Lucky Me

Well, it's finally here. After much blood, sweat, and tears, it's finally here. I am SO not in the mood to do a tag line. So here, the abbreviated version. If you don't want to read this, don't. I made this up, so I'm not implying anything about anyone, and if you don't know that by now, you're retarded..:) There are a lot of good stories on this archive, if you want to know what they are, see LM8...:) Just a really quick note, I've changed the story's point of view from first person omniscient, which was very strange anyway, to just plain and simple first person--just take note. Okay, so now, without further ado (as there has been too much already) . . .on with the show.

Lucky Me -9-

It's very disconcerting to wake up with things different from when you fell asleep. When I went to sleep, Lance was laying there beside me, but when I woke up, he wasn't. Propping myself up on my elbows, I looked around; he wasn't even in the room. I threw off the covers, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and went downstairs to put on more substantial clothing, as I was clad in just my boxers. After throwing on a pair of pajama pants and a long sleeve t-shirt, I started my search for Lance. I walked into the living room and saw JC sleeping on the sofa. He was all curled up with his head on one of the throw pillows and the blanket tucked up underneath his chin. It was very possibly the cutest thing I'd ever seen.

That is, until I looked up. There on the patio was a certain blonde beauty. My blonde beauty as a matter of fact, and he didn't have a shirt on. I smiled to myself. He was mine. James Lance Bass of NSync was my boyfriend, and less than a week ago, I had been attached to an abusive drunk. Lance was mine. Mine mine mine. "Hmm," I chuckled to myself. "Lucky me."

I tip-toed through the living room to the patio door and slid it open quietly so I didn't wake JC. Lance didn't seem to hear me as I stepped outside, so I eased up behind him and slid my arms around his waist. He jumped a little, but then he leaned back and rested his head on my shoulder.

"It scared me when you weren't there this morning," I said softly into his ear.

"Sorry," he whispered, but offered no explanation.

"What are you doing out here without a shirt on? I mean, not that I'm complaining, but aren't you cold?" I asked as I held onto him a little tighter.

"Yes, I'm freezing. I was hoping a really cute guy would come along and warm me up." He smiled to himself.

I did likewise. "Well, JC's still asleep. Will I do?"

"Oh, shut up," he said, laughing.

We just stood there for a little while, and he closed his eyes as he rested against me. A thought crossed my mind. "Lance," I whispered.

"Hmm?" he hummed, his eyes remaining closed.

I waited a few seconds before I spoke. "Are you gonna tell the guys about us?"

He sighed. "I don't know," he said after a while. "They're like my brothers; we've never kept secrets before, but I just don't know. I . . .I guess I'm scared. I mean, I know they won't hate me, but I guess there's that part of me that's just afraid they might, and that's what's holding me back, I think. Course, they don't know you're gay either," he realized. He turned to face me and I saw the gold of the cross he wore gleam against his skin. "What do you think we should do?"

I broke away from him and walked across the patio, escaping my current situation by avoiding it.

He came to stand beside me and, in a barely audible whisper, said, "Luke, what is it?"

I took a deep breath. "Lance, you're afraid the guys will hate you because you're gay." It was a question, but I wasn't in the best mood at the moment, so it didn't come out that way.

"But I know--"

"But you know that they love you, and that they'd never intentionally hurt you, right?"

"Right."

"Lance," I took a moment, "my mother hates me because I'm gay. My mother, the one person that's supposed to love me unconditionally, hates me because I'm gay. So, that kinda throws your theory out the window." My eyes remained staring forward. I was angry. I was angry at her. I was angry at her for making me afraid to be myself. If it was possible, steam would have been coming out of my ears. I just kept staring straight ahead.

He pulled my chin towards him so I was looking into his eyes. "I know you had a bad experience with your mother," he said. "I know she hurt you, and I hate her for that. But not everyone's your mother."

"I know. I know that," I said, turning to stare at his backyard again. "But how am I supposed to forget what she did to me?"

"I'm not asking you to forget," he said, turning my face towards his again. "Just to understand that there are good people in this world." He paused a moment. "And I'm in a band with four of them."

Okay, so maybe he had a point. I paused for a little, letting him know that I understood what he was saying, but at the same time, I didn't really know what to think about it yet. Another thought crossed my mind, and I furrowed my brow. "You know what you said earlier about hating my mother?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

"Don't do that."

He looked injured. "But, she hurt you, Luke."

"I know she hurt me, Lance. I know. But don't hate her. I don't."

His hurt turned to confusion. "But you just said . . ."

I elaborated, "I don't like her, or respect her. But, I don't hate her. Hate's a really strong word, Lance. She's my mother; I can't hate her. It's just not part of the game."

He seemed to understand the point I was driving at because he let that subject alone. "What about Jason?" he muttered quietly. "Can I hate him?"

I paused, thought a moment, then looked him square in the eye. "Yes. You can hate Jason all you want."

We looked into each other's eyes a moment before he said, "Tell me about him."

"What?"

He just repeated. "Tell me about him."

I just stared at him.

"Please?" he insisted. "I want to know where you're coming from." I continued staring. He sighed and looked at me sincerely. "It's important to me."

I blinked and took a deep breath. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"Anything you want to tell me."

I sighed. "Well, he didn't drink at first. But then, he lost his job, and once he started drinking, he just couldn't stop." I really didn't want to continue, but he was insistent.

"How often did he hit you?" I could hear the waver he was trying to keep out of his voice.

Damn, I knew that was coming. I took a deep breath. "He would push me around every time he was drunk. There were several, several times when I had to go to work with a black eye and some bruises, but . . ."

"What?" he urged.

"The worst times . . ."

"Tell me," he insisted.

I took a deep, steadying breath. "In the year I was with him, he sent me to the hospital eight times."

His eyes flew open. "Eight times?"

"Yeah," I looked down, "eight times."

"Wha-what'd he . . .what'd he do to you?"

I cleared my throat. "Well, seven times out of the eight, he was just using his fists." I looked up into his eyes. "He's a really strong person, Lance. Really strong."

He nodded and his voice became a little more cautious. "What about the other time?"

"The last time . . ." I trailed off as I gathered the willpower to tell this to him. "The last time, he had a baseball bat."

"Oh shit, Luke." He wrapped his arms around me, as if he were trying to clear my mind of that memory by holding me to him as tightly as he could. "How did they ever let you go back to him."

I breathed to contain my tears. "I never told anyone what really happened."

He pulled away to look at me. "Why not?" The tears I saw collecting in his eyes brought my own tears from their watery hiding place, and soon, the sad liquid was running freely down both our cheeks.

I stayed silent for a moment as I took control of my emotion long enough to answer. "I was at a point in my life . . .where I needed to be able to rely on something." I reached up and wiped my eyes. "I needed a constant, Lance. And however sick it may sound, I could count on him hitting me. I knew he was going to abuse me. I could rely on that. I felt like I needed him."

He dried his face as well. "But that was just a few days ago. What changed? When I met you, you were sobbing over losing him. What's changed since then that you don't feel like you need him anymore?"

I hadn't thought of that. "Well, I--, I don't know. I guess . . ." I stood there thinking intensely, Lance looking at me the entire time. Slowly, I traveled back from the mental plane I'd gone to and looked into Lance's eyes. "It was you," I said softly.

"What?"

"You, you and the guys. It was y'all."

"I-I don't understand. What'd we do?"

I put my arms back around him and turned him so he was leaning back against me. "Lance," I began calmly, "no one has ever cared about me. At least, I never felt like they did."

"Luke, that's silly, y--"

"I know, Lance. Just listen. I never had friends in highschool. I never made friends at work. My father died. My mother kicked me out. Jason hit me. I had more than enough evidence. I just didn't think anyone cared."

"Luke, I--"

"I know, sweety," I kissed the top of his head. "Let me finish." I paused. "Then, at the auditorium, when I'd lost the only thing I thought I had, I didn't know what to do." I rested my head on his shoulder. "And then you, you sat beside me and asked if I was okay." He turned his head to look into my eyes and smiled. "And when I disappeared, you and the guys looked for me. You--" My breath stopped in my throat. "No one I'd ever known would have done that for me. And, y'all did, without even really thinking about it." He turned around and penetrated my eyes with his own. "Y'all gave a damn, Lance. You're the only people who ever have."

He didn't speak for quite a long time, just looked into me with those green telescopes. I saw something in him give way, and he wrapped his arms around me and whispered into my ear, "I would never do anything to hurt you."

"I know," I assured him as the tears found their way back to my cheeks.

I heard an occasional gasp for air from him, and I knew his tears had returned too. That made me hold onto him that much tighter, and I swore in my heart to never let him go.

He drew in a long breath and forced a whisper through his tears. "We don't have to tell the guys about us. Not if you don't want to."

I willed my tears to let me speak. "I really don't. I mean I know . . .whatever . . .but I really don't want to."

He hugged me tightly and then pulled himself out of my arms and looked at me seriously. "I don't think I'm one hundred percent ready, either."

"So we'll wait?" I asked as I wiped my eyes.

"Yeah," he said as he did the same, "we'll wait."

We turned to find JC leaning in the doorway.

"You just love eavesdropping on us, dontcha?" Lance grinned.

JC slapped on a ridiculous grin and nodded. "You learn so many interesting things," he chuckled to himself. "Justin called, and I told him that we'd be over in about an hour or so." He stepped aside to let us into the living room. "Apparently, something happened on their way out of the club yesterday. He wouldn't tell me what--believe me, I tried--so, we'll just have to stay in suspense until we get there, and I hate waiting. So, hurry up and get ready."

"Yes, sir." I snapped JC a salute and narrowly dodged as he tried to smack me.

"Hey," Lance shrieked, "you be careful with my boyfriend." Lance plodded over and wrapped his arms around me. "He's very fragile."

JC laughed and thought a moment. "Boyfriend, huh?"

Lance blushed and looked down at the carpet, which all of a sudden became very interesting, so I spoke for both of us. "Yeah," I said quietly, "boyfriend."

"Well," he smiled, "congrats."

Lance's head popped up and his eyes darted around the room. " JC, we . . .it's just that . . .I mean, would you mind . . ."

I took over for my boyfriend once again. "What he's trying to say, JC, is that . . .well, we've kind of decided that we're not ready to tell the guys about us just yet. So would you mind, ya know, not telling them?" I smiled at Lance.

JC shook his head. "Of course I won't tell them, guys. It's not really my decision to make. If you're not ready to tell them, then I sure won't." He smiled as if he knew something we didn't.

"Thanks," Lance and I said together.

I winced when I remembered. "JC, you'd better count me out of Justin's," I said, sighing.

"Why?" he asked, and Lance looked at me.

I sighed again. "The will. I've got to see about her will today."

"Oh," they remembered aloud.

"Why does she want it," JC continued. "I mean, if she doesn't want to make any changes, why does she want it?"

"Oh, well, a few years ago, a cousin of mine died. And since mom had left something in her will to him, we had to change it, and I helped her. We never really got around to getting the changes to the lawyer. So that's what she wants me to do. We'd talked about it, but we just never got to it."

They both nodded and silence fell onto us. I turned to my boyfriend. "Lance, would . . .um, would you . . .come with me."

Lance looked concerned and said, "Of course I will, Luke. Of course."

"Uh," JC started, "I don't mean to sound like a complete asshole here, but Lance . . .the guys are still worried about you. The last they saw of you, you were upset and not talking to anyone. They . . .you should at least drop by and tell them you're alright."

Lance looked to me with questioning eyes. I looked down to the carpet. Damn, Lance had some really interesting carpet. "Lance," I croaked, "I don't think I can do this alone." I had to go into my father's study for shit's sake, I knew I couldn't do this alone.

"Well, listen," he reasoned, "my car's still at Justin's, so there's only one car here anyway. No matter what we decide we're gonna have to drop by Justin's." He looked at me. "We'll go in for a few minutes, I'll tell them I'm alright, and then we'll go. Okay?" he asked us both.

"Sounds fair to me," JC agreed.

"Yep," I said, looking up from the rug, "me too. But before I go anywhere, I need a shower, badly."

Lance grinned. "Yes, you do. I mean, I wasn't gonna say anything, but geez!" He waved his hand in front of his nose, as if I were rotting or something. So, just before I trotted off to have my shower, I smacked my beautiful boyfriend on the back of his perfect little head.

About half an hour later, we were on the road to Justin's. JC had insisted on driving. He insisted on giving us "lovebirds", as he put it, a little more time together before we had to pretend that nothing was going on. I kept telling him that he was being silly, but on the inside I was really grateful I knew someone like JC.

We pulled into Justin's driveway, and Lance and I reluctantly got out of the car and dropped each other's hand. We walked into an absolutely silent living room. Everyone was gazing at Lance, expecting him to explode--with anger, or tears . . .something. They just didn't expect him to be happy. Something, but never happy. It was all I could do not to crack a smile. Lance did in fact explode, but in laughter. He laughed until he was gripping his sides and the tears were rolling down his cheeks. He couldn't even stand up, he was laughing so hard.

Everyone just looked at him like he was turning green and sprouting another limb. Lance struggled to his feet, wiping his eyes and taking deep breaths to calm himself down. "Hey, guys," he managed to choke out in the midst of his giggle ridden breathing.

"Uh, hey, Lance. What's . . .um . . ." Justin was at a loss for words.

"I see you're feeling better, Scoop. What happened?" Joey smiled.

"Yeah, why the sudden change of heart, buddy?" Chris added. A smile was now invariably painted on each of the guys' faces at seeing their friend much happier than they last had.

We'd all found our seats, and all were smiling to Lance, who seemed to have calmed down, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"I know I was in a funk yesterday, guys, " Lance started. "And I know I told you that y'all wouldn't understand." He sighed a little. "Well, I want to apologize for that. I should know by now that I can tell you guys anything, and I do know that. But, this is something that's just gonna take me a little while, alright?" He looked around the room.

They all nodded. "Of course, Lance. We understand," Joey assured him. "But what happened? I mean, I know you didn't talk to any of us, so . . .what?"

"Well," Lance smiled and looked over to me, a twinkle in his eye that I returned, "Luke here had the foresight to come find me yesterday at the club, and he lent an ear . . .I don't know. It was just the right person in the right place at the right time. He talked it out with me, and he made me feel a lot better." Lance smiled again. He was going to have to stop doing that if he didn't want me to ravage him in front of the guys.

Joey, JC, and Chris exchanged a look with each other that I couldn't quite decipher, but it have me the distinct feeling that they knew a little more than they were saying. Justin, though, just sat there--essentially clueless.

"Luke," Joey smiled at me, "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Talk about unexpected. I just sat there with a dumb grin on my face, wondering what in the world he was talking about. "Uhm, come again, Joe?"

Joey's eyes skipped around the room for a moment before he continued, his voice a little softer than before. "We all know you heard what Chris said that day," he said, and I nodded. The guys all looked a little uncomfortable, but none more so than Chris, who looked like he'd be happy if he vanished into thin air. "I gotta tell you, Luke," Joey continued, "if I'd heard someone say something like that about me . . .I'd have either bolted right there or punched the guy in the nose. But you didn't. You came downstairs and took us all to dinner. I almost couldn't believe you that day. I would never have been able to do what you did. It was amazing, Luke."

I blushed profusely and glanced over to Chris. "Hey Chris, no hard feelings. Alright?"

He smiled and said, "You know, Luke? You're a good kid."

The room was quiet for a minute, then Justin said, "And we can't forget what you did for me that day at the basketball court. I'm really glad you were there, man."

"None of us would have known what to do." JC looked at me seriously.

I felt even more blood rise to my cheeks and cleared my throat. "It was nothing, guys. Really."

"Oh, don't give us that `It was nothing' crap, Luke," Chris piped up. "It was everything. You took complete control and made Justin better. We couldn't have done that without you."

Before I could speak, Justin cut in. "And then when Lance was upset and wouldn't talk to us, when we were all so worried about him, you stepped in, talked to him for like ten minutes, and fixed him. We couldn't have done that without you, either."

JC looked at me, his blue eyes glowing with intensity. "Luke, you're a really good friend."

I smiled, and looked at Lance, remembering our conversation on the patio this morning. Lance smiled back at me, but it didn't go undetected by the guys.

"What are you smilin' about, Luke?" I heard Joey ask.

I looked up at them, smiled even wider, and took a deep breath. "I've never really had friends, is all."

Chris was the first one to speak. "Well," he offered, "you have some now."

I grinned broadly and decided to change the subject. "So, you guys said something happened at the club yesterday?"

The guys shifted gears, and I saw Joey blush. "Yeah, well . . ." he mumbled as he looked at his shoes.

Justin explained for us, "Well, yesterday we were all walking out of the club, and we saw these two guys fighting. It looked like a normal fist fight, but then one guy pulled a knife on the other." The room gasped. "Well Joe, being the quick thinker he is, knocked the knife out of the guy's hand. Saved the other guy's life, probably." Justin smiled at his friend, and Joey blushed even redder.

I grinned. "Wow, and you said that I was the good guy here? I think that beats anything I ever did, Joe." Lance nodded in agreement.

"What happened to the guy with the knife?" JC asked. "Did he get mad, or run away, or what?"

"Well," Joey cleared his throat, "that guy was a little drunk, so when I hit the knife out of his hand, he sort of lost his balance and fell over. He was unconscious when we left."

The room was quiet for a second. "Did anyone see it?" JC asked quietly.

Justin smiled. "No, JC, the parking lot was completely empty except for us. There's no way the media can get a hold of this, so don't worry."

Chris had been sitting there with his mouth hanging open the entire time. "Man, Joey, that's what happened? Geez, I sure don't remember that."

`Well, that's a little odd,' I thought to myself. "Weren't you with them?" I asked Chris, knowing that he was.

Chris avoided my eyes.

"Well, uh," Justin fumbled. There was a strange tension in the room among everyone but me, and I didn't understand it at all. Justin continued, "Chris was kinda, really, sorta . . .uh, drunk last night."

The entire room was looking at JC, oddly enough. "Chris, dammit, are you ever going to stop that?" JC was staring exasperated nails into Chris. "What was it you said about not being able to afford anything that might damage our image? What was it you said about that, Chris?"

"Man, JC, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry." Chris looked sincerely apologetic.

"I don't want to have to baby-sit you, Chris. You're twenty-eight for Christ's sake. You should have a little more responsibility than that."

"Just drop it, okay man?"

"Whatever."

Time to change the subject. "Well," I said as I stood up, "we should get going, Lance."

He nodded and stood beside me.

"Where're you goin', guys?" Joey asked.

Oh, wow. The guys didn't know about my mom. It hadn't even crossed my mind that I'd have to tell them. "Um, well . . ." I didn't know what to say, really. Lance stepped closer to me, offering whatever comfort he could in front of the guys. JC looked at me, silently asking if he should tell the guys for me. I shook my head and took a deep breath. "Uhm, I got word yesterday, that my mother . . .is, uh . . .is dying."

Everyone got up and formed a sympathetic circle around me. I gotta tell you, it made me feel more than a little enclosed and very uncomfortable, but it just came off like I was hesitant to talk about my mother, which actually, I kinda was.

"Anyway," I continued, "we never got the last changes of her will to the lawyer. So today, I have to go to the house, find the will itself, and take it to him."

The guys were silent for a minute before Chris gently asked, "And Lance is going with you?"

"Uhm, yeah. I asked him to come with me," I said softly.

JC, Joey, and Chris exchanged another one of those looks that I couldn't figure out and all three nodded. Justin looked a little confused and started to say something; it sounded like he was about to ask why Lance was coming with me, but those three shot him a death stare, and Justin shut up--though he didn't look like he knew why he was shutting up. Hell, I didn't know why he was shutting up. What's going on here?

After general agreement that we'd meet up tonight for dinner, Lance and I hopped into my car and started for my house. On the way there, I just couldn't get the looks between those three out of my head. "Lance," I began, and he looked over to me, "did you notice anything . . .I don't know . . .strange about JC, Joey, and Chris just now?"

He thought a minute before answering. "Yeah, I kinda did. They kept giving each other a look. I didn't really get it."

"You didn't? Because I was wondering if it was, like, an inside joke I was left out of."

"Well, if it is, then they left me out too, because I have no idea what's going on with them."

"Well, at least it's not just me." I turned my attention back to the road then, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lance reach over and hit play on the CD player. A few seconds later, the last CD I'd had in there began to play--it happened to be ahem NSync. As soon as I heard it, I slapped the power button, and the blood rose to my cheeks as I looked over to Lance.

He smiled at me. "Aw, I think it's cute, baby." He reached over and took my hand. I grinned to myself and turned back to concentrate on the drive.

There it was, the two-story, fairly huge, white-painted house I grew up in--complete with its own white picket fence. It was the picture of the perfect American family--as if. I undid the latch and walked through the gate, holding it open for Lance. Proceeding up the path to the front door, I tried the knob and found it locked. Hmm, I hadn't thought of that. I'd thrown away my key in disgust a long time ago. Thinking for a moment, I lifted the corner of the welcome mat, and low and behold there lay a key. I chuckled to myself--this really did seem like the perfect American household.

I stood up after having retrieved the key, with intent to actually unlock the door, but I just stood there staring it. Lance apparently saw my trouble, for he took the key from my hand and unlocked the door for me, swinging it open. He came back to where I stood. "Luke," he whispered, "are you sure you're ready for this?"

I croaked a chuckle. "Of course I'm not ready for this. But I don't really have much of a choice. What can I do, ask her to please delay her death on the grounds her son's a chicken?"

"Well, no, you can't do that." He laughed. "But if you want to find the will, you might have to actually step foot inside the house."

I flashed a smile at him. "Shut up." I held his hand tightly as we stepped inside the house. Memories of one sort and another came flowing back to me as the familiar scent of the house filled my nostrils, but the memories weren't all that unpleasant--then again, they weren't all that pleasant either. I sighed and turned to my left, faced with the oak, double doors to my father's study. I rested my hands on the doorknobs and paused for a moment. I hadn't been in here for over seven years.

"Lance?" I whispered, searching for him. He put his hand on my shoulder, and I breathed a sigh of relief at the knowledge he was there with me. I reluctantly swung the doors open. As I did, I was faced with--nothing. It was empty. Oh sure, his desk was still there, and the shelves that had once contained books were still on the walls, but all the trinkets he'd kept on his desk were gone. The picture I'd drawn him when I was five that he'd hung on the front of his desk was missing. Gone, it was all gone. I went over to his desk and opened some drawers, only to find them empty. She had done this. She had "cleaned" in here. She had defiled the only room that really held my father. She'd taken him, packed him up in some boxes, and stored him in the basement. "That bitch," I hissed.

"I-I don't understand," Lance offered.

I took a second to get control of myself. I plastered on a really really fake grin and looked to him. "She packed everything up. Just put it away like it never existed." I was just about to explode I was so angry, or cry, or something, but I kept that horrible smile on my face.

I couldn't fool Lance, though. He walked over to me and put his arms around my shoulders, and I pulled him close to me. I took a deep breath and asked, "Will, you help me look in the basement? We have to go digging through some boxes."

He looked at me. "Of course I will."

After shutting the study door behind us, I led the way to the basement door. Opening it, I flicked the light that belonged to the basement stairs. It was apparently out, which left the staircase in that eerie horror movie darkness. "Well, come on," I said. "There's another light at the bottom." I started down the stairs, but soon realized that Lance wasn't behind me. I turned around to find him still at the top of the stairs, staring down. "Come on, Lance." He shook his head. I walked up a couple of stairs, closer to him. "What's wrong?" He just stared at me. I walked up the rest of the stairs and joined him in the hallway. "Lance, what is it?" I looked at him, my face full of concern. He was acting very strangely.

"You're going to laugh if I tell you," he said softly.

The anger I had for my mother disappeared when faced with a scared boyfriend. I took his shoulders and looked into his eyes. "I promise I won't laugh."

"And you won't tell anyone?"

"Of course not."

He looked at the ground and mumbled something I couldn't hear.

I took his chin and lifted it until he was looking into my eyes. "What was that?"

He sighed. "I said . . .I'm afraid of the dark."

Oh, how adorable is that? I smiled and patted his cheek. "Okay then, stay right here." I walked past him to the kitchen. Opening the utility cupboard, I searched for a light bulb, and after having successfully found one, I walked back to the door of the basement and smiled to my dear, sweet boyfriend. Descending to the middle step, I reached up and grasped the bare light bulb that hung from the ceiling above it. I switched the old one with the new one, and the light flickered on.

I looked to my grinning boyfriend. "There you are, my darling," I said as I stepped aside and motioned to the basement floor. "After you."

"My hero," he laughed as he walked down the stairs ahead of me.

I flipped the light at the bottom of the stairs and nearly fell over when I saw more than thirty boxes sitting in front of me. God, I thought my mother was a pack rat before, but I had no idea.

"Are we going to have to look through all of these?" Lance whined.

"Oh, no. They're not all from dad's office. Probably only, like, nine or ten of them are from the study, and most of those will be filled with books."

We both just stood there, completely overwhelmed by the task at hand. "Well, a journey of a thousand miles . . ." Lance mumbled.

"Yeah, I guess so," I agreed. We soon found nine boxes labeled `Jacob's Office,' and I rolled up my sleeves before I began to look through them. As I pushed a box towards Lance, I heard him suck in his breath sharply, and shortly after, he grabbed my wrist.

"What happened to your arms, Luke?" I wondered for a moment what he was talking about, but then I remembered the bruises Jason had given me three days ago. Damn, I hadn't wanted Lance to know about those. Lance came closer to me and had me bend my elbows so that my wrists were resting on my shoulders. He looked down at the purple blotches and once again asked, "What happened?"

I sighed. "Jason."

Lance looked me in the face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I looked down. "I'm just so used to not telling anyone." I looked back up into his eyes. "I should have."

He looked a little upset. "Do they hurt?"

"Not really." Or maybe they did, I don't know. I'd stopped feeling bruises a long time ago.

"I should have stopped him."

"You were practically asleep," I protested.

He looked at me quickly, "But, I should have stopped him."

I scooched closer to him, took his face in my hands, and rested my forehead against his. "But you wanted to, Lance. And that's just as good." I gazed into his eyes, leaned in, and gently kissed his beautiful lips. "Now, let's get to these boxes. Okay?"

"Alright," he smiled.

We turned again to the boxes. Six, we found, were indeed filled with books. One box I found was filled with the trinkets he'd kept, but I quickly tapes that one back up and pushed it away. I was only just strong enough to come here today, I sure as hell wasn't strong enough to handle the memories those held. The last two boxes held my father's papers. We found many old receipts, my SAT scores, as well as other documents that looked to have been important at one time or another.

There was a snag in my breathing as I pulled out the picture I'd drawn him that he'd hung on his desk. I remember the day I drew that. I wasn't allowed to go into his study while he was working, but I'd just finished coloring my masterpiece, and I was so eager to show him, that I'd forgotten about the rule. He'd looked up from his work to see his little five year old toddling towards him with a drawing in his outstretched arms. He'd smiled that genuine smile he'd had and lifted me up to sit on his knee. He took the picture from me and took a good look at it. He then asked me to hop down, which I did. He'd taken a piece of tape from his dispenser and walked around to kneel in front of his desk. And then, he'd taped it up. No questions or anything. I waddled over to him, and he'd taken me in his arms and kissed my forehead.

I smiled to myself as I remembered that day, and I looked down to that sketchy picture we'd shared. The beige part indicated sand, while the blue was the ocean. On the blue was a rough, gray bowl shape with a sail, my interpretation of a boat fourteen years ago. In the boat were two figures, little more than stick men, one obviously bigger than the other. It was me and my father sailing on the ocean. My favorite place since I could remember with my favorite person of all time. I smiled to myself, folded the drawing, and slipped it into my back pocket.

"Found it," Lance called in triumph as he brought a document from the confines of the box that had held it. I wiped the tear with my thumb and turned towards him. "You alright, Luke?" Damn, he'd seen it. I just couldn't hide anything from this guy.

"Yeah," I said, sniffing a little. "It's the dust." I cleared my throat and took the will from his hands. "Yeah, this is it," I confirmed. "We have to go to the lawyer's now. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," he assured me.

We packed up the boxes again and left the basement as we'd found it, except with a new light bulb. I locked the door to the house and left the key under the mat. After the gate's latch clicked behind us, I got the strange sensation that I would be returning to this former homestead fairly soon.

The elevator dinged open, and Lance and I walked to the reception desk. "Can I see Mr. Vernon, please," I asked the receptionist.

She looked at me, her blue eyes sparkling behind the glasses she wore. "Do you have an appointment, sir?" Her voice was ever so sweet. What was a sweet thing like her doing stuck behind a desk? She should be cuddling babies at a daycare center, not working as a receptionist at a law firm.

"Not strictly, no, " I said. "But it's really very urgent that I see him immediately." Lance was standing behind me, just off my shoulder. It always made me nervous when people stood directly behind me, so I quickly turned around and repositioned him in a better spot. He was more than a little confused, but I just smiled and turned back to the receptionist. I saw her name tag said Lisa.

"Well, Mr. Vernon's very busy, sir. I'm afraid it will be impossible to see him without an appointment, and he's all booked up until the middle of next week." She really did look sorry she couldn't help me.

Damn, what to do? I recalled the first time I'd met Mr. Vernon. Someone had sued the company that my mother was president for. Mr. Vernon and my mother had hit it off from the start. He was only a little older than I was, maybe eight or nine years my senior, so needless to say, it made me a little uncomfortable to see him so close to my mother. I don't think he really liked her very much, per se, just that he was trying to get her to trust him with the case. Well anyway, I knew what to do.

"Well then, could you do me a favor, Lisa?" I asked, sincerely. "Would you please tell him that Sandra Robertson's son needs a favor? And can you tell him it's about a will, please?"

My last sentence cast a shadow over her bright eyes, and she nodded sullenly. "Yes, sir. I'll be right back." She got up from her desk and disappeared into the corridor behind her.

Turning to Lance, I smiled. "Boy, do I know how to get things done, or what?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "very efficient. But, uhm . . ."

Here it comes,' I thought to myself. He's going to ask why I moved him.'

"Why'd you, uhm, why'd you turn around and move me? That was kinda weird."

I smiled. It was amazing how skillful I'd come to be at knowing when people were going to ask that. "It's called agoraphobia," I explained.

He looked truly confused. "Fear of open spaces?"

Ooo, I had me a smart one, here. "Well, not exactly. Literally, it's fear of situations that are difficult to escape." I smiled. "Like, when someone's standing right behind me."

"Oh, well, what would have happened if you hadn't moved me?"

I looked at him seriously. "I would have wound up having a panic attack, probably."

"Panic attack?"

I nodded. "I can't breath, or move, or talk, and I just sit there staring, not even blinking. It's gross." He just kinda stared at me. "You think I'm a freak, don't you?"

He shook his head. "No, it's just that I've never known an agoraphobic before. I've certainly never known someone who has panic attacks." He paused for a second. "Actually, that scares me." He mentally shook himself. "But, no I don't think you're a freak. Hell, I'm afraid of the dark. How could I think you're a freak?" We chuckled.

"Mr. Robertson?" Whoa, someone was calling my father. I whirled around and saw Lisa smiling timidly at me. "Mr. Vernon said to go right in."

I smiled at her. "Thanks, Lisa. I really appreciate it." She nodded, and Lance followed me into the office.

We stepped into the office, and Mr. Vernon was sitting behind his desk doing some paper work. After a few moments, I cleared my throat to call his attention. He looked up and smiled, closing the folder he'd been working in. Getting up from his chair and walking around the desk to us, he said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Robertson," and he extended his hand.

I returned the greeting, shaking his hand. "Please, call me Luke. Mr. Robertson was my father."

He smiled and said, "Alright, Luke. I'm Avery Vernon, you can call me Ave." Hmm, Avery Vernon--too many V's. He looked quickly to Lance, then did a double take. He tried to keep his composure, and succeeded with some degree of difficulty. Still, he managed to extend his hand towards Lance and introduce himself. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Afternoon. Avery Vernon, call me Ave."

I just knew Lance wanted to laugh, but he managed to simply smile and shake Ave's hand. "Lance Bass," he offered the lawyer.

"Well, have a seat, gentlemen," he said as he motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk. Lance stepped to the chairs and sat. As Ave was walking around to his desk, he said into my ear, "You do know who that is, right?" I laughed and nodded. "Alright. Lucky shit." I chuckled and joined Lance in front of the desk. Lance looked over to me, green eyes sparkling. I almost melted.

"Well, gentlemen," Ave said taking his seat, "I'm told this is urgent. What can I help you with?"

"Well," I began, "I'm afraid my mother and I have been rather bad clients. About three years ago, my mother and I rewrote her will, but we never really got around to telling you about it. So, that's what I'm here to do." I slid the will onto his desk.

He took it and looked at it a second. "There are some pretty major changes here, Luke. You should have given this to me a while ago. This is going to take a long time for us to process."

"Well, I'm afraid we don't have a long time, Ave. She's dying."

The unspoken question hung in the air, but I just couldn't answer it. Lance cleared his throat. "They said something about the weekend," he said.

Avery nodded and slipped the will back on his desk. "Of course, we'll see to it that everything's done immediately. And if there's anything I can do, Luke, just call me." He handed me his card, which I put in my wallet.

"Thanks," I whispered. A thick silence hung over the room. I cleared my throat and stood up. "I suppose we should be going." Lance stood up beside me. "You've taken enough time out of your day." Ave stood up and offered his hand. "Thanks for taking the time, Ave. I really appreciate it," I said, shaking his hand.

"No problem, Luke."

"It was nice to meet you, Ave," Lance said, smiling.

"Uh . . .uh, yeah," Ave managed to stammer before we left his office.

Once we'd gotten into the elevator, Lance and I broke into giggles. "I thought he was gonna blow a gasket in there," Lance laughed as he leaned on the wall for support.

I chuckled, "I'm not so sure he didn't."

"Ah, the trials of being famous."

The elevator doors opened, and as we headed for my car, I joked, "And being really hot doesn't hurt, either." I expertly escaped Lance's hand as he tried to smack me and ran the rest of the way to my car. But he caught up with me just as I got there, and he spun me around so we were facing each other, pinning me against the car.

We stood there, inches apart, catching our breath and staring into each other's eyes. The tension was incredible. The whole world stopped, and it was just me and him there in that moment. Our breathing got heavier and we were just about to kiss, when that annoying logical side thumped me in the back of the head.

I cleared my throat. "You might want to be careful, sir," I said barely in a whisper. "People might get the notion that I'm easy." I smiled, and he broke his trance and backed away.

"Right," he said and cleared his throat, "where to now? We've still got a few hours before we meet the guys for dinner."

I sighed. "I supposed I should go over to the hospital, I mean, she is my mother and all. You don't mind coming, do you? I think . . .I think I need you there." I looked down at the ground.

"You don't like hospitals, do you?" he asked, softly.

I looked up at him. "Kinda obvious, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Let's go."

We got into the car and drove over to Mercy. The drive there was a little easier this time. I think I was over the initial shock of hearing that my mother was dying, and I wasn't nearly so uncomfortable. I felt like that right up until I put the car in park and stepped onto the pavement. As I turned around, the hospital loomed over me. I couldn't move, it was like the building itself had paralyzed me. I'd never liked hospitals, but I'd always been able to go in them. I'd never just stood there in the parking lot, dreading the moment I'd have to go inside.

Then it occurred to me. Maybe it wasn't the hospital I didn't want to deal with; maybe it was the person inside the hospital I didn't want to deal with.

I couldn't deal with her--I just couldn't. I didn't want to, and I just couldn't. So then, I attempted to do what I'd done so many times before--run away. I got back into the car and just sat there. I didn't even put the key in the ignition; I just sat there staring through the windshield. Lance got in next to me.

"What's wrong, Luke?" he asked me, softly.

"I can't go in there."

"But it's just a hospital. I mean, I know you don't like them, but . . ."

"No," I interrupted, "I mean, I can't go in there and see her."

"Luke," he began gently, "I know everything that happened . . .I know it scared you, but you can't just not deal with it."

"Why not?" I hadn't looked at him once.

There was a silence for a moment, before he whispered, "She's dying, Luke."

I unblinkingly looked into his eyes. "That does not make her a good person," I said, definitely.

He blinked. "No, it doesn't." He paused. "It doesn't change the fact that she's your mother, either. But she is."

And I knew I had to. Maybe even wanted to deep down somewhere. I sighed, then took a deep breath. "Alright." I got back out of the car, and glanced up to that red sign. Lance appeared beside me, and I took his hand, and we walked into the hospital together.

We were once again standing outside her door, this time without JC, and I was once again hesitating. Not because I was afraid to face her, but because I wished something would change. "You know something," I said as I looked up to Lance.

"What, baby?"

"All I want . . .is for her to say she's sorry."

He looked deep into my eyes before he took a step closer and wrapped his arms around me, lovingly. I sincerely returned the embrace, but whispered half-heartedly, "Someone might see us."

"Then let `em see us," he mumbled.

We stood for a moment longer, but then I took a deep breath and stood up straight. "Alright, let's go." I smoothed my shirt and was just about to push the door open when I heard him call me back. I turned to look at him and saw his hand extended towards me. I smiled softly and enveloped my fingers with his. We smiled at each other before walking in.

She was sitting in bed, reading, and upon hearing us come in, she looked up and closed her magazine.

"Hi, mom." She ignored me and glared at Lance.

"I see you brought him," she scowled.

I sighed. God, how I wished she'd just change. "Yes, I brought him, mom. And his name is Lance. I wanted him here with me, mom. Please respect that." I put my arm around Lance's shoulders and brought him closer to me, and he wrapped his arm around my waist.

"You know," she said, "you'd think my opinions would matter to you."

"Well, they used to," I said slowly, "but how can I . . .respect your opinions . . .when all you do is punish me for something I can't do anything about?" I held Lance tightly.

"Well, you certainly don't try very hard," she said, reopening her magazine.

God help me, but I wanted to kick her. I wanted to throw her down and kick her, hard and repeatedly. But instead I murmured, "I've dealt with the will, mom."

"Oh yes, thank you." She didn't even look up from her magazine.

I thought once again about how she'd just packed up his office. The resentment seethed inside me, and for the life of me, I couldn't think of one good reason to be in that room any longer. "I'll be here sometime tomorrow, mom."

She didn't even bat an eyelash as she said, "Oh, you don't have to. It won't matter to me."

Gee, love you too. "See you tomorrow, mom." With my arm still around Lance, we turned and walked through the door. It was only after we were in the elevator that we realized, and I quickly took my arm from around his shoulders and smiled weakly.

Dinner with everyone that night was a nice get away from the trials of my mother. They all asked about her upon our arrival, but I made it clear to them that I really didn't want to talk about it. I told them, simply, that my mother and I didn't get along, and I left it at that. They seemed to sense my sensitivity about it and moved onto other, less intrusive, subjects.

I sat next to Lance, of course, but it almost killed me to be so close to him and still not be able to touch him. Not just that it was a public place, but the guys were there too. If I'd had my way, I'd have thrown him down on the table and given him a good going over, but I didn't. A boy can dream can't he?

I managed to make it through dinner without going crazy, and I was thankful for the confines of the car during the ride to Lance's, throughout which I held his hand. As soon as he'd shut the door to his house behind him, I pinned him up against it and laid a kiss on those marvelous lips of his. My tongue snaked into his mouth as I released my penned up affections.

"Wow," he breathed when we'd finally untangled ourselves.

I grinned. "I've been wanting to do that all night." And before he could say another word, I scooped him up in my arms and carried him upstairs to his bedroom.

After gently laying him on his bed, I straddled his hips and sat on top of him. Taking his smile as a green light, I reached down and began unbuttoning his shirt. As I threw it to the floor, I happened to notice his "deer in the headlights" look. I leaned over, so that I was practically laying on top of him, and whispered in his ear, "Relax, baby. I don't bite." I could feel his muscles yield, so I added playfully, "That is, unless you want me to," and I nipped his earlobe. Judging from the quiet moan that escaped his lips, he did want me to. Hmm, note to self.

I sat back up and peeled off his undershirt, rewarded with that magnificent torso of his. I ran my hands along it, eliciting another moan from him. I was just about to lift myself off of him so I could begin unbuttoning his jeans, when I felt a tug at my own shirt. Looking down at him, I saw him grinning at me and silently demanding the same view I was currently receiving. I lifted my arms in the air, giving him tacit consent, and soon my shirt joined his on the floor.

Being that he'd had to sit up to get my shirt off, we were now face to face. Our lips grew minds of their own as they locked together. We lay back down on the bed, and as our hands explored each other, things got pretty heavy. In the course of things, he lost his pants, as did I, so we were both clad in just our boxers. During a passionate embrace, I happened to be on top of him, and my fingertips had just reached the waistband of his boxers when he put his hand on mine and pulled away from my lips.

"What?" I asked, slightly out of breath. "What I do wrong?"

"No, no nothing," he said as he likewise caught his breath. "It's just . . ."

"What?" I looked up to him, wondering what I'd done.

He basically pushed me off of him and sat up; I sat beside him.

"It's just . . .I've never . . .really . . ."

I blinked. "Y-you're a virgin?"

He nodded. "I've never been in a relationship. Not even with a girl."

I took him into my arms. "It's okay, sweetheart. I don't want to do anything you're not ready for, alright?"

"Thanks, baby." A smile grew on his lips.

I kissed his cheek.

After kissing him goodnight, for a while, I gathered my clothes and went downstairs. I'd never considered the fact that Lance would be a virgin. I mean, I guess I hadn't really thought it out. But it had never crossed my mind. He was older than me, after all. I don't know. I'd just never thought about it. It didn't really matter; I'd wait for him.

The next day, I slept in until about noon, and even then the only thing that woke me up was the telephone ringing. I rolled out of bed and made my way upstairs to Lance's room. When I got there, I found him wrapping up the call, still in bed. After he'd hit the talk button to hang up the phone, he rolled over and it dropped from his hand, thudding to the floor.

I plodded over to the bed and sat down next to him. "Who was it?" I asked, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

"Guhhh," came from somewhere under the covers.

Mmm, sounded like he was just about as awake as I was. "Come again?"

"Ugh," he grunted as he sat up. "JC. Something about . . .us. Didn't see us . . .or something."

I could see I wasn't going to get anything out of him until he was a little more awake. And even if I did, I wasn't going to understand it until I was a little more awake. "You need some coffee," I said, pulling him off the bed.

"Mmm, I need some coffee," he repeated as he followed me downstairs.

After getting him, and myself, caffeinated, I learned that JC had called to inform us that the rest of the guys had made a unanimous decision that Lance and I were to spend the entire day with them. I've gotta tell you, it felt really good to have someone want to spend time with me, and given the option, I would always choose someone who wanted to see me over someone who didn't care one way or the other.

So I spent the whole day with the guys at the arcade. There was that pang in the back of my head. The pang that told me I should be at the hospital with my mother. I kept telling that pang that she didn't want me there, but it didn't seem to want to listen to me. But two could play at that game. I decided not to listen to it, and instead to play skeeball with Lance and JC.

As it turned out, I sucked at skeeball. After our three games, I proudly held up the five tickets I'd received, only to find Lance and JC staring at me, each holding approximately four times the number of tickets I was holding. I dropped my hands and just stared at Lance.

"What?" he laughed.

"You are so . . .much better than I am."

He smiled. "Yeah, I know."

I shook my head. "No, I mean, I really suck."

"Yeah," he grinned, "I know."

"Oh, shut up." I managed to leap on him and get him in a head lock, prime noogie position. I noogied him until he was begging me to stop. I finally let him up, and he threw his arm around my shoulders, in a gesture of pure friendship.

Leave it to JC. He popped up in front of us and whispered, "Aww, isn't that cute," and ran away before we could react. We just stood there for a second, blushing, until Lance quickly withdrew his arm and smiled over at me.

As fun as that day was, the pang eventually got to me, and I felt like I just had to go see my mother. I pulled Lance aside in the parking lot and said, "Look, Lance, I should go see my mom. I've been avoiding it all day."

"Okay," he nodded, "let's go."

I grabbed his arm. "That's just it, though. It might be easier if you weren't there."

He looked wounded. "But, I want to be there with you."

"I want you there with me, but she doesn't." I sighed. "I know it's not fair, but she's dying . . .and . . .it just might be easier. And I'm all for getting along with my mother."

He nodded. "Well, I'll get a ride back with the guys, and I'll see you back at my place later on?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He smiled and looked into my eyes. "I hope everything goes well, Luke."

I absorbed myself in those green pools. "Thank you."

I had been there for only fifteen minutes, but already an uncomfortable silence had descended upon the room. She was once again reading a magazine, and for several minutes the only sounds in the room were of breathing, her heart monitor, and the turning pages of that damn magazine.

While staring down into the safety of her reading material, she cleared her throat and stated clearly, "I thought I told you not to come, Luke."

She didn't just say that. She . . .she didn't just say that. "But . . .but you're my mother!" I exclaimed, as if it explained everything. My voice was shrill and seemed to sever the last thread of whatever neutrality remained.

She looked up, directly into my eyes. "Yes, I am. But, that's not my fault." Her eyes didn't move from mine.

That was it. That was it! I was trying, here. She had done me wrong, not the other way around. I was trying to be civil; I was really trying, but she was making it impossible. Just impossible.

I stood up. I may as well have been boiling I was so angry. No matter how I felt, though, during my year with Jason, I'd learned not to express my anger on a person--pillows, walls, what have you, but never a person. So, I didn't yell at her, but that doesn't mean I wasn't angry. I think I was madder than I'd ever been in my whole life. The anger gathered just below the surface.

I looked right into her eyes, and even I was surprised by the severity of my whisper. "Yeah, well, it's not my fault, either." I turned and marched to the door, but just as I gripped the handle, I turned back. "Goodbye, mother."

I shut Lance's front door behind me. I was still seething; my blood was still bubbling through my veins. You know how sometimes you get so mad you feel like you just have to throw something or you'll explode? Well, that's how I felt as I walked into Lance's living room. I just had to throw something.

I saw him sitting on the couch watching TV; apparently, he hadn't heard me come in. I strode to the opposite end of the couch and grabbed the throw pillow that lay there. Drawing my arm back, I smashed it into the wall with all my strength, my anger sated by the feeling of the muscles stretching and working it out, and my mentality somehow appeased by the satisfying thud my efforts resulted in.

I let out the breath I'd been holding and sank to the floor, bringing my knees to my chest.

I felt Lance sit down beside me. "What happened?" His voice was so full of concern I almost cried.

I turned to look at him, the tears brimming in my eyes. I sighed. "Well, it's not you she has a problem with."

"What happened," he insisted softly.

I tried to prepare myself. "She basically told me she didn't want me there."

"What . . .what'd you say?"

"I was like, But you're my mother.'" I motioned in front of me, palms up, begging for something that would never be given. Lance nodded. "She looked me right in the eyes and said, That's not my fault.'" His arms held me tightly and I felt the tears as they made their hot, wet path down my cheek to fall on Lance's shoulder.

Eventually, we made our way to bed. We slept in his room that night. I didn't want to be alone, and he said he wouldn't let me out of his sight anyway, but I didn't sleep. I lay there for hours, just thinking. About her, about me, about her and me. I thought about it until I confused myself, but I finally made a decision. Feeling much better, I fell into a deep sleep.

But that sleep didn't last very long. It was only a few hours later that Lance was shaking me awake. I opened one eye and looked at him. "Can I help you?"

He smiled. "C'mon, we're goin' to Justin's. I'm gonna get my shower. Get up."

My one eye remained open. "You already had your coffee, didn't you?"

He grinned and nodded. "Get up," he laughed as he walked to the bathroom.

I severely did not want to get up, and no boyfriend, no matter how adorable or famous, was going to make me. I curled up and fell back asleep. However, only fifteen minutes later, I was being shaken again. This time I opened both my eyes to find Lance smiling down at me.

"Didn't I tell you to get up?"

"I seem to recall something of that nature, yes."

"So, why aren't you up?"

"Oh, I thought I was."

"Get up!"

"Make me!"

He raised his eyebrows.

I laughed. "Okay, okay," I relented as I swung my legs out of bed. "Look at me; I'm going; I'm going. Oh, wait," I said just as I'd reached the bathroom door, "I need some clothes to change into."

"I already got you some clothes."

I turned around and smiled. "Oh, really? How efficient of you. What color am I wearing today?"

"Tan."

I lifted an eyebrow. "Tan? Only a gay man would say tan' and not brown'."

He gasped. "Well, then I guess I'm gay. I never would have known."

I smiled. "Why tan?"

He walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. "It brings out your beautiful eyes."

"Beautiful eyes? They're brown."

"They're chocolate." He gave me a short, quick kiss and then wiggled from my arms. "Now, go have a shower before I have to kick your ass."

"Ooo, that might be fun, too."

He blushed. Oh, how cute. "GO!"

"Yes, master."

"Now, I could get used to that."

I rolled my eyes at him and walked into the bathroom. It was only after I'd finished my shower and gotten dressed that I remembered my decision the previous night. I sighed and descended the staircase. "Lance?" I called to him once I'd reached the bottom.

He came in from the living room. "My, my don't we look dashing," he grinned and gave me the once over.

"Well," I grinned, "I have a fabulous fashion director. Listen, Lance . . ."

"What's up?" That oh, so familiar concerned look appeared on his face again as he searched for clues in my eyes.

"I'll, uh, I'll meet you at Justin's later on. I'm gonna stop by the hospital first." I grabbed the keys to my car and began for the door, but he planted himself in front of it.

"No."

I looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"I mean no. N-O. You're not going."

"But, Lance, I--"

"No, Luke. Not with what she said to you yesterday. Not with how upset you were. No. You're not going. I forbid it."

Now, that made me angry. "Lance, first of all, you can't forbid me to do anything. And second of all, it's my life, and I'm going."

"Luke . . ."

"Lance--!"

"Luke, it won't accomplish anything!"

"I know that!!" I screamed at him. Silence prevailed until I cleared my throat and apologized. I walked to him and put my arms around his waist. "I'm sorry, Lance. I didn't mean to yell. I know it won't accomplish anything, Lance." I pulled back and looked into his eyes. "I know it won't, but I've got to at least try."

There was silence a moment while he took my argument to heart, and he returned to my arms. "Well, meet us as Justin's, okay?"

I smiled. "Thanks, babe."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled. "Don't say I never did nothin' for ya."

I pulled back and looked at him. "Are you seriously that southern?"

He blushed

Okay, this was the absolute last time I would ever see my mother. I would go in there, talk with her, she'd yell at me, and I could walk out of her life with a clear conscience because I'd know I tried to make up with her. I was basically on a suicide mission. This visit wasn't gonna do any good, but I couldn't be happy with myself until I'd done all I could to make up with her. I'd been too rash the night before. I'd just bounded out of the room, acted just like her. Now, I just had to prove to myself it wouldn't have mattered even if I hadn't stormed out.

I took a deep breath and pushed her door open, expecting to find her reading another magazine, or watching television, or something. But I didn't find her at all, she wasn't there. She must be down for more tests or something. Maybe they'd moved her to a different room.

I turned and made my way to the nurses' station, finding a petite brunette tapping away at her computer. I cleared my throat. "Excuse me, ma'am." She looked up. "Can you tell me where they moved the patient that was in room 326, please?"

"326, sir?"

"Yes," I nodded.

She tapped away at her keys for a few moments. "Sandra Robertson, sir?"

"Yes." I nodded again.

"Can I ask your name, please?"

I pulled out my wallet, then my driver's license. "Luke Robertson. I'm her son."

She glanced at my driver's license, then tapped on her keys a little more. "Let me page Dr. Ferguson, Mr. Robertson. He can help you." She picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers, followed by a few more. In a few minutes, a man of about forty in a white lab coat and with a stethoscope around his neck came walking around the corner.

"You paged me, Karen?"

"Yes, doctor," she said. She came from behind the nurses' station and pulled the doctor into a corner, speaking in hush whispers and looking towards me all the while. Something extremely fish was going on here.

After a few moments of whispers and stares, the man I assumed to be Dr. Ferguson stepped away from Karen the Nurse and came towards me. "Good afternoon," he smiled. "The name's Andrew Ferguson. It's a pleasure, Mr. Robertson."

"Luke," I corrected and shook his hand. I sure wished people would stop calling me Mr. Robertson.

"Fine, Luke. Let's just step into my office, alright?"

"Alright," I said warily.

I followed him around the corner to his office and sat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. He took his seat and looked at me seriously.

"Luke, I haven't heretofore gotten a chance to speak with you." He cleared his throat. "I assume you know why your mother was admitted."

I nodded. "She had a heart attack."

"Correct. She had a major heart attack, Luke. You knew that, right?"

I nodded.

"Well, then." He paused. "Late last night, your mother's heart got to the point were it could no longer sustain the bodily functions. She went into multiple organ failure." He paused again. "She died around five this morning."

I blinked. And again. Wow . . .she . . .wow. I knew she was dying, but . . .I never actually considered her death. I guess being aware of something, and actually experiencing it are two different things. Oh, wow. I stood up and started for the door to his office.

"Luke, there are arrangements that need to be made."

I turned the knob. "I'll call later and make them," I mumbled as I opened the door and walked through.

I drove to Justin's on auto-pilot. I'm not even sure I actually looked at the road. When I finally pulled into his driveway, it took several minutes before I'd gathered myself enough to realize that I'd need to move to get out of the car. But I finally did, and I slowly made my way into Justin's house. I stood just in the doorway to the living room, looking down at the floor. I could feel five pairs of eyes on me, and I figured I'd better answer the question before they had to ask it.

"She, uh . . .she . . .she died." There was a collective, yet barely audible gasp. "Yeah," I whispered, "at about five this morning." It was then that Lance got up and put his arms around me, and I pulled him close.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered in my ear. "I'm so sorry you didn't get a chance to talk with her." I could tell he was crying. "I'm so, so sorry."

My own tears began to flow. "It's okay," I managed in a choked whisper. "It wouldn't have done any good anyway."

We stood there for several minutes before we both realized where we were. We let go of each other, and I was a bit worried that the guys would be suspicious, but as soon as my arms left Lance, they were filled with JC. One by one the guys hugged me, trying to make me feel a little better. And you know, it worked. I did feel a little better knowing I had friends who cared.

After I let go of Justin, I wiped my eyes. They were all staring at me, and I supposed I should say something. "I need to make the arrangements. Justin, is there a phone I could use somewhere?"

Lance spoke for him. "Yeah, I'll show you."

"No, it's alright, Scoop," Justin piped up. "I'll show him." He took a step forward, but JC grabbed his arm and Joey and Chris shot him a death glare, and Justin quickly shut up.

"Go ahead, Scoop," Joey smiled.

Confused, Lance led me out of the room to a study type thing. Once the doors were closed behind us, we were instantly in each other's arms. I could feel him sobbing against my shoulder. I pulled him away from me and looked into his face. "What are you crying for, sweetheart? She was my mother, not to mention a gargantuan bitch."

He looked up at me and smiled, but the tears didn't stop. "I know," he gasped. "I know. But, it's just n-not f-fair. Y-you should have gotten a chance to-to talk to her. Even if it wouldn't have changed anything, you still should've gotten the chance." He took a deep breath, and he was a bit calmer. "You deserve a better life, Luke."

I looked into those penetrating eyes as they looked into mine. We leaned together and engaged in the most comforting kiss in the history of kisses. We pulled apart and rested our foreheads together.

"What all do you have to do?" he whispered.

I stood up straight and sighed. "Well, I have to call Dr. Ferguson at the hospital and make some arrangements with him. Then I have to call the cemetery on the north side of town and tell them to prepare the plot next to my father." I sighed. "She never wanted a funeral. She always told me that she never wanted a funeral, just a visitation at the funeral home." I scratched the back of my head and looked at him. "So, I have to find a funeral home. And I have to call the paper to place an obituary." I thought a moment. "I'll set the visitation for tomorrow evening. That leaves enough time for people to see the obituary and know about it. And the casket, I have to buy one." I searched my mind. "I think that's it." I paused. "God, I'm tired."

"Didn't you sleep well?"

"Hardly at all. Will you get me some caffeine? I haven't had any today."

He smiled. "Sure, I'll be right back."

As he left the study, I sat in the chair behind the desk. I made the mistake of leaning back in it, and I was asleep before Lance got back.

I don't know how much later it was, but I was being shaken awake again. This was going to have to stop. I opened my eyes to see all five guys staring down at me. "C'mon," Lance whispered, "let's get you to bed."

I was too asleep to argue, so I stood up and let them guide me.

"We were going to carry you," I heard Justin say, "so you wouldn't have to wake up."

"Yeah," JC put in, "but none of us could pick you up."

"I'm not fat," I protested, half-asleep.

"Nope, but you've got a lot of muscle on those bones of yours," Chris grinned. "We all tried, but we couldn't pick you up. Not even Joey could."

"Yeah, kid, you almost gave me a hernia," Joey said just as we got to the top of the stairs.

"You can use my room," Chris said as he opened a bedroom door.

They tucked me in, and I was asleep before they turned off the light.

I awoke of my own accord this time, which was nice, and I was extremely confused for several minutes before I vaguely remembered that I was in Chris's room. I'd fallen asleep before I'd made the arrangements. The arrangements! I looked at the clock on the bedside table and saw that it said 7:36 PM. Damn, I'd have to wait until tomorrow to make them, and that would push back the visitation to Sunday. I sighed. Well, there's nothing I can do about it now.

I went downstairs and found the guys in the living room, talking. They all smiled at me when I shuffled in. I sat in a chair catty-cornered to the two couches, where the guys sat. "I didn't make the arrangements," I mumbled. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep; I should have made the arrangements."

"No," JC smiled, "you should've slept. We made the arrangements."

My head popped up, and my eyes popped open. "What?"

"We made them," Lance repeated for him.

This was a little too much to take. "I-I don't understand."

"Luke," Joey started, "it's obvious the past few days have taken their toll on you. Not only did you fall asleep sitting up, but you stayed asleep while five guys tried, unsuccessfully I might add, to pick you up."

"Yeah," Chris grinned, "I think I slipped a disk trying to get you out of that chair."

I blushed.

"At any rate," Joey continued, "you needed a break. So we decided to give you one, that's all. Lance said you told him everything that needed to be done, so we did it."

"I don't know how to thank you, guys."

"There's no need, Luke," Justin assured me. "Ya know, Luke. You could have talked to us about it. It was obvious that you were going through a lot. You could have talked to us."

"Yeah," Chris added, "You're our friend, Luke."

"You can talk to us about anything," Joey whispered.

I looked at Lance, who looked at me, and we transferred the double meaning between us, we both nodded. We'd just silently agreed to tell the guys as soon as possible.

I was laying against Lance on his bed, just lying there. Neither of us said anything, but neither of us felt like we needed to. It was nice.

I snuggled up to him, and even though the silence was nice, we had to discuss telling the guys. "When do you want to tell them?" I whispered.

He hugged me tighter. "I don't know, soon though. Maybe Monday. How does that sound to you?"

"Just fine," I smiled. "I'm glad we're doing this."

"Me too."

I looked up at him and saw that he was lost in thought. "Whatcha thinkin'?"

He looked down at me and smiled. "Truth?"

"Of course."

"I was thinkin' about those panic attacks you told me about."

"What brought those to mind?"

"Well, I've been thinking about them ever since you told me. They . . .they scare me, baby."

"There's no need to be scared, sweetheart. I have them all the time. They're no big deal. I've gotten used to them."

"Okay," he said, "but I haven't. I mean, how do I know if you're having one. And, what do I do if you are? I want to know how to deal with it, you know, for when it comes up."

I smiled. He really did care about me. "Well, if you're going to worry, only worry about the worst ones. Sometimes I have limited-symptom attacks, little ones. But when I freeze up, when I'm not moving, or talking, or blinking or anything like that, you'll know I'm having one."

"Well, what do I do about it?"

"About the only thing you can do is get me out of the situation. Either move what's scaring me, or move me. When I have a panic attack, I can't do anything to get out of the situation. But really, sweetheart, don't worry about it, alright? I've learned to live with my phobia. You will too."

"I know. But it still scares me."

The guys had set the visitation for Saturday evening at 7:00. They all came with me, which was nice, and I really don't think I would have been able to handle it alone. However I felt about my mother when she was alive, that didn't change now that she was dead, but she was my mother. No matter how you slice it, she was the woman who had given birth to me, and that just meant something to me. Like I told Lance that day on the patio, I just can't hate my mother, it's not part of the game.

The funeral home the guys had chosen was an extremely nice one. When I got there, they wanted to know about a headstone, to send to the cemetery because I didn't want it to be a public burial. I suspect it will be many years until I'll actually be able to go to her grave; I've never even been to my father's. So, I made the headstone very simple--Sandra Marie Carmichael Robertson 1946-1999. It was nice, to the point, and not overly extravagant. Just what she'd have wanted, I think.

The stream of visitors went on for about an hour and a half. Most of them were people from her office, but there were some old family friends there too. They all offered their condolences. Many told me how sad it was to be orphaned at 19. No matter how hard they try, people at funerals never seem to say the right thing. But, they were all nice. They tried, and they came, and I guess that's all anyone can do.

By nine o'clock everyone had left, and it was just me and the guys. We wrapped things up with the funeral home director, and the guys were heading out to the car.

"You comin' Luke?"

"Give me a minute, okay Justin?"

He nodded. I walked into the room where my mother lay. I had asked for a closed coffin, as I don't think I'd have been able to deal with actually seeing her. But I walked right up to the coffin and laid my hand on it. Being an atheist, I didn't really think she could hear me, but I don't really think I was speaking for her benefit.

"Mom, I know we were two very distinct people with very distinct views of life. I'm not going to apologize for mine, and I don't want you to apologize for yours. I know deep down you were a good person, and I know that, deep down, you knew that I was, too. It was just the surface characteristic you couldn't deal with when it came to me. I understand that. I'm not saying I forgive you for anything you did, but I guess I can understand it." I stopped for a moment. "I just wish things could have been different." I walked out of that room, and out of that mortuary, and back into life again.

To Be Continued . . .

Well, I certainly hope it was worth the wait. :) PLEASE e-mail me and tell me what you thought about this one--Lauren2993@aol.com. I poured a lot of myself into this one, guys, and I want to know what you thought about it.