Within This Frame

by Zart, Lindy

  “Then what are you so upset about?”

  In a small voice, she asked, “Why can’t you tell me you love me?”

  “I . . . I do.” Lance swallowed, fisting the sheet in his hands.

  “Then say it!” she yelled, slapping her palms to the bed.

  A roar formed in his ears as his heartbeats came faster. Sweat broke out on his skin and he swallowed, opening his mouth. “Maggie.”

  “Say it.”

  He said it, the words pulled from him with relief and regret. “I love you, Maggie,” he said brokenly. “I love you so much.”

  “Why was that so hard to say?” she whispered, touching his face.

  “Because it . . . it doesn’t just scare me—it petrifies me. The people I love—they don’t love me back. Or I—or I can’t handle it when they do. And . . .” He drove fingers through his hair, the painful tug of it welcome. “I have this fear that you’re going to go away, now that I’ve said it out loud.”

  Maggie fell on him, the warm sleekness of her figure against his side making his head fuzzy with desire. “I’m not going away. I won’t go away unless I don’t have a choice.”

  Lance held her tightly to him, playing with a lock of hair, touching her cheek. Kissing her forehead. Sweeping his fingers down her arm. He needed to constantly touch her.

  “I want to do it again,” he said almost timidly. “I want to do it better. Are you—is that okay?”

  “Please,” Maggie said immediately.

  Lance laughed. “Was it that bad?”

  “It . . . was how I imagined it to be, but also not.”

  “I won’t hurt you this time. I’ll take my time,” he promised, and he did, loving her with reverence, loving her with all he had to give.

  MAGGIE—2010

  “WE’RE GOING SHOPPING. You need a dress and I need a suit.”

  Maggie set down the book she was reading and looked at Lance. “I have dresses. Go away.”

  Lance plopped down on the couch, his leg against hers, and flung his arm around her shoulders, bringing his sweet, masculine scent with him. “Maggie, I have this feeling that the dresses you own are outdated and frumpy.”

  Pretending her pulse didn’t speed up at his nearness, she removed his arm from her. “So?”

  “So my date can’t wear outdated, frumpy dresses. It’s bad for my image.”

  “Your date?” Maggie stood and narrowed her eyes at him. “Who said I was going to be your date for the fundraising dinner?”

  “Well, why wouldn’t you want to be?” Egotistical, as always.

  “Um . . . because I already have one?”

  Lance tilted his head and studied her features, eyes trailing down her previously soft but currently toned form. Instead of feeling self-conscious, she allowed his perusal. Maggie would never be perfectly proportioned or one of those people that had close to no body fat—and she found she was okay with that. She decided to love her curves, and when she saw her reflection in the mirror, she smiled instead of grimacing. Maggie hugged herself, outwardly, inwardly. That acceptance and confidence did wonders for her self-esteem.

  Maggie met Lance’s gaze, saw the faint smile on his mouth.

  “You do not.”

  “I do,” she retorted, her skin heating up.

  “Well, you do have one, yes, but you didn’t already have one.” Lance stood, purposely brushing against her as he passed. “I’m your date, and you need a dress.”

  He offered his arm when she turned.

  She stared at the appendage.

  “I know, I’d be afraid to touch me too. It’s okay, I’ll let you if you promise to grope me in all the right places.” Lance’s eyes twinkled.

  Maggie took his arm, scowling as they walked. “You can’t just tell me that I’m your date, you know. That’s not how it works.”

  He patted her arm. “It is with me.”

  She grabbed her purse from the entryway and unhinged her arm from his. “Which is probably why you don’t have a date and have to rely on intimidation to get one.”

  “Oh, I had options, but I didn’t want anyone else as a date,” Lance said, opening the front door and stepping outside.

  Maggie contemplated slamming the door in his face and locking it, but he was right—she did need a dress. And she didn’t have a date. Or she guessed she did. Shaking her head, she walked out the door.

  “Our clothing choices are limited on such short notice,” Maggie muttered.

  “I don’t need anything fancy,” Lance assured her.

  “That’s good, because I will be the least fancy version of a Lance Denton date.”

  It was a cool day, the colors of the houses dim and dark without the sun. Maggie zipped up her jacket and started the four-mile walk to the strip mall. Lance gave her a grin as they crossed the street.

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “I like that you’re taking the initiative and walking. I’m proud of you, Maggie. You’re going to do great on your own.”

  Biting back a flippant response, she said stiffly, “Thank you.”

  “And remember, each morning you wake up is a new chance to meet your goals, even if you slipped up the day before. Don’t feel bad about that. It’s going to happen. Just keep going at it. You’ll do fine.”

  Lance prepping her for the time when he would be gone made her throat close, but Maggie nodded and pretended like she wasn’t going to miss him. They had a beautiful, horrible history, and they each had come a long way since their teens. She glanced at him, wondering how he’d been able to get past the issues he’d had with his mom and dad.

  A leaf fluttered across the sidewalk and Maggie focused on that. “How did you go from a damaged boy to the—for the most part—levelheaded man you are?”

  “For the most part?” he repeated.

  “Well, I mean, you’re still conceited.” She smiled sweetly.

  “Years of therapy.”

  Maggie snorted.

  Lance lifted an eyebrow at her.

  Her eyes froze on his face. “Oh. You’re serious.” She faced forward. “Well, I had the same, so . . . yeah.”

  They stood at the stoplights, waiting for the crosswalk light to come on. Maggie tucked hair behind her ears and looked at the houses around them so she didn’t have to look at Lance. They were all different shapes, different sizes, full of different people. All that considering them did was make her wonder more things about the man beside her, and want to look at Lance more. He had a life, a world, outside of hers, and she wondered what it was like, if he was happy.

  She asked, “You live in Ohio. Why there?”

  “Why not?” Their gazes clashed for a second before he turned his eyes ahead. “I was looking for houses online, and that was where I found the one I wanted.”

  They crossed the road.

  “What was so special about a house in Ohio?” she asked.

  “The house is in the country. It’s . . . nice there. Peaceful.”

  Maggie’s smile dropped to a frown. Everyone needed a place that felt like home. Lance was as human as anyone else, with the same wants, needs, losses, and fears. His outward arrogance hid a lot, but that was no excuse for her or anyone else to stop realizing everyone was as vulnerable and imperfect as the rest of them.

  “Why did you say you didn’t have a home?” At his blank look, she elaborated. “The first day you showed up. You said you didn’t have a home.”

  “I wanted to be close to you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?”

  She cleared her throat, eyes on the looming brown building up the hill. “The fundraiser . . . what do you know about it?”

  The guests were to stay at a bed and breakfast in Missouri with the dinner held in a banquet room of the house. As far as fundraising dinners went, it was a small event, seemingly more laidback than others. The sponsors of the dinner were ones Maggie had heard of before, but didn’t know a lot about.

  “All of the invited guests are from fam
ily-themed shows that are no longer on the air. The money donated will be put to programs that help reinforce positive self-awareness in children.”

  “How do you know all that? The invitation was pretty vague.”

  “Lucky guess,” was his deflective answer. “I heard there will be a couple guest speakers as well. Apparently one of them is an arrogant prick. I’d probably avoid him at all costs.”

  Maggie blinked. “Oh? Who’s that?”

  “We’re here,” he said enthusiastically, gesturing to the parking lot that led up to the shopping center. “Where should we go first?” Lance hurried his pace.

  After a brief pause in which Maggie questioned his excitement to enter a clothing store, she jogged to reach him. “What’s the rush?”

  “Nothing. I just like to watch you run when you don’t have on a sports bra.”

  Maggie gave him a look when he winked at her.

  They entered a department store, soft piano music flowing from speakers in the walls. Rows of clothes with people rifling through them greeted Maggie and Lance. It smelled like a war on multiple perfumes was taking place.

  Lance fingered a lacy white bra as they walked past the lingerie section. “Remember that night I took you to the party on the beach? The first time we really hung out?”

  A flash of gray skies, warm air, the scent of salt and water, the sound of crashing waves, hit her. Piercing blue eyes that could stare through her, a velvety smooth voice that always seemed to know the right words to say to Maggie. Lance was already a mighty force to behold, even at the age of sixteen.

  A small smile touched her lips. “I remember.”

  “That night, after I left you at your apartment, I went back to the party.”

  “I know. You told me the next day when we went on the boogie boards. I commented on how hungover you looked.”

  “I never told you, but, I went back with the intention of hooking up with someone. Anyone, really. What I felt for you was already screwing with my head, and we’d barely hung out. Plus, I was embarrassingly horny, also because of you. I figured if I drank enough, I wouldn’t care who it was. I needed to prove to myself that I was in control, even if it was bullshit.”

  “You don’t have to tell me this. It was years ago. It doesn’t matter.” Maggie paused, looking down. “Anyway, when I saw you the next day, I already figured you had been with someone. You were testy with me. I assumed it was because you regretted any of the interest you’d shown in me.”

  “That wasn’t it.” He laughed abruptly. “I was pissed the next day because I couldn’t do it. I got shit-faced to the point where I shouldn’t have cared about anything, but I still managed to think of you.”

  Maggie stopped by the dress shirts, one the same shade of Lance’s blue eyes grabbing her attention. She touched the soft material. “I guess I should be flattered, right?”

  “No, that’s not why I’m telling you this,” he said, shaking his head. “I kissed a girl, but that was it. I left with a cup full of beer in each hand and sat in the sand outside the apartment building, glaring at your bedroom window as I drank them. I already knew I was in trouble, and I was fighting it.”

  “That wasn’t stalker-ish, at all,” Maggie muttered, the young girl inside her rejoicing at the confession.

  Lance held up two fingers. “Slightly.”

  “But you eventually got over your pining for me and found someone. Anne was her name, right?”

  He shrugged. “If you recall, it didn’t last long.”

  “They never lasted long.”

  “No. Not until you.”

  “And even that didn’t last all that long.”

  His close-lipped expression combined with the feral look in his eyes dared her to argue his next words. “Some could argue the evidence that alludes to a possibility of never-ending pining for you.”

  Maggie sucked in a breath. “Evidence? What . . . what are you talking about?”

  He abruptly left her and found a salesperson and told her his measurements, then set about finding appropriate clothing, leaving Maggie alone with her thoughts. After aimlessly strolling around the endless dress options, Maggie decided to stop dwelling on Lance and pay attention to what she was bypassing. She chose four different styled and colored dresses and went to the dressing room.

  “Did you find something?” Lance asked forty minutes later, garment bag slung over his wide shoulder.

  Maggie nodded, clutching closer the bag with the department store logo on it. She wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice, and she was nervous about showing anyone else the dress. It fit to her form in a way she wouldn’t have liked mere months ago.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “We walk back?”

  “How about some dinner first?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know.” Maggie swallowed. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why?” he said softly, opening the door for her. “Afraid you’ll enjoy your time with me?”

  “No.” That was exactly it. Maggie felt like she was being sucked back into the past, but it wasn’t the same. It was more honest, more tangible.

  “Then what’s the problem? There’s a nice diner a few blocks away. I found it one day when I was running.”

  Face red, Maggie said, “Okay. I guess I can tolerate your presence for a little while longer today.”

  “Oh, come on,” Lance scoffed as he pointed in the direction they were to go. “Like you haven’t been checking me out the whole time.”

  “You wish.”

  Lance grinned. “No wishing necessary.”

  Twenty minutes later found Maggie and Lance seated at a table in a well-known, reputable establishment. It was the kind of place in which men proposed to women and people held anniversary celebrations. The atmosphere was romantic, the lights dim in a room where small tables were coupled with candles. Instrumental music played in the background.

  Maggie stared at Lance.

  “What?” he asked, perusing a menu.

  “This is not a diner.”

  “Close enough.” He looked up and smiled.

  “This is the kind of place you take someone you’re in love with.”

  “We can pretend, right?”

  Maggie didn’t reply.

  Lance set down the menu and met her gaze. “We’re going to eat. That’s all. Nothing else is happening here. You know that. I know that. Right?”

  She swallowed. “Right.”

  “I’ve been wondering something.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows and waited.

  “Did you . . . think of me much?” Lance glanced at her before turning his gaze to the table.

  “All the time,” she admitted.

  “I thought of you.” He smiled. “Was it all bad?”

  “No. A lot of it was good.”

  “Did you love Jeff Mitchell?” Lance picked up a fork and set it back down.

  The waitress chose that moment to appear, taking their drink orders.

  Maggie could tell by the way Lance watched her that he wasn’t going to let the question go unanswered. With the waitress gone, she had no reason to delay.

  She took a deep breath. “I did.”

  He nodded, swallowing. “He’s a lawyer now, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you two get in contact again?”

  Maggie took a sip from her water glass. “He was in the area for work and looked me up.”

  Lance smiled, but it touched his lips and nothing more. He stared at Maggie, the intensity of his gaze singeing her heart. “Why did you tell him no?”

  “I loved him, but not like he deserved.” Maggie took another drink, her throat dry.

  “I can understand that,” he said after a long pause.

  “Can you?”

  “You loved me, and I didn’t feel like I had that right. And I loved you, but you deserved so much more than what I could give then.”

  “Then?”

  “
Then,” he whispered, eyes locked on her face.

  Uncomfortable with the implication of his words, Maggie looked around the room, anywhere but at Lance. “You could have broken up with me. You didn’t have to sleep with someone to end things.”

  “I was drunk. I was stupid. How many people make good decisions while drinking? It’s not an excuse,” he added as her expression turned cold. “But I was confused and scared and I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what to do with that depth of emotion, Maggie. You said I terrified you, well, you terrified me too.”

  Maggie studied Lance’s chiseled features, and he waited, letting her. Her chest was compressed with ghosts from the past, and she was tired of having them haunt her. She was exhausted from carrying that heaviness around for so long. Why they hadn’t worked was becoming less important to what they’d had, even if it hadn’t lasted. That girl had loved that boy, and that boy had loved that girl.

  “You still scare me,” she finally said, offering a wobbly smile.

  “Ditto,” he replied softly.

  They went quiet, each left alone to their thoughts. Maggie looked down, each breath of air painfully pulled from her. Her hands quivered and she clasped them together to quell it. Would she change anything, if she could go back? No. She wouldn’t. And accepting that was a step forward instead of back.

  Lance abruptly stood up, moved to her side of the table, and crouched beside her. He pushed her chair out so that she faced him, and looked at her with adoration. Her pulse careened sideways, off track and heading toward obliteration.

  “Stop it. Stop looking at me like that. What are you doing?” she demanded, panic setting in. He reached for her hands and Maggie snatched them back. “Go away. Go. Go back to your side. Right now. People are looking.”

  “Maggie Smiley,” Lance began.

  “If you say one thing I do not want to hear, it will be bad for you. Very bad.”

  Lance offered his hands again, palms up, and waited with his eyebrows lifted. “The longer you delay this, the more embarrassing it’s going to get for you.”

  Glaring at him, Maggie slapped her hands onto his. They were calloused, warm, and safe. Those hands had touched her, caressed her, written words onto her skin. Those hands had loved her as much as the man with whom they belonged.