Within This Frame

by Zart, Lindy

  He couldn’t take it anymore.

  Sprinting for the room marked as hers, Lance reached for the doorknob and was stopped by a doctor. “You’re not allowed to go in there, Mr. Denton.”

  “Why?” he rasped.

  “It was the patient’s orders.”

  He rested his hands against the door and lowered his head. She had to be okay then, if she’d been lucid enough to tell someone that. That was a good thing, even as it twisted his heart that that was what she wanted.

  Lance nodded and straightened. “She’s going to be okay? She must be. Right? Please tell me.” His eyes pleaded with the doctor.

  The brown-haired man dressed in slacks and a dress shirt inclined his head. “I cannot tell you that. You look tired. Some rest would be good for you. Why don’t you go home? I’m sure someone will call you and let you know.”

  “I’ll go, as soon as I know she’s all right,” Lance said in a flat voice.

  The doctor eyed him, clasping his hands. “That’s not possible.”

  Frustrated, Lance fisted his hand and brought it to the door. “Maggie! Please, Maggie, let me see you. Let me see you and I’ll leave! Maggie.”

  The doctor grabbed his shoulder. “Step away from the door, or I’m going to call the police.” He was calm, bored even.

  Lance shrugged him off and moved with imbalanced, heavy steps. “I’m fine. I’m going.”

  He didn’t go.

  He couldn’t.

  Judith found him the next morning, hunched over in the seat in which he’d slept off and on. Lance’s eyes were on fire, his mouth dry. He went to stand, but his legs were too weak. He stared at her, bleak and broken.

  “She’s going to be okay,” she told him.

  Lance’s shoulders fell and he dropped his head to his hands, tears stinging his eyes.

  “She’s exhausted, stressed out, and not eating right. That, combined with the drugs and alcohol in her system, was too much for her body. She’s stable now, but Maggie has a long way to go before she’s healthy. It has been suggested that she see someone, a professional—someone that can help her.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered as he lifted his head. Lance didn’t see kindness in the gray eyes set on him, but he thought he saw empathy.

  “I know you still love her, messed up as the whole situation is,” Judith said, fiddling with her earlobe. “And because of that, I’m going to give you some advice.”

  Lance slowly stood, bracing himself for Judith’s words.

  “Let her live her life, Lance, and stay out of it. She won’t be able to get better unless she can move on from you, and if she’s around you, she won’t be able to do that.”

  He stared at the woman. “The show’s done.”

  Judith met his gaze. “Not officially, but yes, the show is done.”

  With tears on his cheeks, he nodded, knowing she was right. It was over. Maggie and Lance were done. It was all done.

  “Go home. Get some rest. Take care of yourself.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “Sure.”

  Lance turned away from Judith and walked out of the hospital, feeling like he left a part of himself—the best part—back in the building. He aimlessly treaded through the hospital parking lot in the frigid air, coatless and numb. Lance was vaguely aware of Donovan jumping out of his car and ushering Lance to it. He sat in the passenger seat, not speaking until Donovan asked him if Maggie was all right.

  He nodded, his throat tightening each time he tried to swallow.

  “You waited for me?” Lance stared out the windshield.

  “Yeah, man, I’m your friend. Of course I waited for you.” Donovan put the car in drive and left the parking lot.

  With his friend beside him, Lance dropped his face to his hands and broke down, finally feeling the loss of Maggie.

  MAGGIE—2010

  WHEN THE DOORBELL rang three times, right after another, Maggie paused with the coffee cup to her lips. Her pulse shot up in tempo. Only one man would be impatient and arrogant enough to ring a doorbell, not once, but three times. She hadn’t seen him since the night of the fundraiser over two weeks ago, and she hadn’t known when she would see him again.

  That night was all they’d allowed themselves to have, and Maggie had reconciled with herself that it would be enough.

  She got to her feet and started for the door. She backtracked, set down the coffee mug with fingers that shook, and headed toward the front of the house once more. Fingering her hair, she tugged at her pink sweater, checked to see that no lint was on her charcoal-colored leggings, and took a deep breath before opening the door.

  Lance leaned against the doorframe, but the customary grin was gone, eyes like lightning locked on her. His dark hair was swept back, black jacket and blue jeans hugging his frame. It was unbearable how much she’d missed him. Seeing him was cruel, and joyful, and cruel again.

  “Hello, Maggie,” he uttered in his deep voice.

  Maggie shook with the need to touch him. She swallowed and stumbled away from the door. He took that as an invitation to enter the house, grazing his body against hers as he pushed past her, and leaving pinpricks of excruciating elation in his wake.

  “H-hello,” she croaked, lowering her eyes from his frowning face.

  “I believe this belongs to you.”

  Maggie looked at his hand, saw the unmarked green case that held a disc. Her pulse went into a maddening beat and she felt ill.

  “Take it,” he enticed in a deadly voice.

  She did, keeping her gaze down.

  “Explain to me what this is.”

  “It’s a disc.” Maggie set it down on a nearby desk.

  “Yes. I see that.” Lance’s voice went from sinisterly soft to loud and jovial, a potent warning sign that he was not happy. “Thanks for clarifying. I appreciate it. Now.” Lance waited until she looked at him to continue. He was smiling, but it was feral. “Tell me why you sent it to me.”

  “It’s a CD.” Maggie clenched her hands to quell their shaking.

  Lance shook his head before she finished speaking. “No. I didn’t ask what it was. I asked why you sent it to me. Stay on track, please.”

  Maggie crossed her arms as she lifted her head.

  A faint smile lifted half of his mouth, though his eyes remained serious. “Why did you send it?”

  She opened her mouth to answer.

  “Because, when I saw the mail with your name on it, I thought all kinds of wonderful, maddening, fearful things. And then as I opened the package and stared at what was inside, I thought more things. As the days went by, I thought other things. You don’t want to know the things I thought. I’m sure none of them were accurate. Tell me. Tell me why you sent it,” he urged quietly.

  “I would if you’d ever stop talking,” she grumbled.

  “It was either that, or put my hands on you. You don’t want that,” Lance told her, moving closer.

  “I-I don’t?”

  “No.” He shook his head, the space between them falling away with each step he took.

  “Why not?”

  “If I put my hands on you, Maggie, I’ll either strangle you, or never let you go, which . . . could also result in me strangling you. That would be bad.” He tilted his head. “I think it would be bad. Right? That would be bad? Yes. That would be bad.”

  Annoyance set her jaw forward. “You’re not making any sense and I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

  “Why did you send me the disc,” he roared, his face twisted with frustration, and behind that, fear.

  Maggie blinked, reaching out a hand, but Lance was already moving away.

  Lance paced the span of the foyer as she watched, helpless and unsure. “Because, to me, sentimental and weak as I am, hope had me thinking it was to reach out to me, that maybe you missed me, or were giving me some kind of sign that, I don’t know, that you care about me—or want more than just friendship from me, that maybe you want me.”

  He paused to glare at he
r. “Stupid, I know.”

  “Lance, wait a minute.”

  He resumed pacing, gesturing above his head as he talked. Lance paused by the staircase, stared up it, and then continued. “Then I thought, maybe it’s been about revenge the whole time, that you’ve been playing me, that you never really forgave me, that you wanted to torture me some more because of the stupid, stupid things I did as a kid, but then I thought, Maggie can’t be that cruel. The time I’ve been here was real. We both changed, matured, and got over the past—plus, we had great sex. Multiple times. I went back to thinking maybe you sent it as a way to let me know . . . something. I don’t know what.”

  Lance stopped. His stance beseeched, questioned, and longed. She felt his need through the air that separated them.

  “But that’s all you sent me. A disc. No note. Nothing. I have no idea what you’re doing, or why you sent it. I’m lost. I’ve been driving myself insane wondering, and thinking, and hoping, and—and going back to wondering.” He swallowed. “We didn’t give each other promises. We didn’t say a single thing about the future, about the possibility of one, and I . . . I told myself I could deal with that, that I had to deal with that.”

  “Lance,” she tried again.

  “But then you sent me the CD . . . and then I went through all the crazy scenarios in my head, and then . . . then it didn’t even matter anymore, because I thought, if Maggie sent that to me, then I have a reason to go to her. You cannot imagine how evilly giddy that made me. Just to see you, be near you. But damn, it’ll be hard to stay away once I leave again.”

  “Lance!” Maggie grabbed his wrists and squeezed. “Listen to me, okay?”

  He looked at her, blinking as fog lifted from his eyes. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’m trying,” she said with exasperation.

  “Well, quit stalling and get it over with.” He scowled at her like he hadn’t been monopolizing the conversation for the last ten minutes.

  Maggie smiled, touching a wayward strand of hair near his temple. “Did you play it?” She clapped a hand over his mouth when it opened. “Yes or no.” She gave him a pointed look before removing her hand. “Yes or no.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was too damn scared to, all right! I’m terrified to play that CD.”

  She frowned.

  He sighed and ran a trembling hand through his hair. “What if it’s hours and hours of you screaming how much you despise me? Or—or putting a hex on me? Or . . . I don’t know . . . what if it’s country music?”

  Maggie laughed at the horrified look on his face. “Let me play it for you, okay?”

  Lance looked unsure of the smartness of that.

  Shaking her head, she went to the den and put the CD in the player, pushed the ‘play’ button, and then turned. Lance stood directly behind her, eyes dark with need. His eyebrows lowered as he studied her face. He put his hands on her waist and dug in his fingers, dropping his forehead to hers. Maggie held still, breaths constricted, heart hammering. He was restrained volatility, shaking with the longing she reciprocated.

  “We have had a lot of firsts and lasts,” he said thickly.

  Maggie’s face crumpled and she was glad that he couldn’t see it. “We have.”

  “I want all of my firsts and lasts to be with you from now on, and no one else.”

  A small sob left her and Maggie pressed her cheek hard to his, feeling his cheekbone against hers. “I want the same.”

  ‘Always’ by Bon Jovi started to play.

  Lance’s grip became painful and he took a shuddering breath. “That’s what you sent me?”

  She nodded jerkily, her throat too tight to speak.

  “You just killed me,” he said hoarsely.

  Maggie lifted her head and looked into Lance’s stricken, hopeful eyes.

  “Is there a chance for us to be together again?” he asked.

  “I want there to be,” she told him.

  “I do too. I didn’t think it was possible.”

  She brushed silky black hair from Lance’s face, gaze riveted to his. “Sometimes we get to decide our endings, our beginnings, and everything in between. I want this to be our new beginning—with Bon Jovi playing our song in the background.”

  Maggie laughed softly as Lance grinned and kissed her cheek.

  “Always,” he softly mocked.

  LANCE—2013

  “ARE YOU READY to do this?” Maggie asked, looking anxious as her wine-colored eyes met his. Her hair was up, showing off her sweet features, and the salmon-colored dress she wore made her skin glow. She got prettier as the years went. And Lance—Lance got more and more content.

  “Yeah. Sure. How bad can it be?” he returned, swallowing thickly.

  She smiled reassuringly at him and clasped his hand, her wedding band digging into his palm. He liked the feel of it, knowing there was physical proof that Maggie was his. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ever be letting her go again. When he died, his cold, lifeless body would have to be pried away from her, because even then, he’d still be holding her. Lance supposed that was a bit morbid, but true, nonetheless.

  “You’re going to be amazing, Lance.”

  It was a warm spring day, the landscape around them cast in varying shades of green shrubbery. He never would have guessed he’d be happiest in the country in Ohio, but then, he hadn’t known much when he was younger. Lance followed her gaze to the grassy turf, seeing teeth and claws as shrill sounds came from the beings before them. The sun was hidden behind clouds, cooling the air but somehow missing Lance. He swiped his free hand across his damp forehead and swallowed again.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because you’re an amazing guy,” Maggie said.

  “What if I say the wrong thing?”

  “You won’t.”

  “What if my hair looks bad?”

  She laughed, tugging on a strand near his neck. Sharply sweet sensation erupted along his scalp. “Your hair never looks bad. It’s very annoying, if you must know. Now stop worrying. You’re going to be great, like always.”

  He turned to her, wanting to doubt her words. The conviction in her eyes told him not to try it. Maggie’s faith in him made him feel unconquerable, like a superhero whose only role in life was to have the love of one woman, to prove again and again that he was better with her than he ever was without. It wasn’t hard to do. He was better.

  “The camera crew is ready,” his wife prompted, nodding to where multiple people and gadgets waited.

  “Look at them.” Lance pointed to the blanket. “Uncivilized little creatures. They’re vicious heathens,” he whispered just as one kicked the other in the leg.

  Maggie laughed, the sound twisting his insides in a welcome hurt. Any day he heard her laughter was a guaranteed good day. There were so many empty, worthless years where he would have given anything to hear it, or merely her voice—years where he would have done anything to pretend he still had her love. He didn’t have to pretend anymore. He had it, he cherished it.

  “They’re probably going to pull my hair and bite me the whole time. What will the viewers think?”

  “They’ll think you’re much cooler now than you were as a teenager.” She stepped away and patted his arm.

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “This was your idea,” Maggie reminded him.

  “I know, and I regret it. How are we going to get through this? They’re going to eat us alive.” Lance shot her a panicked look. “Were they fed?”

  “Yes, about ten minutes ago. You are so cute when it comes to the twins. Let’s go, before they notice the film crew and want to play with them.” Maggie threaded her fingers through his and tugged.

  It took half a dozen steps to reach Clark and Josephine. Copper-haired and blue-eyed, the one-year-olds looked angelic but were, in actuality, tiny deviants. Nora had been less than thrilled to find out that she wouldn’t be the only one in the fam
ily with twins. Then she saw Clark and Josephine, and as with all who came in contact with them, she was theirs. Lance and Maggie belonged to them from the moment they knew the twins existed.

  The twins sat on a red blanket in the backyard of their Ohio country home—Josephine in a blue dress and Clark in tan pants and a blue shirt—and babbled to one another, causing Lance’s heart to squeeze and release.

  One look and Lance caved, a single cry and he gave them whatever they wanted. He was worthless against their charm. They were smelly, continually leaking, noise-making, fleshy blobs—and he loved them, and Maggie, with overwhelming intensity. With his little family, life was a dream he never thought he’d have.

  Lance parked himself on the blanket behind Maggie, reaching for the closest Denton baby, and commenced to cover Clark in kisses. He squealed and kicked his legs, landing one of his shoed feet to Lance’s groin. Lance grunted, giving Maggie an agonized look. She laughed and stroked Josephine’s head of soft hair as their daughter waved her hands up and down and blew bubbles with the drool leaving her mouth.

  “Are you ready?” the interviewer, Kirk Laughlin, asked, smiling at the babies.

  From the way his brown eyes lit up when he looked at them, Lance could tell he was smitten. Seconds—it only took seconds. He already knew their teenage years were going to suck the sanity right out of his brain.

  “Yes,” Maggie said. “I think so.”

  She looked at Lance and he nodded.

  The interviewer knelt beside them. “We’ll start by going through the history of ‘Easier Said’ and how you two came to be where you are now, what marriage and having a set of twins is like. Then we’ll talk about the success of the program the two of you co-run with Diane Friar.”

  Kirk looked at Maggie. “I also want to make sure we mention Smiley Soaps—your home-based soap making company. Everything you make is donated to kids in need, and I like how you incorporated workshops into the Berryhill House Project so that kids can make their own to take home. It’s teaching them about responsibility, and also gives them a sense of accomplishment. It seems like a simple thing, but it means a lot, Mrs. Denton. What you’re doing is commendable.”