Page 29 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 11
Lance
The waiting and countdown of her arrival was nerve wracking. I’ve never claimed to be a patient man.
I have literally been a shaking, twitching ball of need since the moment our lips touch out in that scorching hot parking lot a few hours earlier. It was only scorching because of the intensity of our own heat we made together.
Now I’ve spent nearly every second over the last two hours debating whether Mica will actually show up tonight. Although we’ve been meeting every Sunday night at my place for the last month for dinner and studying, I’m honestly uncertain whether she’ll come tonight.
Whether her mother will persuade her from being with me. I’m telling you, the look of disdain on her mother’s face when I left the hospital was like a slap across my cheek. I’ve been worried sick that she’d talk Mica out of seeing me. The way her mother glared at me, like I was a piece of shit beneath her shoes, is reminiscent of the same look my dad has given me for years.
And while I’m used to it from him, it hurt more than it should seeing it from someone else. Especially someone I don’t know and whose daughter I’m in love with.
Shit, scratch that. I’m not in love. I don’t know how to love. But I care for Mica more than any other girl I’ve ever been with. She is bright and beautiful, smart and sexy, and everything I could ever want. The problem is, her mother might be right. She knows it and I know it. I’m not worthy of her daughter.
I really amel diablowhen it comes to Micaela, the sweetest angel to ever walk this earth.
But somehow, I’ve managed to hide that glaringly obvious fact from Mica all this time. For some unknown reason, she thinks I’m her Prince Charming who walks on water for saving her nephew. But she wouldn’t think that if she ever found out I caused my brother’s death. That I’m the reason he died. Or that it was my actions that wound up killing my mother in the end.
So, I will do whatever it is to prevent her from ever finding out the truth. I have to preserve that sweet faith she has in me, no matter what the cost or how damaging it could be to me in the future – she can’t ever learn the truth.
The picture of my younger brother that I hold in my hand shakes from my trembling nerves. It was Landon’s third grade school photo. He was ten years old that year. The last school picture he’d ever had taken.
It was that winter when he died. When my annoyance and neglect killed him.
I return the picture to its place on my nightstand and head back out into the kitchen, where I grab my beer and take another drink. Finishing off the cold liquid, I toss the empty bottle into the recycle bin and it lands with a loud crack against the other six or so bottles I’ve had before it. Enough to make me feel a warm glow through my body, but not enough yet to take the edge off or help me forget.
The sound reverberates off the painted walls, where the only other sound is silence. My two new roommates, also ball players, won’t move in until the fall, so until then, I live alone. Which is both a blessing and a curse. It leaves me with my own space to do whatever I want, whenever I want, but I’m not very good with alone time.
It gives me too much time to be wallowed in my thoughts and the memories of happier times.
Opening the fridge, I grab another beer, twisting off the cap with a quick snap and throwing it in the garbage. Fuck my thoughts and my dead brother and all the shit I can never do anything about.
Finishing the beer in four big gulps, I decide to start the dinner I promised Mica I’d make for her. She laughed at me the first time I had her over for dinner. I’d attempted spaghetti, but it ended up in gluey-clumps of plastic-y pasta, which she ate between fits of hysterics.
So now I don’t even bother with anything fancy or anything that requires a pot of boiling water. It’s either frozen pizza or frozen burritos or take-out from Chin’s down the street.
Tonight, it’s pizza. I turn on the oven and let it warm up while I sit down and finish my beer. It’s going on six p.m. and she said she’d try to be here by seven. My head is beginning to feel the effects of the booze and I’m actually a little tired from the day’s events. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to plop the pizza in and lay down for a little while I wait, I finish off my beer, set the timer and head to the couch.
Closing my eyes, the pull of sleep is too much for me to resist, and I let unconsciousness take me.
~~~
“Throw it here, Lance! I’m open.”
My little brother, Landon, runs down the court, skirting around the other kids we’re playing ball with, but I ignore him. I have the ball and I’m going to take it to the basket myself. I’m a fricking selfish prick.
My friend Curtis is defending me in our three-on-three game at the park across the street from our house. It’s the start of summer and all we do from sun-up to dusk is play basketball. It’s what we live and breathe. Plus, it gets us out of the house and away from my arguing parents.
My skills on the court have improved since I began playing under Coach Lawson this past year in middle school. He helped me form my hook shot, my pull up jumper and my turn-around jumper, which I do with a fake pump, pivot and jump. The ball arcs over Curtis’s extended arms and hits the net.
“Yes! Suck it, C,” I preen, strutting past my buddy with an arrogant swagger.
Landon and Russ, the other guy playing in our threesome, give me a high fives.
“Nice shot, Britton.”
I nod my chin and get into position to guard my friend Jimmy, who has the ball and is working to give an inbound pass. However, just before he has a chance, his mother calls him from down the street.
