierce blue eyes.

  He stared at her, everything about Lance saying he was sincere. “It was real.”

  “You’re not supposed to make someone cry before sex,” she protested, her eyes burning at his words.

  “I figured if we got the crying out of the way now, there would be less chance of it later.” His full mouth lifted in a partial smile.

  Maggie moved her hands to the back of his neck and pulled him to her. She closed her eyes and forgot to think, letting touch and need alone guide her. The heat of his body mixed with the scent of his skin was maddening. Maggie wanted more than his lips, more than his body, more than one night. More than was offered. Maggie wanted all of Lance.

  It was sensual, his body strong and fit, eyes storm-filled, lips alternately firm and coaxing. They moved around the room in the dizzying dance of lovers, eventually ending on the bed. Clothes and inhibitions gone, Lance ended his months-long abstinence. Maggie smiled against his shoulder at the thought, then quietly laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” he panted, going still. “You’re going to give me a complex if you keep laughing.”

  She laughed harder, moving in a way that made his head drop forward as a moan was pulled from him. “I’m just glad I could help you return from the solitude of celibacy.”

  “You’re going to continue to help me tonight, many times,” Lance told her, proving the truth of his words.

  Later, in the dark, they lay together in the bed, miles and miles from one another’s homes and yet right where they should be. Maggie’s heart was broken, but it didn’t hurt. It was splintered in a good way—the way that a past love could reawaken, even if only for an impermanent span of time. She’d loved Lance as a young woman, but loving him as a grown one showed her things she hadn’t realized as a teenager. They never would have worked then.

  They’d had to end, but endings eventually turned into beginnings.

  “I love you,” he whispered into her hair, an arm holding her to his side.

  She went still, tears filling her eyes and spilling over to drip to his bare chest. It was hard for him to say that when they were young, but he’d said it then without hesitation, without provocation. Without Maggie saying it first. Lance wiped away her tears with his thumb.

  “Crying before and after is a bad sign.”

  Maggie laughed shakily and kissed his collarbone. “Don’t tell me goodbye, okay?”

  “I won’t,” Lance promised, and sometime during the hours while Maggie slept the dreamless slumber of a woman at peace, he left.

  LANCE—2000

  LANCE DIDN’T KNOW whose house they were partying at, but Donovan had assured him he knew someone there. Not that it mattered to Lance. The basement was finished, and had white carpet—bad choice, in his opinion—with tan walls. Whoever lived there was an outdoorsman, the wall mounts of antlers, various animal heads, and fish making that clear. Lance used to want to do those kinds of things with his dad, but his dad was always too busy.

  Beer in hand, he scanned the crowd of mashed bodies in the softly lit room. The furniture was pushed to the sides to allow space for dancing. Loud, fast-paced music surrounded him, pulsed in his ears like it came directly from his head. Donovan was off with his latest conquest—a daughter of one of his father’s previous clients—and Lance had no clue where he’d gone.

  A brunette sidled up to him, flipping her straight hair over her shoulder. She smiled at him, brown eyes shining from too much alcohol, and possibly something stronger. Her perfume was potent and made him think of vanilla, but it wasn’t pleasant.

  She poked his arm with a sharp fingernail. “You’re Lance Denton.”

  “Yep.” He looked at the mass of dancing bodies and sipped his beer. He wasn’t in the mood for adoring fans, and as soon as he found Donovan, he was leaving.

  “I’m Jessie. I watch your show all the time—well, not your show, but the show you’re on.” She waved at a friend and turned back to him. “It’s so crazy you’re here. Did Maggie Smiley come with you?”

  Lance’s hand froze near his mouth and then he emptied the can, setting it down on the mantel behind him. “We’re not dating anymore.”

  “Oh, I know. Everyone knows. That was, you know, big news for a while.” She laughed. It was a shrill sound that made a shudder crawl along his back. “I just thought that since you were both here, maybe she came with you. I can’t believe you’re both in my house. How weird is that? Wow. I feel special.”

  Jessie smiled. “You’re still friends, right? I mean, you have to be, working together all the time. That would be hard. Breaking up and then having to see each other like that. How do you guys do it?” She shook her head, looking sympathetic.

  He stared at her, willing her to shut up, but also wanting to know why she thought Maggie was there. “Maggie’s here?”

  Jessie started to answer, but a commotion pulled their attention to the middle of the room. There she was, dressed in a thin, tight black top and black jeans with purple boots, dancing with two guys. A circle formed around them, people cheering and whistling.

  In one upraised hand she held a beer, the other resting on the shoulder of the guy in front of her. Her hair was pulled up, baring her slender neck. She looked wild, and crazy, and stunning. Maggie tipped her head back and laughed when the guy behind her grabbed her hips and ground against her.

  His hands went into fists and Lance’s skin heated up. He moved a step forward without being aware, and then forced himself to remain where he was. Lance took a deep breath, and another. She wasn’t his. Maggie could do whatever the hell she wanted. He did. The tick that formed under his eye said he wasn’t okay with her doing what he did.

  “I guess you found her,” Jessie said quietly, worriedly eyeing him. “Are you okay?”

  “I need a beer.”

  “Oh. Sure. I’ll get you one.”

  Lance clamped a hand on her wrist when she turned to go. “I’ll get it.”

  Jessie’s eyebrows lowered. “Yeah. Okay. Go for it. They’re—”

  “I know where they are.” Lance let go of her and strode for the bar.

  Beer was no longer going to cut it, and he switched to plain vodka. It burned his throat and warmed his chest. Lance had four shots before going in search of Donovan. His head felt foggy, but not enough to wipe Maggie from it.

  He found his friend in a darkened bedroom, half-dressed and in the process of opening a condom wrapper. “I’ll be out . . . soon,” he told Lance. “Or not soon. But . . . eventually. Give me an hour, tops.”

  The girl lying on the bed beneath him giggled and pulled him to her, kissing Donovan like she wanted to suck off his face. Lance closed the door on them, restless and agitated.

  A redhead stopped him on his way back to the main party, fondling him and offering drugs. He shook hi
s head, pushing past her. Drugs weren’t really his thing and right then the thought of sex made his stomach roil. He kept seeing Maggie, sandwiched between two men, and it was screwing with his head. He wanted to bash in their faces, and he wanted to grab Maggie and run.

  A slow song came on and Lance looked up to see Maggie a few feet away with a different guy, their bodies close as they swayed on their feet. He snorted and shook his head, positive it was cosmic payback for him to have to witness that. The song changed and he lost sight of her. Lance took two more shots, his anger giving way to sorrow as the booze flooded his system.

  The air became stifling as more bodies appeared. Needing a breather, Lance stumbled up the stairs and out the front door, gulping in the cool February night air. He went to his ass on the ground, and then he let his head fall back, banging it against a small, sharp rock. It wasn’t long before he was shivering in his tee shirt and jeans. Spread-eagled on the gravel driveway, he didn’t move, not caring if a car drove over him.

  Lance closed his eyes and inhaled, but the sound of angry voices had him immediately springing to his feet. He recognized Maggie’s voice, faint as it was. He followed the sound of it, footsteps fast as he shot through bushes and tree limbs, finding her with a tall, dark-haired guy near the backside of the house. The yard was spacious and clear, and the moon perfectly spotlighted the pair.

  “I said no.” Maggie tried to get around the guy, but he blocked her.

  “Come on, don’t be a tease,” he coaxed, a hand moving for her chest.

  “Don’t touch me!” She slapped his hand away.

  The man grabbed her wrist. “You’re being a bitch right now, you know that?”

  Lance’s jaw hardened and he shoved the guy to the side. “Get away from her.”

  The guy was taller and more muscular than Lance and his pupils were dilated with a drug of some kind. “What the hell is your problem?”

  “Touch her again, and I’ll break your fingers,” Lance vowed, moving between the two.

  “You’re Lance Denton, aren’t you? Think you’re a tough guy, huh, just because you got money?” he snarled, fingers clenching and releasing as he advanced.

  “No, I’m a tough guy because if you touch her again, I’m going to break your fingers,” he said slowly.

  He looked around Lance. “Tell him to get lost.”

  “No. I want you to go.” Her voice was shaky, but firm. “I made a mistake. I don’t want to do this.”

  The guy’s face darkened and he took a step closer. “Give me back the drugs and I’ll go.”

  Lance glanced over his shoulder at Maggie, saw the guilt and shame crash over her face. He faced the guy once more. “You need to leave.”

  “Those drugs cost money! I want them back, or I want a piece of ass to compensate for the loss of them. You promised me a good time, and you’re going to deliver.”

  Rage slammed through him and Lance swung, clipping the guy’s chin and setting his knuckles on fire. The guy staggered back, face twisting, and Lance braced himself when he came at him. The guy was big, but he was clumsy. Knowing it was going to hurt, Lance readied himself for pain and punched him again. Something cracked in his hand as it connected with his face, and the guy fell to his knees, crumpling on the grass with a groan. Lance’s hand throbbed, already swelling.

  Without saying a word, Lance took Maggie by the hand and dragged her along behind him. He was angry at her—at her behavior, at her actions, at the way she was treating herself. She stayed quiet, tripping once and righting herself, until they were in the front yard.

  Maggie jerked her hand from his, rubbing the flesh around it. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, avoiding his eyes.

  “How did you get here?” Lance stared at her pale face, not recognizing the person before him.

  “How did you get here?” she shot back.

  “I have a designated driver to take me home. Do you?”

  Maggie laughed darkly. “You just knocked him out. Pretty sure he wouldn’t have taken me home now anyway, though, so whatever.”

  “What are you doing to yourself?” It was a question, and a plea, and a demand.

  She pressed her lips together and looked at a copse of trees nearby, her arms around her frail frame as though to hold in heat.

  Lance put his face close to hers and she had no choice but to look at him. “Drugs? You’re doing drugs now?”

  “Like you haven’t,” she sneered.

  “Yeah, but not often, and not anymore. And especially not from people who could hurt me.” Frustrated, he gestured to her body. “And you’re so damn skinny. Are you not eating, are you sick, what? What is going on with you?”

  She blinked her eyes, her mouth quivering. “Haven’t you read the tabloids? No one likes a fat actress.”

  “Are you insane?” Lance threw up his hands. “You are skin and bones,” he said thickly. “There isn’t an ounce of fat on you. You’ve never been fat. Stop doing this. Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

  Maggie dropped her arms and glared at him. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I have it under control.”

  “You do not have it under control,” he retorted. “You barely look like you’re hanging on.”

  “Just leave me alone,” she mumbled, stumbling toward the house.

  Lance went after her. “What drug did you do, Maggie?”

  She spun around. “Leave me alone!” Maggie’s eyes were unfocused and dark, her face warped with fury. “I want nothing to do with you! I can’t stand the sight of you. I hate you. I hate you.”

  He fell back a step, surprised by the outburst.

  “You don’t hate me,” he said softly.

  “You kept pushing me and pushing me. You had to get to me. You couldn’t leave me alone.” Her eyes shone with dampness and betrayal. “I was the one girl who wanted to be left alone, the one girl who didn’t need you to want them, and you just couldn’t have that, could you? You needed to prove something. I hate you, Lance Denton. I hate you as much as I once loved you.”

  “You don’t . . .” His voice faded and it hurt to pull air into his lungs. “You don’t mean that. You don’t hate me. Maggie . . . Maggie, you know I loved you. I know I said . . . what I said, but I did love you. I did.”

  “Shut up, Lance. I can’t even stand to hear your voice. Do you know that? I hate everything about you.” Tears streamed from eyes that stared into him and saw nothing. “That love I had for you? That was with my whole being, with all I had to give. That’s how much I loved you. I was the one person who would have loved you no matter what, and you couldn’t handle that. You had to prove that love is always expendable. It didn’t have to be. Not with me.”

  His throat closed and Lance dropped his eyes to his shoes. There was no conscious decision to sabotage their relationship, but subconsciously? Yeah. It was there. He couldn’t deal with emotions like that. Lance didn’t know how.

  Maggie moved closer to him, and with her eyes locked on his, she whispered against his mouth, “I want you to remember what my love felt like, and I want you to know that depth of emotion, that aweing, overwhelming, all-consuming way I loved you, and imagine that as hate. Take all of that love, and turn it into something bad, and there you go. You have it. Enjoy it.”

  “I’ll take it,” he breathed, his lips grazing hers.

  She blinked, touching a hand to her mouth as she put space between them. “What?”

  Lance shrugged, the pressure in his chest escalating, crushing him. “I’ll take it, Maggie, I’ll take whatever you give me, just . . . don’t do this to yourself. Please.”

  Her face crumpled. “You never stop, do you?”

  “No. I don’t know how with you.” Lance wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against her neck. He was shaking, holding her and yet he felt like he had none of her. “I’m sorry, Maggie. You know I’m sorry.”

  She was stiff in his arms. “I know, but it doesn’t matter.” Maggie took his hands from her and turned toward the house. “D
on’t talk to me anymore, Lance. Talking to you hurts me.”

  Maggie took two steps and collapsed.

  The ambulance was there in minutes, but it felt like hours.

  He didn’t know how he got to the hospital—he thought he remembered telling Donovan to drop him off and go.

  Lance wasn’t allowed to see her, and it felt like he was unconscious right along with her.

  The walls were white, piercing through his retinas and shoving nothingness into his soul.

  There were chairs.

  And people.

  And noise. Noise surrounded him, and all he heard was silence.

  He wanted to smell oranges, and bleach instead filled his nose.

  Judith was there.

  Maggie’s dad.

  Her mom.

  Nora.

  Lance was alone.

  He wasn’t told anything, eyes blinded by hot tears and still searching their faces for a sign that she was okay.

  Lance stood set apart from them, scared, lost, and ignored.

  And then they left to go to Maggie.

  The door was closed. It would stay closed for him.

  Flashes of Maggie stormed through his head.

  The first smile she gave him.

  The first real kiss.

  Her laughter.

  Her anger.

  The last time she loved him.

  The last real smile.

  The broken look on her face when he cheated on her with Tabitha.

  The sadness that never really went away when she looked at him.

  How she got skinnier.

  And skinnier.

  And skinnier.

  The pain in her eyes.

  The hatred.

  The last thing she said to him.

  Lance was driven half-mad with the images of her, and with the fear pounding with his heart, streaming through his veins, and clamped tight to his back. It shadowed him. Hovered. Whispered in his ear. What if she wasn’t okay? What if there was permanent damage? What if she didn’t make it? He knew nothing. Nothing.

  Lance paced the length of the waiting room, trembling and jumpy and sick. His heart literally ached, his arms heavy with the need to hold her. He just wanted to see her. Just once. And then he would go.