Within This Frame (30 page)

“Please?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Lance grinned, and the room around them erupted in clapping as people mistakenly thought she’d agreed to a marriage proposal.

Maggie smiled, gesturing to the onlookers. “They think we’re getting married.”

He shrugged, getting to his feet and moving to his side of the table. “We’ll probably get free wine or something. Win-win situation.”

LANCE—1998

S
HE HELD ON
tighter.

As one year faded to the next, Maggie’s love filled him, healed him, and he felt the constriction of it like a noose around his neck. Even as his heart beat harder for her, his eyes sought to always find her, even as he loved her with everything he had, a part of him resented her.

The show was doing better than anyone could have expected—two seasons wrapped up and another two contracted. The cast and crew were celebrating with a yacht party before they all went their separate ways for the two months until production picked back up in July.

Maggie’s laughter floated over to him, and Lance instinctively turned her way. He went still, letting it drift along his spine. She stood across the large deck, the setting sun an accessory to her beauty. Her hair was up, the graceful lines of her neck drawing his eyes to them. Lance took in the slinky red dress she wore, swallowing hard at the way his body reacted to the mere thought of her naked.

“Stop ogling your co-star,” Benton Jamison slurred, handing a cold beer to Lance.

He took it, a dim smile on his lips. “You mean my girlfriend.”

Benton played Lance’s dad on ‘Easier Said’. Average in height, his stomach seemed to grow along with the years. Lance would bet it was all the beer he drank. His nose was wide and red, and there was a habitual flush to his face. He had balding blond hair and large black glasses.

“Better enjoy it before she comes to her senses.” Benton swayed on his feet.

Lance tapped his beer to Benton’s in agreement and took a drink.

The temperature was warm enough, but the more the sun went down, the cooler it got. Music played, mixing in with the sound of voices. The beers kept coming, and after a while, Lance had a buzz. He lost Maggie in the mass of people, and it made his stomach turn at how relieved that made him. He ambled through the dark, staying where others weren’t. Lance wasn’t good company at the moment.

Tabitha Volden, who played Maggie’s cheerleader best friend Zoe Clark on the show, stood near the restroom door. Wine in hand, black strapless dress hugging her thin frame, she smirked at him as he headed toward her. Everything about her screamed sex, from the thirst in her blue eyes to the curve of her red lips, to the way her long blond hair wildly framed her face.

“Hey, Lance,” she cooed, her back against the wall and legs partially bent in front her.

“Hanging out with your friends?”

Tabitha was cast mid-season last year, her physical appeal ranking high with male viewers. Jealous of Maggie’s actual talent as an actress, she was rude to her anytime the camera wasn’t rolling. Tabitha was popular, but she was a flake, and she knew it. She alternated between flirting with Lance and insulting him, depending on his reception of her.

“Same as you, apparently,” she retorted, pursing her lips on the rim of the stemmed glassware and tipping her head back.

“I needed to get away from everyone, too much noise,” Lance muttered.

He moved to stand beside her, looking out at the dark waters surrounding them. The harder he stared at them, the dizzier he became. It was easy to feel like nothing while endless watery depths were on all sides of him.

She snorted, gesturing to the bathroom. “Great place to choose.”

“Are you going to use it or just stand in front of it?”

Tabitha motioned him forward, one eyebrow lifting. She didn’t move, and he had to slide past her in the cramped space to get to the restroom. With his eyes locked with hers, he did. Her breasts grazed his chest and she bit her lip, hunger dilating her eyes. She was nothing to him. She was safe. She couldn’t break his heart because she’d never have it.

Lance broke their stare and entered the bathroom, ashamed that he was aroused by a woman he couldn’t stand. Taking deep breaths, he splashed water on his face, and hunched over the small sink, Lance took in his image. His eyes were unfocused, skin reddened, and his dark hair was a mess. He looked like shit. He used the toilet, washed his hands, and left, hoping Tabitha would be gone when he emerged.

She was.

Lance went in search of Maggie, needing to be reassured by her presence, to be pulled back to them. It was getting more and more necessary for him to anchor himself to Maggie. Their love didn’t seem to be enough anymore—or it was too much.

She stood with her back to him, facing the sea. The wind picked up, tossed her hair around. Lance barricaded her between his arms, his front to her back. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes as he tried to form her scent, that moment, to memory. Instinctively knowing it was Lance, Maggie melted into him, nuzzling his bicep with her cheek.

“Are you having fun?”

“Define fun,” Lance replied.

Maggie smiled against his arm.

“I want to stay here,” she said, voice soft yet loud in his ears.

“The party ends at midnight. We’ll get kicked off after that.” Lance moved his hands to her waist, wrapping himself around her to keep him tethered to her.
Don’t let me go, Maggie, don’t let me let you go.
Lance’s breaths came faster at her nearness, and he was drunk on her more than alcohol.

Maggie turned in his arms, gazing up at his face. Her eyes were bright, her breath sweet as wine as she pressed a kiss to his lips. “I want to stay with you. I don’t want to go back to Iowa for the break. I want to stay with you, Lance.”

Lance dropped his hands and stepped back. “What?”

The dull throb of his heartbeat grew louder, harder, heavier, until it was all he heard.

Maggie. All the time, Maggie. Waking up to her, sleeping with her in his arms. Seeing all her smiles. Laughing and talking with her during the day, being consumed by her at night. Days and days of Maggie. It sounded beautiful, and impossible. He couldn’t give that to her. He was eighteen years old, she was seventeen. Too much. It was too much.

Lance’s chest tightened and he put a shaking hand on his temple.

“I said I want to stay with you. We . . . talked about it before, and . . .” Her eyebrows lowered. “Is that not what you want anymore?”

He couldn’t look at her.

“Maggie,” Lance began.

“Wow. Okay. I get it.” Maggie moved away from him, her face blank. “I, um, I’m going . . . somewhere.” She looked around them, her face dismayed at the lack of escape. They were on a yacht, miles from shore. She couldn’t go anywhere. They both knew it.

“I’m going somewhere else—away from you. Don’t follow me,” Maggie said firmly, sweeping past him.

Lance turned and hurried after her. “Maggie!”

People looked at him and he pretended they weren’t there.

“Maggie, wait!”

She disappeared around the side of the boat and he caught a glimpse of her red dress on the lower level before a door shut. Lance jumped down the steps and banged open the door, startling her, and kicked it shut behind him. A cursory glance around told him they were in the bar area, crates of beer, wine, and champagne littering the floor around them. Maggie’s cheeks were blotchy, eyes red and swollen with makeup smeared around them.

Two bartenders stood frozen with alcohol in their hands. Lance glowered at them and jerked his head toward the exit. They exchanged a look, glanced at Maggie, and bolted from the room.

Sounding disgusted, Maggie muttered, “Unbelievable. You could be a rapist or a killer and they just left me here with you.”

“I’m Lance Denton.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are so full of yourself. As if everyone knows you. As if that makes you a good person.”

“It seems to be working well enough so far. We need to talk.” He crossed the room to her.

Maggie stumbled over a wadded up towel on the floor in her haste to get away from him. She turned her back on Lance, but not before he saw the devastation darkening her eyes. “Go away, Lance. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I want to be left alone.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” he cried, swinging her around to face him.

“You didn’t have to. Pretty sure your face said it all.” She yanked her arm away.

Maggie’s face said a lot as well. It said she was hurt, and worried, and scared. And angry. She was definitely angry.

Helplessness coursed through him. Lance didn’t understand how something that made him happy could also make him feel trapped.

“You can’t do this anymore, can you?” Her eyes demanded the truth. “You’re not made for relationships. You told me from the start—you don’t want to love anyone. You want freedom, and space, and variety. Admit it, Lance. Admit that you’re too scared, admit that you’re a coward.”

Frustrated, Lance tried to explain, knowing his words wouldn’t come out right, her ensuing expression saying the same. “This is hard for me. We’re young, and you want forever. You ask too much of me.”

“I’m not asking for forever. I’m asking for now, and even that seems to be too much.”

Sighing, he faced the closed door. There was a wall between them. It was always there, sometimes smaller than others, sometimes almost gone, but there. When he opened up to her last year, it fell away, and then it came back with a vengeance when he realized what he’d done, what he’d given her. Lance had slowly felt the wall being reconstructed, stronger and thicker than ever. Maggie had all the good parts of him, but that didn’t eradicate all the faults she got along with them.

“I tried to tell you.”

“You did. And you also kept telling me to give you a chance anyway.”

He turned around, offering a sardonic smile. “What can I say? I’m a jerk.”

“Only you’re not, or you don’t have to be.” She swallowed, averting her sad eyes.

Numbness coated him, making the scene, her words, making it all seem surreal. Was it really happening? Were they breaking up? Why didn’t he feel anything if they were?

“I feel trapped,” Lance confessed. “By you, by what I feel for you.”

Maggie stared at him, slowly nodding. “Relationships shouldn’t be that hard. You shouldn’t have to fight to want to be in them.”

Lance’s heart was being severed in two—one part Maggie’s, the other selfishly his.

“What’s changed since last month, when you wanted me to stay with you?”

“I don’t know.” Lance rolled his shoulders, weariness dragging them down. “This feels like a dream. A really good one, but still a dream.” He rubbed his face, dropping his hands to stare at her through bleak eyes. “Dreams always end.”

Her voice was sharp as she asked, “Do you want to break up?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know,” he said again. It felt wrong to say that. Maggie deserved a definitive answer, but Lance didn’t know what he wanted. The thought of being without her made him sick, and the thought of continuing to be with her brought on undeniable panic.

“We’ll take a break. I’ll go back to Iowa, you’ll stay here. When I come back, we can decide if we want to stay together or not. If that’s what you want.” Maggie’s words were matter-of-fact, but her hands shook, and there was a quiver to her lower lip.

Lance nodded, reprieve burning through him.

Maggie saw it, stiffening as pain slashed her features, and then rushed from the room.

***

The sun was barely up when Lance decided he couldn’t stand being away from her a second longer. The apartment he’d once shared with Mitch was now his, Mitch long gone from the show and his life. Lance could afford a bigger, nicer place, but he liked the smallness of it, and how it made him feel safe. It was also close to Maggie’s.

Maggie spent most nights with him, and last night without her had resulted in him not sleeping and instead pacing the apartment, regretting every stupid thing he’d done or not done, said or didn’t say. He couldn’t lose her. Lance loved her, and whatever else he did or did not know, he knew that. Clarity was a bitch that way. It liked to come forth when it was too late.

Clothes rumpled, hair sticking up, and tired to the point that he felt drugged, Lance stumbled down the stairs to Maggie’s. He knew Judith would be pissed at his early visit, but he didn’t care. Shivering in the cool morning air, he fisted his hand and banged on the door.

Judith answered it, her groggy eyes flaring to angry wakefulness as they came to rest on him. Her blond hair was flat on one side and she wore a black robe. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Maggie,” he croaked. “I need to see Maggie.”

She pressed her lips together, looking older than her years without the camouflage of makeup.

“Judith, come on. Let me see her. I couldn’t sleep last night. I need . . . I need to see her.”

“You broke up with her.”

“No. I don’t know.” Lance grabbed his hair and pulled. “We . . . a break. It was supposed to be a break, not a breakup.”

Her expression said there was little difference between the two.

“Can I come in?” Lance looked around her. “Maggie,” he shouted. “Maggie, I need to talk to you!”

Judith clapped a hand over his mouth and snapped, “Shut up. You’re going to wake up the whole apartment building.”

Lance jerked his head away from her touch. “Let me in, Judith.”

“She isn’t here.”

“What do you mean, she isn’t here? Where is she? When is she coming back?” Desperation pressed on his chest, called him a fool.

Judith sighed and opened the door. “Come in.”

Fear kept him frozen in place. If Judith was being nice to him, it meant something bad.

“Come on. It’s cold out.” She stepped back, closing the door after him. “Want some coffee?”

Lance stared at her.

Judith looked over her shoulder as she walked toward the kitchenette and shrugged, starting a pot of coffee. The sound of percolating coffee erupted, the scent of the brew taking over.

He looked around the apartment, searching for signs of Maggie, and not surprised to find none. The only room that had any of her in it was her bedroom. He strode down the hallway, ignoring Judith as she said something to him, and flung open the door. Lance swayed, the doorframe holding him upright when his knees gave out.