Chapter 12
LANCE
Mayday! Mayday!
Abort!
Help…?
Lance was texting Alec, Colton, Justin, and Chad in a group text as quickly as possible while Blythe was out of the bedroom. He could hear her humming in the distance.
Dude, I TOLD YOU…
OMG what am I going to do?
What did she say? Can you talk?
No – I’ve literally been tucked in bed by the hottest chick around who thinks I’m sick to my stomach (which I am), but she is making me some hot tea.
You’re in bed – uh – you are halfway there, bro!
That’s what I thought, but she said NO… blabbing that ‘we have our whole lives’ and now she’s talking about going to the justice of the peace.
You are getting married, bro.
THIS IS NOT FUNNY, GUYS – help me?!
If you back out after your girl thinks you proposed, you are never going to get a second chance to win her over. You need to think long and hard about what you do next.
Chad, I’m stuck.
You aren’t STUCK. You have hit a crossroads and need to decide what you want to do. Are you going to marry her and try to make it work – or are you going to break her heart and never see her again?
Isn’t there a third option?
I don’t think so…
Justin? You are awfully quiet. No words of wisdom?
Mrs. Cortes, huh…? Nice.
That’s not funny, Justin.
Who’s joking?
I really like her – a lot – but I’m trying not to have a panic attack. I mean, I’d rather face a room full of hungry mice with fangs than to make Blythe upset or cry… but marriage?
Marrying Maya was the best thing I ever did – relax.
Okay – anyone but Chad can respond. I’m open to any ideas.
Anything?
Hello? Guys?
You need to relax. Marriage to someone who loves you is amazing – and you are one lucky guy to have found her. Don’t ruin this with a gut reaction. Sleep on it.
I second, Chad. Don’t do anything and sleep on it.
Agreed.
I vote for engagement and shutting your yap.
Don’t blow this, dork!
WWDGD, right?
I need to think.
Huh?
It’s code - ‘What would Dave Grohl do?’ Sheesh! Don’t you ever listen to us talk to you on calls?
You and that stupid fanboy love affair – I’m sick of listening to it at the station. Can you find another singer?
Lance put the phone face down and shoved it under his pillow the second that the bedroom door opened slowly. He saw her hopeful, happy, and caring expression as she peered inside.
“How’s your tummy?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Oh good,” she smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m not exactly the best nurse, but I remember having hot tea like this whenever I felt slightly ‘off’. I hope this helps.”
Lance sat up gingerly, accepting the cup of tea, taking a sip obediently and wincing. It was bitter, just like the bile in his stomach. Yeah, there was such happiness in her eyes, such hope and excitement. He knew at that moment that his friends were right.
He was getting married.
There was no way he could hurt Blythe’s feelings not when he did care about her. Seeing her after the fire, unresponsive, and hearing how she had coded at the hospital had been so much to handle – but he did so without having an utter breakdown. If he could get through all of that without freaking out, then he could get through a ceremony that would make her happy.
It just felt wrong to marry someone if you didn’t bring anything to the table. She deserved better than someone like him. He didn’t have any family, no savings, no real background because he’d been so young. He was doing okay, flummoxing through life by himself. It was frankly a little scary to think that he would be responsible for someone else.
She deserved a lifetime of happiness, respect, and comfort. He would have to grow up and be the responsible one. There would be no more taking off for a concert, no getting completely drunk or hanging out with the fellas anymore. Life was changing, and he wasn’t sure if he was the right guy to take the lead in their lives.
“What’s wrong?” she said softly, touching his hand. “Are you feeling sick to your stomach again?”
He looked up to see her beautiful eyes and felt something move within him. He couldn’t hurt her, but she deserved to know the truth. She deserved so much more than he could give her.
“I just think you deserve someone better than me – and I’m scared I’m going to let you down,” he whispered openly, not holding back. “I barely have my life together. I like going to rock concerts, I like getting drunk occasionally, and I’m a complete troll when it comes to ogling you.”
“Why do you think that I expect any of that to change?” she whispered softly, smiling at him. “I like music and never got a chance to go to a concert because I’ve been working my butt off to hang onto my own sense of what normal is supposed to be - only to have it burn down around me. I don’t drink beer, but man, I do love a dirty martini…”
His eyes widened in surprise.
“Really?”
“I’m glad you look at me because I look at you too,” she confessed softly, her pale cheeks turning pink. “I think you are an incredible person, and I really can’t wait to get to know you better over the years. To me, that is what marriage is. Having your best friend, a partner, someone beside you to figure all of this out… because I think most people are barely hanging on nowadays. It’s kinda nice that neither of us is perfect, but maybe if we mix our two messy lives, then we can come up with something amazing.”
“So it’s okay that I’m nervous?”
“That just means you worry and try harder to do things right in my book.”
“And what if I’m panicking on the inside?”
“I would still want a panicked version of Lance beside me in life.”
“You don’t want someone who has his life figured out?”
“You like music, right?”
“Yeah…”
“So you know that song, ‘All My Life’ by the Foo Fighters,” she began, hesitating and looking a little unsure as his mouth dropped open in shock. “Well, those lyrics are deep – and soooo true. I think we are all searching for something, and sometimes something leads to absolutely nothing, but we are still on that proverbial rope hanging on…”
“Did you seriously just quote David Grohl to me?” he whispered hoarsely, staring at her in disbelief.
“I like rock music,” she shrugged.
He handed her the delicate teacup, crawling out of the bed urgently, before skidding in his socks on the wood floor, racing from the room and slamming into the doorway. He pedaled frantically, running down the short hallway, before dropping to his knees in the empty bedroom, digging in the closet. Grabbing his guitar, he raced back into the other room and stood before her. Blythe stared at him in shock as he began strumming, playing the chords to the song that she’d just been referring to, and her eyes lit up, smiling at him in approval.
“Where’s your amp?”
“Don’t have one,” he began. “My neighbors complained, so I sold it.”
“We should get you one,” she invited, smiling at him. “I’m sure not going to complain. I want you to feel like you are welcome, that your home is here, with me.”
“You don’t mind that I’m scared or don’t have…” he began, and she interrupted him, touching his cheek as he sat down beside her, stunned.
“I don’t mind – and if I did, then we would talk and figure it out because I really like being around you.”
“Blythe…” he began nervously.
“Yes?”
“I really like you, but I don’t know if it’s love. I mean, I want to make love to you worse than anything I’ve ever felt, but I feel like I need to be honest before we take another step. If we are talking about commitment, I want there to be no secrets or surprises.”
“I haven”t exactly professed love to you either, you know…” she smiled. “Besides, love is not something you say – it’s something you do. You were there when I woke up at the hospital, and to me, that meant the world. You set up our home, made dinner, and we’re discussing marriage… something that once terrified you. Those are big steps that we are taking toward each other.”
“Still does.”
“But for the same reasons?”
“No.”
“It’s a word, Lance… that’s all. A single four-letter word that represents everything else surrounding us. The smiles, the holding hands, the laughter, singing Foo Fighters at the top of my lungs…”
“Oh yeah?” he chuckled, feeling immensely better.
“Yeah,” she smiled, nudging her shoulder against his. “I think it’s those small moments in-between that fall into a very generalized word that is tossed about easily by some people. If I blurted out ‘I love you,’ does it change anything in either of us… or would you rather sing and dance around in the living room in our underwear listening to loud music?”
“Oh man, tell me that’s an option,” he begged softly, grinning at her.
“See what I mean?”
“You are amazing,” he began, realizing he meant every word of it and felt so much better. “And I think I’m a very lucky guy.”
“I think I’m a very lucky girl,” she whispered, smiling at him. “So, how good are you with the guitar? Do we need a huge amp so I can feel the music in my teeth?”
“Uh oh…”
“What?”
“I’m thinking of a four-letter word that begins with ‘L,’” he chuckled playfully, leaning toward her. He blindly strummed the intro to another song to see if she recognized it.
“Lame? Lazy? Looney… oh wait, that’s six letters,” she teased softly and felt her laughter against his lips as he leaned in to steal a kiss, realizing he was ready for all of this. If this is what marriage could be like with Blythe, it could really be incredible.
He tasted her warm lips, treasuring the softness and simplicity of such a gentle kiss given so easily between them. It didn’t have to be a bunch of groping and panting, even though that was fun and heady, but this was beautiful in its own way. He pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss and was stunned to hear her sing the lyrics softly between them of the song he was playing – and joined in, looking at her like she was truly a miracle.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Why don’t we have dinner, and I’ll play for a while,” he invited softly, feeling stupidly romantic at the idea of serenading his girl, who enjoyed the same music he did.
“Now you are talking,” she smiled. “Do you take requests?”
“Possibly. Does this mean I might have a fan?”
“Definitely,” she chuckled softly.
“You know, the real fans of musicians throw their bras on stage,” Lance grinned, winking at her as she threw back her head laughing. “No judgment if you want to do that. I mean, I’m not picky either. You can toss a bra, panties, whatever…”
“Laaaance!” she protested, laughing and blushing shyly as he followed her from the bedroom to the kitchen, strumming idly on the guitar.