“It’s work,” he said, and turned his attention to the large window.
Chantelle poked her tongue into her cheek and inhaled a deep breath. “Do you still want to be there?”
His gaze diverted back to her. “For now, Chantelle, it works for me.”
She sat back in her seat. “Okay, I won’t ask anymore.”
He sighed. “I don’t mind you asking, it’s just been…”
“A long time since we talked.”
He bobbed his head. “I don’t know how to open up like you do. That was always your strong point. You know how to make people comfortable. You talk as if no time has passed. As if…”
“If what?”
He rubbed his forehead. “Never mind.”
Chantelle reached to pull a napkin from the overstuffed holder, but she ended up ripping it. Lance chuckled.
“You could have helped,” she said.
“And miss the show?” He grinned.
“So I’m great for a good time, laughs, and a pretty face.” She could bite her tongue for letting something so personal slip from her mouth. “Never mind. That did not come out right.”
“I guess I’m not the only one who’d rather keep things to himself,” he said.
She wrung her hands together, refusing to respond.
Chapter 11
Television sets affixed to the walls in front of the cardio equipment: treadmills, stationary bikes, stair climbers, and elliptical machines. Lance jogged in place on the treadmill as Grant worked with the elliptical machine. Music along with heavy breathing, grunts, and groans occupied his hearing. Sweat slid down Lance’s neck and back while the pleasant burn of his muscles took over. His feet pounded the treadmill.
Nothing personal. The thought repeated in his mind like a commercial. He exhaled puffs of breath. He needed to slow down, but he was past no return.
Only a few more weeks and his troubles would be over. Trouble? Not the best way to describe his situation, but how did a man handle his future wife and ex at the same time?
He had friends that took pride in having more than one woman, but for Lance, it only increased the tension in his head. Thank goodness Chantelle had moved on with her life. He couldn’t handle it if she harbored bitterness towards him.
He ran harder. Sweat dripping from his nose. His t-shirt clung to his skin. He pictured himself walking into her hospital room. He had panicked seeing the blood. Lance called 911 that night since Chantelle had needed help. He’d been clueless. Making those fateful steps to her room had been brutal.
It was the right thing to do—at least that’s what his parents convinced him.
“You have your whole life ahead of you,” his mother had said.
His father had only nodded. “Listen to us, son. You and Chantelle are young. I’m proud of you for wanting to do that right thing, but this is too much for teenagers.”
Lance had sat in the empty hospital room with them, listening to their opinion on his relationship. If he had stayed, how would he support Chantelle? Lance hadn’t gotten that far. Then everything changed.
“Want to slow down there, bro.” Grant panted.
Lance’s muscles twitched as they reached the end of their endurance. He blocked out the memories. If only he could run from his problems. If only he could stop the tug-a-war inside. It tempted him to have Andrea to call off the wedding and meet her in Paris. They could get married with no hassle.
He huffed. She’d never go for it. Andrea loved the camera and being in the spotlight. Lance despised it. Why did the world need to know?
He asked her to marry him, and she said yes. Simple. Why did their wedding guest list have over five hundred people? Half of them, he didn’t know, but between Andrea’s celebrity friends, his friends and family, and his father’s business partners, not inviting them would do more damage than good.
Chantelle’s face flashed in his mind once more. She would’ve listened to him, instead of brushing his feelings under the rug. He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone listen. He didn’t have to fight for his place with her. She always understood. Except that one time.