Page 87 of Lance

Lance

This should be one of the most exciting moments of my life, I think, looking out over the bay. The sun is just starting to set and the gold glinting off the water is bright enough to hurt your eyes. And my band is standing on a rooftop, overlooking it all, shooting a musicvideo.

But I don’t feel excited. I feel sick to my stomach. Exactly the way I’ve felt since Lynn Cates calledme.

What in the hell am I going todo?

No matter what option I consider, the sick feeling only gets worse. Thinking about dragging Simon around the country, trying to be a good father figure to him—that scares the shit out of me. But somehow thinking about giving him to Angie’s mom makes me feel just aspanicky.

And I can’t get the look on Willa’s face out of mymind.

Thinking about her has me wincing just as June, the director, calls cut. “Maybe don’t look so pained this time,” she suggests to me, and I close my eyes. Yeah. Sure. Sounds easyenough.

I missthem.

Regardless of all the doubt I’m feeling, all the questioning and the sick worry, I still can’t stop thinking about how much I want to be at home with Willa and Simon. Willa, who will probably never talk to me again. And Simon, who is definitely better off withoutme.

“Why are you still standing here?” Layla asks, poking my arm. I look up to see that the rest of the band is exiting the stage area as the crew comes in to take apart the set. “We’re done for theday.”

I shake my head, following her to the director’s chair. June is talking about the shots she wants to set up for tomorrow and I pretend to listen, my concentration absolutely shot. When she’s finished I follow the rest of the band downstairs. There’s a crowd of fans gathered on the sidewalk and the others spread out to give autographs. I head straight for one of the towncars, ignoring Louis when he glares atme.

“You’re getting moody on us, Foster,” Layla says several minutes later, bumping her shoulder into mine as she slides into the car. “The other day you’re whistling and grinning like a goofball and now you’re acting like your dog just died.” When I don’t respond she nods out at the crowd of girls. “I would have thought this would be right up youralley.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, slipping my sunglasses on as Dylan climbs into the front seat. “It’sgreat.”

She watches me closely for a minute. “You okay?” she finally asks, the teasing note absent from her voice foronce.

I open my mouth to tell her I’m fine, but the word won’t come. Finally I just shake myhead.

“How about I buy you a drink,” she says as the car pullsaway.

Dylan peers back at us. “We’re going drinking? I’ll text Haylee, see if she wants tocome.”

“Can you…not ask her?” I ask, rubbing my hands over my face infrustration.

“Why?” Laylaasks.

“Because she’s in the car with James and she’ll probably tellhim.”

I remove my hands from my eyes in time to see the two of them sharing a look. “Sure,” Dylan says, tapping something on his phone. “I just told her we’re gonna grab a drink and we’ll see themlater.”

I wonder if Haylee and James will think it’s weird, us not asking them along. I can’t bring myself to care very much. I have enough to worry about at themoment.

“Can you take us to a bar?” Layla asks the driver. “A hole in the wall kind of place. Close to the hotel if you know ofone.”

He drops us off ten minutes later a few blocks from the hotel. “Hole in the wall” is a pretty good description of the place but “dive” might have fit it even better. There’s a row of motorcycles lined up in front. “Awesome,” Dylan mutters as we pass them on the way in. “What do you wanna bet I’m the smallest guy inthere.”

Layla slings her arm around his shoulders. “Some women like small men.” He looks over at her hopefully and she grins. “I, of course, am not one ofthem.”

The interior of the bar is dark and shabby-looking, which is fine by me. The last thing I want is to be in some trendy, bright place where someone might recognize us. We find a booth in the back and Layla heads to the counter to get us drinks. “They’ll serve me way before you two,” she says before she goes. “Besides, that bartender looks prettyhot.”

I grab a napkin from the dispenser and start shredding, desperate to keep my handsbusy.

“Shoot went pretty good,” Dylan says cautiously, as if he’s not sure how I’ll react to inane conversation. I nod. “Looks like we might be able to wrap it uptomorrow.”

I sigh. I’m not particularly eager to hang out in San Diego for longer than necessary, but the thought of going home brings me little joy. I’ll just have to see that horrible, disappointed look on Willa’s face again. I think of the way Simon had clung to me, crying, and I suppress ashudder.

“Okay, I draw the line at sighing,” Layla says, setting down three glasses of whiskey and sliding into the booth next to Dylan. “I hated teenage girls even when I was one—I’m definitely not going to have a drink withone.”