Page 82 of Lance

Willa

Ispend the afternoon and evening feeling out of sorts. Between the drama with my dad in the morning and the surprise appearance of Angie’s mom, I’m definitely on edge. Add to that the fact that Lance doesn’t come home and doesn’t answer his phone, and I’m feeling emotionally drained bydinnertime.

Simon seems to be able to tell that something’s off. He doesn’t chatter as animatedly as usual, instead following me around the house with wide, questioning eyes. When I suggest a movie after dinner, way too tired to try to entertain him any longer, he agrees without complaint, even letting me pick the film, and then spends the night curled up against me on the couch, his little hand holding onto mine like avise.

“Where’s Lance?” he asks me when I tuck him intobed.

“You know he has to work late sometimes, buddy,” I tell him, though I have no reason to think that Lance is at the recording studio. I smooth his hair back from his face. “You’ll see himtomorrow.”

“Okay,” he says in a quiet voice. When I bend to hug him he clutches my neck much tighter thannormal.

Back in the living room, I pick up the book Lance interrupted me with earlier, but I can’t seem to read more than a few sentences. It’s way too quiet in the house. Where the hell is Lance? And what on earth could Angie’s mom have possibly wanted? Why show up after all these weeks withoutcalling?

I glance at the clock on the cable box. Nine fifteen. Why hasn’t he called me? I don’t know if I should be worried. Technically I’m supposed to be working until ten tonight, according to the schedule Lance and I keep on the fridge. But I hadn’t really thought much about my life here in terms of work hours—not since the night of the party, anyway. I turn on the TV, more for noise than for entertainment, and stare at itblankly.

Just when I’m thinking about calling Haylee to see if she’s heard from him, I hear a car in the driveway. I mute the TV, waiting. It feels like a long time before the front door opens. Why do I have such a badfeeling?

“Hey,” Lance says, appearing in the living room doorway. “Sorry I didn’t call. I lost myphone.”

“Oh.” I want to point out that he could have called me from another phone but he’s already ducking back into the hallway toward thekitchen.

“Want a beer?” he calls softly over hisshoulder.

“Sure.” I unfold my legs from underneath me and climb off the couch, following him into the kitchen. He looks tired in the harsh light from the fridge as he bends to grab twobeers.

“Where were you?” I ask and hestiffens.

“Here you go.” He hands me a beer and collapses into a seat at the kitchen table, using the edge of the counter to pop the cap off. Since I don’t possess that particular skill and he didn’t offer to open mine, I take my bottle to the opener in the drawer, then turn to face him. He’s sitting at the table, his head in his hands. “Lance?”

“Angie’s mom wants to take him,” he says with no preamble. My fingers feel suddenly numb around the cold neck of mybeer.

“What?”

“That’s why she came. Apparently she just found out what Angie had done, leaving him with me. She says…” He blows out a breath. “She says he should have a more stable home life than I can provide. She wants him to come and stay withher.”

It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. I walk back to the table and slowly sink into a seat. “Holyshit.”

He gives a weak laugh, rubbing his face. “Yeah.”

“So you were talking with her this wholetime?”

He shakes his head. “No. I went to meet with the lawyer after I sawher.”

Something like dread is stirring in my chest. “Why?” He looks up at me, his eyebrows furrowed, like he doesn’t understand the question. “Why did you go to see thelawyer?”

“Because I have no idea what I’m doing here, Willa,” he says before taking a long swig of his beer. “It’s kind of unchartedterritory.”

I can only stare at him. There’s something about the way he’s not meeting myeyes…

“You’re going to do it,” I breathe out, feeling like I might be sick. “You’re going to give himup.”

“I didn’t say that.” But he’s still not meeting my eyes. “I just wanted to get some adviceso—”

“Legal advice,” Isnap.

“What does thatmean?”

My hands are shaking, so I wrap my fingers more firmly around the bottle. “You went in search of legal advice first,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Without talking to me first. Without thinking about Simonfirst.”