“No, no. Absolutely not, Poppy. I fucking promise. No.”
My heart seems to dislodge from my throat a bit. “Then I don’t understand what’s so dire about this situation that I need to avoid all my social media.”
“You remember the dick on Miller’s forehead, and how nothing really happened but it looked like something happened?”
My heart is right back up in my throat again. “Yes.”
“It’s kinda like that.”
“I see.”
“So I’d really appreciate it if you could wait for me. So I can explain before you decide you never want to see me again, ’cause I don’t wanna be that guy who sits outside your house waiting until you come home so I can talk to you.”
“You’re making it seem bad again.”
“Shit. Sorry. I’m not trying to. I just need a chance to explain before you make any kind of decision.”
He makes it sound so final, like whatever I’m going to see will end this. Us.
“You do realize how much more this makes me want to look, right?”
“I get that, but I’m banking on you being the good, rule-abiding girl you usually are and waiting for me. Will you do that? Wait for me?”
I think about the conversation we had before he left and how so many people in his life seem to have abandoned him when he needed them most.
“I’ll wait for you.”
“Promise?”
I sigh. “Promise.”
“Thank you, precious. I gotta get on the plane. I’ll see you soon.”
And then he’s gone, and I’m left staring at my phone, wondering exactly what could’ve happened to make him react like that. I can look right now and find out. But Lance is right about me—I’m a rule follower. I made a promise, and I won’t break it.
I’m so glad I have back-to-back appointments all day. Otherwise I would crack and check all my social media feeds, like I promised I wouldn’t. Lunch was a challenge.
I haven’t said anything to April, partly because I haven’t had more than four seconds alone with her, and also because she is not a rule follower and will persuade me to check. The anxiety is killing me. I feel like I’ve had a thousand cups of coffee when I’ve only had two.
I’m in the middle of changing the sheets when the door to my room bursts open, and Lance comes barreling in. He slams the door shut. His eyes are wide, his jaw is tight, and his hair is a burned field in a windstorm. He looks incredible, and like his anxiety rivals mine.
He crosses the room in two long strides and takes my face in his hands.
“Just in case,” he mutters, then crushes his mouth to mine.
He smells like plane and faintly of aftershave. I try to protest, because seriously, what the hell is going on—but his tongue slips in and stops any words. He groans, despondent and low as his hand slides around to cup the back of my head. The other finds my waist, pulling me tight against him.
It feels so, so good. Five days of brief conversations and heated messages, five days of waiting for him to come home, and here he is. But there’s weight in his return, and bad things are coming. I can feel it in his desperation.
I put my hands on his chest and push. He makes a tormented sound, and his tongue sweeps my mouth once, twice more before he pulls away. But he doesn’t let me go. He searches my face and caresses my cheek with gentle fingers.
“You didn’t look.”
“I said I wouldn’t.”
“I was still worried. How much longer are you here? Can I wait? Can I take you home when you’re done?”
“I have my car here, and I still have three more appointments.” I push on his chest again until he finally lets me go.
“So you’re here until, like, five?” He rakes a hand through his hair.
“About that, yes.”
“I guess I should’ve asked that when I had you on the phone earlier, aye? Can I still wait?”
“I have a few minutes between clients now.” I don’t know that I can take three more hours of this kind of torture.
“I don’t wanna do this here.”
“None of this is reassuring, Lance. You showing up like this, the call this morning, the secrecy. You get that, right?”
“I do. I get it. I know I’m stressing you out. I just want enough time to explain.”
His anxiety is enough to make me concede. “You can meet me at my house, if you want.”
“Can I take your phone?”
I raise a brow, and he closes his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Sorry. That was a stupid thing to ask. Should I wait outside or—” He bites his lip.
Against my better judgment, I relent. “Let me get my keys for you.”
I grab them from my purse. When I turn back, his hands are jammed into his pockets. I dangle the keys from my finger.
He takes my hand and the keys and brings my knuckle to his lips. “I missed you.”
I stare up at him, trying to decide if I’m an idiot for doing as he asks. I missed him too, but telling him that now doesn’t seem like an option.
“I’ll be waiting for you. Will you still wait for me?”
“Yes. I’ll wait for you.”
When he leans in to kiss me, I give him my cheek. His lips linger there anyway.
I arrive home at 5:09. Lance is sitting on the front steps. He’s showered and changed since I saw him earlier. He’s wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt that makes his pale eyes look even paler, and a bouquet of flowers and bag of Jelly Babies sit on the stoop beside him. He stands, running his hands down his denim-covered thighs. He reaches down and grabs the gifts.
“Did the key not work?”
“It did. I wanted to be out here when you got home.” He holds out the flowers.
“Is this to soften the blow?” I try to make it come out light, but it doesn’t. The waver in my voice is far too telling.
Lance winces as if my words cause him physical pain. I realize maybe they do, because his reality as a child was exactly that.
I take the flowers and start to move past him to open the door, but he gets there first, twisting the knob, then stepping out of the way. He follows me through to the kitchen where I set the flowers on the counter.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Just water, please.” His fingers move to his mouth. He stops himself and jams them back in his pockets.
Neither of us speaks as I fill two glasses with ice and water, pushing one toward Lance. Leaving the flowers on the counter, I dig around in my purse until I find my phone.
“Do you want to have a seat?” I motion to the living room.
My stomach is a churning mess. I haven’t eaten a thing today. My mouth is dry, and I want to get this over with so I can handle whatever is coming at me.
“Do you want to change first or anything? I know you’ve had a long day.”
“I just want to have this conversation.”
“Right. Aye. Okay.” Lance sits in the middle of the couch, forcing me into close proximity.
I angle my shoulders toward him, but keep my knees far away from his. I take a sip of water, but my stomach revolts even against that, so I set it down on the table and grip my phone with both hands.
Lance takes a huge gulp of water before he sets the glass down and turns to me, his expression reflecting my fear. “So you know that woman I was involved with a while back?”
My body feels like it’s going numb and hyper-activating at the same time. “The complicated one.”
“Yeah. It was. It is.”
“Is? As in still?” The conversation I overheard the night before he left, which has been plaguing me the entire time he’s been gone, plays through my head. I hate that I didn’t confront him about it then.
He nods. His palms smooth up and down his thighs again. I want to put my hand over his to stop the action, because it makes me even more nervous.
“She lives in LA.”
A chill runs down my spine. “Where you played last night.”
“Aye.”
“And she was there?”
“I told her I didn’t want to see her, but she’s not so good at listening, and she used to work with the team, so she always comes by when we’re in town.”
“She worked with the team?” I don’t understand how he could’ve been involved with someone he worked with.
“We trained with her.”