Lance shakes his hand and I bite back the urge to tell him he’s not related to our little family in any way. I was never married to him. He was never Lance’s father. But I stop.
“She’s beautiful,” Michael says bending over and examining Lola Grace.
The baby looks up at Michael, in a few minutes she’ll be crawling around the apartment, exploring. But for now, she’s content to stay bundled up where she is.
Michael gets up and turns around.
He hands Lance an envelope.
“Come back to work for the company and the campaign son,” he says to him. “Here is everything I have, and I think I’ve met your conditions.”
“The media hitting you that badly, huh?” Lance asks.
Michael shakes his head. “Not at all, actually,” he says. “They’ve embraced this whole breaking barriers thing I’m putting up at them. Really taking the narrative of the first openly gay mayor to heart.”
“Then why do you want me back?” Lance asks with suspicion.
Michael shrugs. “Well, considering that I have no need for a family, having the two of you there associated with me can only help in the polls,” he says. He looks out the windows. “I mean, with the city the way it is and problems always cropping up, you can never have too few positives on your side of the table.”
Lance looks at Michael for a second. There’s a lot of history between those two men. A lot of anger. Pain. Hurt.
Finally he nods his head. “I can give you another chance,” he says and Michael smiles.
The two shake hands. There’s a moment.
Then Michael turns to me. He knows better than to take a step closer.
“Jocelyn,” he says. “I’ve given Lance copies of everything I had on your father. He’s free and no longer ever has to worry.”
I nod. It’s going to take time for me to trust Michael. But if Lance is willing to try, I can match.
Michael says his goodbyes after a while and I turn to Lance. He grabs me in his arms, and the two of us walk to the floor to ceiling windows of One57. Of our new home.
Our new life. Together.
Just the way I want it.
Lance
Well, howdy, Cheryl.
That’s fucking right. I’m talking to you. Cheryl. Sitting there, with your lounge shirt and t-shirt. And, yes, you’re wearing a bra. Why? Because I told you to. So I could take it off.
No, don’t fucking look around you. I’m talking to you. There isn’t some other character called Cheryl. This is all you, baby. I’m here, just for you.
What? You’re not fucking rolling your eyes, are you? You’re not wondering to yourself ‘Oh Go
d, this is so silly’ are you? I guarantee it’s not going to be.
You did?
Oh, right, who am I? That’s the first question you had, and I didn’t even answer it. Sorry, I was just staring at your tits and thinking about what it would be like to squeeze them. You just read about me, babe. I’m Lance fucking Anders. Only, there’s no Jocelyn right now. She’s given me a chance to come out and get to know you. Although, we should really call it what it is, shouldn’t we? More like reward you, I think you’ll agree. Trust me.
Do I even need to describe myself? You know the tats that go up and down my arm. You’ve seen my pecs on the cover. You can feel my abs. What? You didn’t see the cock? You know it’s there, under my pants. Throbbing. Pulsing. Growing.
Don’t fucking worry, babe. It’s going to be all yours soon.
Just go find a quiet place where no one’s going to bother you if your cheeks get red. Because they fucking will.