“Will you play for me when I get done changing?” Rip nods, and I turn quickly, making my way down the hall to catch Lance.
“Lance.” I’m at his back at his bedroom door. He pauses with his hand on the knob. Without a second thought, I wrap my arms around his waist and lean in, inhaling his scent. He smells like evergreen, and I become instantly addicted. He doesn’t pull away from my touch, he just lingers there with me.
I’m sorry. I love you. Please, give me another chance to prove I mean it. But I don’t say it out loud, words seem pretty useless these days. Actions speak a lot louder. And he needs actions, he needs solidarity because he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s clear to me he’s gotten to the point where he believes in trade. That in order to be successful in one area of life, you have to let go of another. He believes that all things can’t go well at once. And that’s the most heartbreaking part of it. I too thought that at one time, but I’m here to prove it’s simply not true. Warm hands cover mine as he finally speaks.
“Thank you for your help.”
I squeeze him tighter, willing him to open up, to give me something, anything.
But he releases me.
“I’m going to go help Trevor with dinner,” I whisper at his back.
I’ve been in the kitchen for hours, making Jeannie’s apple pie. I pulled it from an old recipe box after I did the dinner dishes and just got to work. Lance ate in his room—to avoid me—I’m sure. I got close today. I can’t remember a time in our whole relationship where he resisted me so damned much, even when we’d had an argument.
It’s not about you.
It’s not about you.
It’s not about you.
But it feels personal. I fucking love him. I deprived myself of two years without him, the whole time unsure if he felt the same ache. Him coming to New York was affirmation. And now the space is killing me. I don’t want to sleep down the hall from Lance. I want my place at his side. A couple of years ago, he made love to me all night long in that bedroom he’s holed up in. Now it seems like a lifetime ago. I’m close to cracking after just a week.
I need him. I want him so badly I’m aching, limbs heavy, my center a constant throb. He brought that part of me back to life.
The need is debilitating. It’s all resistance to us. I’ve made him smile, laugh, and that’s been no easy feat. Even with those leaps, it feels like he’s sinking further into himself. I pull the second pie out of the oven just as Jeannie walks in the kitchen after her shift.
“Hey, you,” I say, pouring her a cup of coffee. “I borrowed apples, cinnamon sugar, butter, flour, an egg, and some electricity. I’ll pay you back.”
She grins at me, her posture showing her fatigue as she takes the coffee and kisses my temple.
“Thanks, darlin’. And I’ll settle for a slice.”
“Coming up.”
“How was today?”
“I did a ballet for the cows, killed a coy
ote, and baked two pies.”
Jeannie throws her head back with a laugh. “Bet you never thought that would ever be your day’s summary.”
“It’s different,” I grin. “That’s for sure.”
“Do you like it?”
“For the most part, yes.”
She smirks into her coffee. “But not at night.”
I bite my lips. Do I really want to be talking sex with Lance’s mom?
Hell to the no. “You could say that, yes. It’s a bit lonely.”
“Hang in there. He loves apple pie.”
I grin. “I know.”