Plan B (22 page)

“That’s not fair. You know how important it is for me to make the NFL. Do you have any idea what my teammates would do if they found out I was messing with a dude?” Lance asked in a strained, incredulous voice.

“I can only imagine how disgusted they would be,” I said in a barely controlled voice. “I’m going to do you a favor and help you with that little problem.”

I hit the End button and threw the phone across the room. “Son of a bitch!” I screamed angrily. I got up from the bed and paced the small area of my dorm. Lance hadn’t told me anything I hadn’t already known. The irritating ache in my chest was proof that at least one part of me had been hoping I was wrong. The tears that dampened my cheeks as I continued to stomp and rage attested to just how heartbroken I was.

Three years later

W
HEN
it felt like the world was closing in on me, the hustle and bustle of New York City was making my head pound, and I needed to escape the noise and crowded streets, my small studio apartment was like a sanctuary. For some I suppose it would seem a bit crowded, overstimulating, and not calm in the slightest. However, for me, the vibrant colors, the mishmash of collectables, and the cluttered walls, full of posters, theater masks, photos, and feather boas were comforting. I’d transplanted my dorm room to this place, added to it each week, combined the past and present. It was a constant reminder of where I came from, where I was, and where I was going.

Nestled in its folds, the place held both happiness and sorrow. Perhaps that was what put me at ease—balance.

Standing at the window, staring out at the New York skyline, contract in hand, I felt anything but at ease. In fact, since I’d received the document from my agent hours ago via courier, I’d felt the walls were closing in on me and found it difficult to breathe.

“It’s the opportunity of a lifetime,”
he’d said.
“You’ll be a star, baby, a huge star.”
The second statement was the same one tons of model wannabes and young kids had heard when stepping into a sleazy, self-proclaimed agent to the stars’ office. In my case, though, I wasn’t being conned into doing porn or having to pay an exorbitant fee to some asshole who would pocket my last dime and I’d never hear from him again.

In my case, it wasn’t Broadway, but my two left feet, small delicate frame, and overly theatrical movements apparently were perfect for a starring role off-Broadway. All I had to do was sign on the dotted line and I’d be whisked back to nineteenth-century London. For five two-and-a-half-hour shows each week, I’d become a womanizer, a man who made the world laugh as a legendary screen persona, but who struggled to find happiness in his own life. I would become Chaplin.

Jonathan Culvert, agent extraordinaire and good friend of my parents, was right about one thing—it was an opportunity of a lifetime. At least it was for a twenty-four-year-old young man with no experience beyond four years of university. So why was I hesitating?

I leaned my forehead against the cool window and sighed, my breath fogging up the glass, making it difficult to see, but I wasn’t really looking at the view anyway.

Was it Kyle making me question signing the contract? Even as I thought it, I knew he had nothing to do with my decision, which just made me feel like a major bastard. Kyle and I had been dating for a year, and lately he’d been pressuring me to take
us
to the next level. I just didn’t feel the same way about
us
as he did.

I dropped the file on the coffee table and slumped onto the couch, sprawling out and putting my hands behind my pounding head. The offer to star as Chaplin wasn’t the only one on the table. I’d also been offered a part in an Olivier Award-winning drama that would be opening in Chicago. It wasn’t the lead role, not as good of an opportunity as the lead role of Chaplin, but in turning it down, I was also saying no to Kyle. The only reason I’d tried out for the part was at his urging, certainly not because I’d had any real desire to move to Chicago even if he now lived there, having accepted a position with a dance troupe.

“Ugh!” I grabbed the afghan off the back of the couch, wrapped it around me, and covered my head. Twenty-four years old and I still liked to hide in my cocoons. Some things never changed.

I was hedging, but I already knew what I was going to do. I was going to take the lead role, but I hated saying good-bye to Kyle. I wasn’t
in
love with him, but I did love him. We had met at a club, and it was lust at first sight for both of us. He was tall, head full of dark, nearly black, curly hair, a permanent five o’clock shadow on his jaw, and amazing midnight-blue eyes. Kyle had been dancing since he was three, and by twenty-five had the kind of body that begs to be idolized and, trust me when I tell you, I fell to my knees many, many, many times in worship.

Kyle was a great guy and we had a ton of fun when our schedules allowed us to get together. His work ethic was second to none, he was loyal, dedicated to the arts, and adored me. The sex was also hot. He could go from a soft, tender lover who wants me to make love to him all night long and cuddle for hours afterward, to a kinky and aggressive, dominant lover who can leave me walking funny for days. He kissed me and held my hand in public, comfortable with who he was, and loved to show me off as his man wherever we went. What’s not to love, right? I don’t know why my heart never made the leap—maybe because I knew Kyle’s dream was to live in Paris, travel the world, while mine was New York, and I knew one of us would end up unhappy if we gave up our dream. Or perhaps it was as simple as my heart wasn’t mine to give. I refused to dwell on the reasons behind that notion.

The ringing of my cell phone had me climbing out of my cocoon. Not because I really wanted to leave its warmth, but because I needed a distraction from where my mind was beginning to wander. That was a dangerous path with a slippery slope, one I didn’t want to walk when I had so many other things on my mind that needed my focus.

I grabbed my phone from the small table by the door and smiled when I recognized Bo’s number. I flipped it open. “Well if it isn’t Dr. Nerd.”

I loved teasing him about his career choice. I mean really, only a total geek would get his doctorate in business instead of medicine where he was sure to get laid by lots of horny, willing, gold-digging nurses.

“Katie’s pregnant!” he blurted out as soon as I answered. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do. We’re still in school, with an education debt that I’m pretty sure is right up there on the same level as the I’m-so-fucked national debt. We’re not married. I can’t afford to get married.” His voice rose with each short choppy sentence he rambled and the panic was evident in his high-pitched tone. “Danny, what the hell am I going to do?”

“Well—”

“I’m going to suck as a dad. Drop it on its head or worse, forget it at the grocery store or park or some other obscure place. You know how I’m always forgetting where I leave shit. Remember that time I left my laptop at the library? It was my pride and joy and I just left it there unattended.”

“Bo!” I yelled into the phone but if he heard me, it didn’t stop him. He didn’t even take a breath.

“Oh God! What if I do that to a kid? I’ll scar it for life. I’ll end up in jail, with a cell mate called Bubba and become his bitch, with a wife that hates me and a fucked-up kid. Danny, I’m not good with kids.”

Okay, wow! I needed a distraction, but damn, I hadn’t expected a nuclear meltdown.

“Danny? Danny, are you here? Did you hear me? Katie’s pregnant!”

I plopped back down on the couch and couldn’t help but laugh. And he called me a drama queen. “Yes I heard you. First of all, you’re not going to be Bubba’s bitch, you’re going to be Katie’s bitch for the next eighteen years.”

“This isn’t funny,” he huffed into the phone.

“No, I suppose becoming a dad isn’t a laughing matter, but your response is fucking hilarious.”

“I hate you!” But I could hear the snort of laughter he was trying to hold back and could imagine him biting his lip to keep from laughing outright.

“Feel better now?”

“Yeah, I think so. I’ve been holding that in all night behind an ‘it’s going to be okay’ façade to keep Katie calm. She’s pretty freaked out too.”

“Good. I know it’s scary and might not be the best time, but you and Katie are going to be amazing parents,” I said sincerely. The kid would probably be dressed in Goodwill-boring, go deaf by the age of two from Katie talking his or her ears off, but would have two amazingly loving parents.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, Bo. I do. So when is little Bogart Humphrey, Junior making their grand entrance?”

“Katie figures she’s five to six weeks, so about seven and half months, and I can assure you, I’d never be as mean to my kid as my parents were to me. Bogart won’t be gracing any birth certificate except on the line ‘who’s your daddy’. Katie and I at least agree on that.”

“Thank God,” I laughed. “Talk about scarring a kid for life.”

“I know, right.” Bo laughed too.

“So what are you and Katie not agreeing to?”

“She wants to get married next weekend.”

“You two have been together for what, four years? You’ve talked about getting married after graduate school and, dude, if she is willing to forego a big fancy wedding, I say go for it. Make an honest woman out of her.”

“So you’ll come?”

Oh shit!
I walked right into that one. A trickle of unease seeped down my spine.

“You will be able to make it, won’t you? I can’t get married without my best friend standing up with me.”

I sighed and rubbed absently at my chest. “I take it he’s invited too?”

“He’s her brother. We can’t not invite him.”

I tipped my head back on the couch and blew out a heavy breath as the unease churned in my gut. Three years I’d avoided seeing Lance Lenard and it looked like a broken condom or missed Pill or whatever was going to change that.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure of all the details yet, we only just told her parents this morning and Katie and her mom have been in deep discussion ever since, but I’ll let you know. Just plan on being here on the seventh so we can have one last drink before….” He laughed nervously. “Before I become a husband and soon-to-be dad.”

“Geez, that sounds so weird.”

“Tell me about it. Okay, I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”

“Sounds good. And, Bo?”

“Yeah?”

“Katie is one lucky girl. You are going to be a great husband and dad.”

I ended the call and grabbed the file I’d dropped on the table, tapping it on my leg. I wasn’t thrilled about seeing Lance again. Was I still in love with him? I didn’t know. Hell, I wasn’t really sure if I was ever
in
love with Lance or if it was the challenge, the thrill of having the ultimate impossible fantasy for a while. I didn’t sit around pining and thinking of him every day. There were moments I smiled when I thought of him, others of guilt, and still at times a feeling of loss, but I never dwelled on any of those emotions. They were single moments out of hours, and I had moved on. I was chasing and achieving my dreams. The one thing I had allowed myself in three years where Lance was concerned was I had followed the NFL draft the year after I left and knew he’d been picked up by Minnesota, so I knew he had reached his dreams too.

No regrets.

I may not have been one hundred percent sure I’d been in love with Lance, but the one thing I was sure about was Kyle never made me feel the way Lance had.

I leaned over, opened the drawer on the end table, and pulled out a pen. Flipping the file open, I signed the contract and this time I didn’t hesitate. That decision made, I picked my phone back up and scrolled through the contacts. Finding the number I needed, I hit Call.

“Thank you for calling Delta Airlines, how may I direct your call?” a cheery, female voice asked.

“I’d like to book a flight for Chicago.”

Kyle was expecting to hear my decision, and I knew that what I was about to tell him was going to break his heart. I’d done a lot of growing up in the three years since I’d left Michigan. I was no longer a coward. I wasn’t going to walk away without a word, and Kyle deserved more than a text message or a phone call.