Prologue

Bomp bomp...bomp bomp...bomp bomp...

Layla took five deep breaths in rapid succession, her breasts visibly moving up and down underneath the silky robe. She wasn't sure whether the deep bass sound in her ears was the loud music coming from the speakers or her heartbeat speeding up.

Pushing down the urge to vomit, she adjusted the decorative chain bracelet on her wrists. As she turned her hand, the glint from her finger caught her eye.

“I promise I will never, ever leave you hanging.”

She looked up as he sat down next to her on the bed, reaching into his jacket pocket before he settled down onto the comforter.

“Lance...”

“Lay, let me say this,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I love you. I love you as a friend – but I love you in so many more ways than that.”

He unfolded his hand to show the black velvet box in his hands.

“Don't worry, it's not what you think,” he said with a smile. “But it is a promise. You may not always be my girlfriend – but you will always be my friend, and you will always mean the world to me. Your happiness will always be my number one priority. I will always protect you, even if it means my own life.”

She looked up at him, speechless as he opened the box to reveal a tiny diamond ring.

“This ring is just a reminder of that promise,” he said. “When you feel alone, like no one loves you, or that no one cares about you, I want you to look down and see this ring and remember that there is one person that loves you more than you can imagine – more than life itself.”

She watched as he plucked the ring out of the box, grabbing her hand. He lifted her hand and gently placed it on her right ring finger.

“I will always be there for you, Layla,” he said. “I love you.”

“You're next, Layla.”

Her head snapped to the right as Cooper came up to her, ripping the robe away from her shoulders quickly, leaving her in only the thong underwear.

She shivered as she felt the air-conditioning hit her body, the cold making her nipples harden. Her torso shook with her rapid breathing and the shock of the chill running down her skin.

“You're my prize, baby,” he whispered, his snaky voice making her skin crawl. “Go out there and stun 'em.”

The previous dancer, completely naked, appeared from behind the ruby-colored curtain as the claps of the audience vibrated through the building. She took a shaky breath as her music finally came on with another bomp, bomp.

“And now, ladies and gentleman,” she heard from the speakers, “the lusty, lovely Layla!”

She closed her eyes tightly, fighting back tears. How could she do this to Lance? How could she do this to the man she loved, who loved her?

How could she do this to herself?

“You're so hypnotizing, would you be the Devil, would you be an angel?”

Because she had no respect for herself. Lucas had taken all of it away and then some.

Shoving the feelings down, she took a single step up, exhaling a breath and filling her lungs with air to push her breasts up before she pushed the curtain back. The lights hit her eyes immediately, and her legs moved swiftly on their own, swaying her ass back and forth as the men around the stage whooped and hollered. As she made her way to the pole, she didn't look at them – she refused to.

Men were worthless. People were worthless. She used to be worthless.

But when she thrusted against the silver pole, bending her body back in ways that at one time she didn't think were possible, jumping up and wrapping her legs around the pole before twisting back down – she wasn't worthless. These men paid to see her; they paid just to see her dance.

No matter what she was before, a stripper was what she was now.

Chapter One

Three months earlier

“I'm lucky to have someone like you for a friend,” she said. “Someone who can still remember who I am when I'm so lost that I can't.”

He smiled back. “How could I forget you? I never could. Never, Layla.”

She adjusted the paper robe around her body, jumping slightly when she felt a hand pat her leg.

“The doctor will be here soon,” Lance said softly. “He'll make you feel better, okay?”

She nodded, closing her eyes when his hand brushed against her cheek to wipe away tears that had gathered there.

She was positive that her ribs were broken, just like her heart. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe...it hurt to think.

She had been lucky to get away from the house that night, she wouldn't lie. Lucas was such a light sleeper, she had to sneak out of the house as quietly as she possibly could in complete darkness. It had taken her about five minutes, stopping every time that a floorboard would squeak or the door would creak when she opened it. As it was, she had left the house with only the coat on her back – no clothes, no purse, no money...nothing.

They had waited at the hospital for two hours just to be taken back to triage and x-ray and it was already six in the morning. His alarm would be going off in fifteen minutes, and that's when he would notice that she was gone.

If he found her, she knew he would kill her.

“What time is it?” she asked him quietly.

He glanced at his watch. “6:07,” he said.

She closed her eyes, allowing more tears to slip out.

“Just a few more minutes, Lay,” he said.

“I don't have a few more minutes,” she said. “He'll be awake in eight. He's going to come looking for me. And Lance, he'll kill me.”

“Hey, remember that I told you that he has to get through me to get to you?” he asked.

She nodded slightly.

“Guess what? He's not getting through me or you. He's already awake. Police arrested him at his house thirty minutes ago.”

It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears, only because the movement of her torso would send piercing pain through her body.

“They're charging him with assault and battery,” he said. “He won't get a court date until at least Monday. He may not be in prison the rest of his life, but there's no way he's getting out tonight, Lay.”

“How?” she asked. “We didn't even go to the police station.”

“Remember when they took the pictures, right before we went down to have your x-rays? The hospital reported it. The police didn't even hesitate.”

In the chaos and worry and anxiety of everything that had happened that night, in addition to the distress of being in the hospital in the first place and the pain she was going through, she only vaguely remembered when the nurse asked Lance to leave the room. Layla had fought it; she wanted him there, because without him she was scared. But the nurse reassured her she would be fine and shooed him out quickly. She had been asked to strip down to nothing, and they had taken pictures of her injuries while she cried.

It wasn't just the abuse that she had suffered for almost three years, every single day. It wasn't the injuries she had sustained tonight. It was the whole process. Being beaten and bloodied; sitting in a hospital room with the other people surrounding her staring at her and Lance, as if he was the one who had done it to her; then being asked to strip down to her naked skin while they evaluated her with a fine-tooth comb.

The violation didn't stop because she got out of the house, or because Lucas got sent to jail for the weekend. It was ongoing.

“Lance...”

It was all she managed to get out of her mouth before her head collapsed onto his shoulder, dissolving into a mess of tears. He immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulder, combing a finger through her blonde ponytail that was falling out.

“Just a few more minutes, Lay,” he whispered, swallowing back his own emotions.

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“Have you ever taken this medication before?”

Lance hiked an eyebrow, wanting to ask the female pharmacy technician if she saw the name on the label and if he looked like a “Layla”.

“It's not for me,” he said. “It's for a friend.”

“Well, has your friend ever taken the medication before?” she asked.

He glanced down at the label – Percocet, 5mg.

“Uh...I have no idea,” Lance said. “Probably not.”

The lady went into a long list of side effects – but he zoned out after nausea and vomiting. It was ten in the morning; they had finally released Layla from the emergency room an hour ago. He had dropped her off at his house and came immediately to the nearest CVS to fill her prescriptions and get her a few necessities. She had chosen not to go back to the house immediately to get her things, feeling slightly more comfortable knowing she had a couple days to get her things in order before Lucas got a chance to bail himself out of jail. He hadn't slept all night.

By the time he walked in his front door, throwing his keys on his counter with a loud clang, his eyes were closing on their own.

“Oh God, what a night,” he said to himself, moving his aching neck around in a circle.

He sat the plastic bag filled with Tylenol and medical tape, along with other necessities like a toothbrush for her for the next few days, on the counter, picking the white paper prescription bag out of the bag.

“Lay,” he yelled softly. “Medicine's here.”

When he got no response but silence, he smiled.

“Passed out,” he said to himself.

His best friend had a trying day. She was such a sad sight to see, with the taped spots on her torso for her broken ribs to heal, the bandage over her eye, and the cleaned cut on her lip. It broke his heart. If Lucas wasn't already in jail, Lance would be there by now – because he would have killed Lucas himself.

He and Layla had been best friends for what felt like forever. It almost felt like they had been best friends since before they were born, even though their mothers told them it was only since they were about five. They had met in Sunday School, where both of their mothers taught, and their friendship had only been cemented when they were in the same class for kindergarten, first and second grade.

Their mothers had been friends long before that, and both of them were always amused by the relationship between Lance and Layla. Most times they were inseparable. Other times, they had fought like cats and dogs, blowing up at each other for one reason or another before stomping off in a childish manner and refusing to talk or play with each other. Usually it would last as long as it took for their mothers to sit at the kitchen table and have a cup of coffee before they were playing with each other again, like nothing had ever happened.

Lance was like a son to Layla's parents, even though Layla was an only child herself. Layla was like a second daughter to his own parents, Jim and Diane, and was sometimes around the house more than his real sister was, almost taking her place when Stacy reached the age that she was out with her friends having a social life all the time.

Distance had separated the two of them after he had gone off to be a pop star in NSYNC, even though they had kept in contact with each other. After she had gone off to fashion school, they talked less frequently. It only took a few years for contact to almost come to a screeching halt altogether.

But just three years ago, she had moved back to New York to be closer to him. And that was when Lucas had entered the picture.

He walked into his bedroom, stopping and leaning against the doorway with a smile. She had laid down in his bed, curled up into his blanket, and fallen asleep right there because of the strong painkillers the hospital had given her.

“Oh Lay,” he said to himself.

He walked over to the side of the bed, sitting down on the edge next to her.

“Layla,” he whispered. He didn't dare touch her or shake her; her taped up ribs scared him. He had never been one to picture her as a porcelain doll, remembering the times she could hold her own in a shoulder-punching match against him – but the way he saw her today, she looked so delicate.

“Mmmmm?” she mumbled. Her voice was muffled and cloudy from the drugs.

“I got your medicine,” he said softly. “I'm gonna go take a nap on the couch if you need me.”

He stopped when she tightly grabbed his arm in her fist.

“Don't leave me,” she said. “Please.”

Even half-asleep and drugged, he could hear the fear in her voice. He had never seen her like this before; at the hospital, he could hardly let her out of his sight before she was asking for him. She would wring her hands together even as they shook, hugging her arms into her body.

“I'll stay with you, Layla,” he said.

He stood off the bed and walked to the other side, removing his shoes before laying down in the space next to her. She barely let him get comfortable before she turned her body, wrapping an arm around his torso.

“Just don't leave me,” she said tiredly.

He caught the scent of her shampoo as she snuggled her face into the crook of his shoulder, and closed his eyes, savoring the smell of fresh lavender.

There was only one thing that he had ever kept a secret from his best friend in the entire world – he was unconditionally, undeniably, and irrevocably in love with her.

He had been ever since they were kids. It started out as a crush, of course when they were little. He always heard that when little boys and girls 'liked' each other, they showed it by being mean and bullying each other. If that were true, he and Layla fit the bill.

As close as they were, as inseparable as they were, it seemed like they were always fighting. When they were little, they would scream at each other, pick on each other, and even push each other down. When they were teenagers, it progressed into calling each other names and refusing to talk to each other. But now they had grown up, and he wondered...

He still felt the same way. But did she?

Did she ever feel that way about him? If she did, he wondered why she never said anything to him. Was she scared that she would lose him as a friend? Or afraid that he didn't feel that way about her? All of those were reasons he hadn't told her...plus one.

When she moved to New York to be closer to him, he thought he had a second chance. The day he had picked her up at the airport, he saw all the possibilities ahead of him – what could happen if he told her, what they could be if she felt the same way. He didn't want to rush into anything, though. He wanted to give her a chance to get settled into New York and her new life before he hit her with something as big as this.

But two weeks into her new life in New York, she met Lucas. And here he was, three years later. He hadn't changed that much, and neither had his feelings. But she had, and now she wasn't the same woman he used to know. On the outside, yes; on the inside, definitely not.

Time – maybe – would be the only thing that would heal her enough to open up to him on the level he wanted her to.

“I'll be right here,” he whispered to her, even though he was certain she was already fast asleep again from the drugs.

He was prepared to give her as much time as she needed.

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Layla pulled the front of the robe closed against her, holding her steamy, warm mug against both of her hands. It wasn't necessarily all that cold outside – after all, it was only mid-September – but the warmth of Lance's fuzzy robe and the heat coming from the mug felt good.

She stared out in his backyard, looking at the reflection of the moon and stars against his pool. He was still asleep when she left the bed. He had only mumbled as she pulled herself away from him. She couldn't stand laying down anymore. She knew the doctor had ordered her to take it easy and lay as much on her injured rib as she possibly could to reduce her risk of developing pneumonia, but eventually it had become so painful to lay on it and take deep breaths that pain prevented her from sleeping any longer.

The Percocets may have helped the physical pain, but they did nothing to touch the emotional pain. As much as she had tried to push it aside and tell herself that this was for the best...she missed him.

It was sick. It was disgusting. The thought of missing a man like that made her sick to her stomach. But her heart couldn't help feeling what it felt.

The problem with being in love with an abusive person was that she fell in love before the abuse ever started. And the problem with love was that once you fell in love, you couldn't simply fall out of it.

She couldn't help but think of one of her favorite verses from the Bible, Corinthians 13:4-7. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered.

Thinking about it, and going over every part of that verse in her head, none of it seemed to describe the love between her and Lucas. Their love was never patient or kind. Their love was full of constant envy, pride, jealousy, and boastfulness. The constant beatings were obviously a dishonor to her as a woman and a girlfriend. Lucas was always self-seeking. And clearly, he was very easily angered.

But there was one part of that verse that she couldn't get past – it keeps no record of wrongs.

She believed in the Bible, and she believed every part of Corinthians. And it was so hard to push that one out of her mind. As a child raised in the South, she was taught that everybody deserved forgiveness. Going through what she had gone through, she wasn't sure anymore.

Did that include Lucas? How was she ever supposed to forgive him?

She jumped when she heard the patio door open quickly.

“So that's where my robe went,” Lance said as he leaned against the frame, pointing the beer in his hand towards her, a smile on his face.

She smiled. “Sorry.”

“Mi casa es su casa,” he said. “Though it is a tad big for you.”

“That's what I like about it,” she said, snuggling into the robe further. “And it smells like you. It's like getting a big, fuzzy, constant hug from you.”

“I hope that's a good thing,” he said as he stepped down onto the concrete stairs, shutting the mesh screen door behind him. “How're you not passed out cold?”

“You can only sleep so long before your body can't take sleeping anymore,” she said.

“So you're out here, staring into nowhere,” he said. “Because I assume to a degree that's less boring?”

“I was thinking,” she said.

“It's just as comfortable to think about Lucas in bed, you know.”

She looked over at him. “You don't know I was thinking about Lucas.”

“I've known you since we were five years old,” he said. “After the day you've had – we've both had – if you weren't thinking about Lucas, I'd be worrying about you.”

She watched him pull from his beer. “I'm a horrible person.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I show up on your doorstep at two in the morning bleeding on your carpet – and you take me to the hospital, call the police for me, put me up for the night, go to the store to get my medicine, loan me your robe, do everything for me...and here I am thinking about how much I miss Lucas. That's so not fair to you, Lance.”

He looked away from her, twirling a finger around the top of his bottle. On one hand, he understood. On the other, he couldn't deny that it hurt him.

“It doesn't make you a horrible person,” he said. “It's natural, Lay. You didn't spend an hour with the man – you spent three years with him. He's been a part of your every day life for three years, and now...he's not. You gotta adjust. You don't just change overnight.”

“I don't think I can hold it against him,” she said.

“Wait,” he said. “What do you mean, 'hold it against him'?”

“The Bible,” she said. “Corinthians 13. Love keeps no record of wrongs. What he did was what he did. What he did was what he will have to be held accountable for. But what kind of Christian would I be if I said he was wrong and held it against him for the rest of my life?”

“Wow, Lay,” Lance said, chuckling slightly. “Um...I think when God said that, he didn't mean it quite the way you're interpreting it.”

“How will I ever hate him?” she asked. “I'm smart enough to know that I should. But I don't.”

“Layla, I'm not a psychologist,” he said, leaning forward in his patio chair. “I guess if I was, my life would be a lot easier...but my guess is that, it's like grief. There's stages, you know? You're in denial right now. It hasn't really sunk in that it happened, and it hasn't sunk in that it's over. You don't really know what to do. You don't have to go back to that ever again. You don't have to forgive him for what he did – I don't think God will hold that against you. And you don't have to hate him either. The important part is that you realize that what he did to you was wrong and that you never put yourself in that position again.”

“Yeah,” she said. She sighed, pushing herself up out of the chair, wincing at the pain in her rib. “It hurts again, so I'm going to take a pill and go back to bed. Night, Lance.”

He watched her walk away from him, pushing the screen door open and closing it behind her, disappearing into the darkness of his house. He bit his lip as he turned back, looking at the night reflection in his pool.

Chapter Two

Six weeks later

“Layla?”

She looked up at the doctor in the chair across from her, one long leg crossed over the other.

“Hmm?” Layla asked, mumbling with her thumb in her mouth, nervously chewing on her fingernail.

“Are you nervous?” Dr. Swan asked. “You're very fidgety.”

Layla sighed.

“Maybe a little,” she said.

“Want to talk about it?”

She popped her thumb out of her mouth, making a small click with her tongue in the process.

“Not really,” she said.

“I understand,” the doctor said. She uncrossed her legs, lifting her hand up and removing her glasses. “Is it because Lance isn't here?”

“Why would I be nervous that he isn't here?”

“Well, he did sit in on our first two sessions,” Dr. Swan said with a small smile. “You seem to be more comfortable around him than you do anyone.”

“He's my best friend,” Layla said with a small shrug.

“I think it goes deeper than that. I think he's your security blanket. He's a male, and the only male in your life that you've ever been able to rely on – and the only one who has never hurt you.”

Layla didn't speak, and looked away from the therapist.

“Do you think you have codependency issues, Layla?”

Layla's eyebrows narrowed.

“I don't depend on Lance,” she said softly. “For anything.”

“I didn't say severe codependency issues,” Dr. Swan said. “Codependency can simply mean you need his presence. If you don't have him in your life, you feel...off-balance.”

“What a crock,” Layla said with a slight laugh.

“I'd love for you to challenge me,” the doctor said. “Tell me one time in your life that you didn't need him.”

“I lived for ten years in Paris without him,” Layla said.

“Without his presence – but without his spirit?”

Layla looked away.

“You stayed in contact with him,” the doctor said. “You made phone calls and you emailed. Even when he wasn't there in person, or you lost touch with him, he was always on your mind.”

The doctor paused, biting the end of her pen with her teeth a moment before removing it.

“You moved from Paris back to New York because of him, am I right?”

“Yeah.”

“So you must have been thinking of him,” she said. “Something disturbed your life in Paris enough for you to run back to your security blanket.”

“Security blanket,” Layla scoffed. “What does that even mean?”

“Okay, I'll rephrase,” the doctor said. “Something disturbed your life in Paris enough for you to run back to...your rock. Is that better?”

“My boyfriend broke up with me,” Layla said. “Paris just...wasn't what I thought it was and after the relationship ended, I figured – what better time to make a life change?”

“And Lance was a major part of that life change,” the doctor said.

“Well, yeah,” Layla said. “We had talked a few times before that and he seemed to be happy with his life in New York. It just seemed like the most logical thing.”

“I don't think logic had anything to do with it.”

Layla looked up.

“I just wanted to be happy,” she said.

“And Lance makes you happy.”

Layla bit her lip and thought of her best friend, who was sitting in the waiting room of the women's trauma center. The last time she had seen him, she had stood up from her seat when the therapist called her into the back of the center, and he had looked up at her with a smile with the People magazine in his hands. She knew him well enough to know that he had no true interest in the magazine and was probably already bored out of his mind, but he waited for her sake.

“Sometimes we develop strong feelings for people in our lives without even knowing that those feelings aren't what we think they are,” Dr. Swan said. “I understand you've been sleeping in the same bed for six weeks.”

“We're friends,” Layla responded. “That's it. It doesn't go any further than that.”

“But that's what makes you most comfortable, correct? You're free to move into his guest bedroom at any time. If it made you uncomfortable to be sleeping in the same bed as your best friend, you would move. Something about it makes you comfortable enough to keep you there.”

“I can't describe it,” Layla said, softening.

“After what you've been through, it's terrifying to admit that you might have feelings for someone,” the doctor said. “Your trust in men has been ripped away from you. You know how bad a relationship can get, and your first instinct is to protect yourself. And it can be even more terrifying to realize you have feelings for your best friend.”

Layla paused a moment. She had suddenly become afraid. Did she have feelings for her best friend? Of course she loved him – but did she love him? The past six weeks he had been the only person she trusted. The only person she let wrap their arms around her was him, and at night when they were laying on the couch watching television, that was the only time she felt safe.

And she didn't want to give up that feeling by leaving his bed either.

She was slightly startled when the timer next to the therapist on the table went off.

“Our time's up for today,” the woman said as she reached to shut off the sound. “Next week?”

Layla slightly nodded as the two of them stood up.

“You know, I teach a dance class here at the center,” Dr. Swan said as she opened the door. “I think you'd be a good candidate to join, Layla.”

“A dance class?” Layla asked as they walked out into the hallway. “What purpose does a dance class serve in a women's trauma center?”

The doctor chuckled. “Exercise. Raise self-esteem. To have fun – because most women who have been victims of abusive relationships have forgotten how to have fun and enjoy a little freedom.”

“Just sounds like more therapy to me,” Layla said.

The doctor smiled, but was silent as they stepped up to Lance in the waiting room. He looked up from his magazine.

“Lance, I was just telling Layla about the dance class I teach here at the center,” the doctor said. “She was just saying how she would love to join.”

He looked at Layla as he stood. “I think that would be good for you. You're a great dancer, Lay.”

“Our next class is in a couple of days,” the doctor said. “We're working on Latin this week. I understand this is something you've done before?”

“Yeah,” Lance said with a smile, thinking back to his stint on Dancing With The Stars. “How well I did is disputable, but I can hold my own at least.”

“Sounds like you'd be the perfect partner for Layla, then.”

Layla looked between the two of them, unsure of what to say.

“I'd love to,” Lance said. Then he looked at her. “Whaddya say, Lay?”

“Uh...”

Instinctively, she wanted to pull back. But with both of them staring at her, she felt herself cave.

“Sure,” she said.

“Great, I'll put your name down,” Dr. Swan said. “And I'll see both of you on Friday night at seven, here at the center.”

Layla watched her therapist walk away with a smile on her face, knowing in a way, she had just been conned.

“It sounds fun,” Lance said.

“For you maybe, Mister Third Place,” Layla said, crossing her arms as she followed him out of the center's doors.

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Thursday, October 31st – Halloween night

“So, out of my own curiosity,” Lance said, picking up a tube of mascara from the table and inspecting the brush, “why did you choose this movie?”

“I wanted to,” Layla said.

She sat across from him while one of Lance's hired wardrobe did her makeup, getting ready for his annual Halloween haunted house. She had agreed weeks ago to help him plan the whole thing, hoping it would be a great distraction, and somehow she had been swindled into not only picking the movie for his “big scene”, but acting in it as well.

“What is it again?” he asked. “I've never heard of it...Grave what?”

“Grave Encounters,” she said. “Jeez, you never listen to me.”

“I listen,” he said defensively. “I just have no idea what the hell it is.”

“It's a movie,” she said. “It's only like, the best, crappiest, cheesiest D-list horror movie ever made.”

“Thought that was Killer Klowns from Outer Space?”

He smiled when she looked up and narrowed her eyebrows at him.

“I'm screwing with you,” he said. “Lighten up.”

“The things I do for you,” she said, looking up as the makeup artist dusted more white powder on her cheeks and nose.

“What are you supposed to be anyway?”

“One of your nurses at the Collingwood Psychiatric Hospital,” she said.

“And who am I supposed to be again?” he asked.

“Doctor Arthur Friedkin, the lobotomist,” she said. “I'm forcing you to watch the movie tomorrow morning. You know nothing.”

“So that's why there's a creepy hospital bed in my dining room instead of a kitchen table,” he said with a chuckle. “You look good, by the way.”

“So do you,” she said with a smile, glancing over at his costume. His face was dusted white as well to make him paler than normal, and he wore a white surgeon's coat, bloodied in various places. She smiled at the blue cap tied back over his spiky hair and the surgeon's magnifying glasses propped up on his head. “I don't think I'd want you to perform a lobotomy on me, though.”

“Would you rather the zombies...” He stood up out of his seat in front of her, holding his hands out in front of him towards her. “...eat...your...brains?”

She couldn't help herself from giggling. “You're like a kid in a candy store when it comes to this stuff. Every Halloween, it's like you're eight years old all over again.”

“I love Halloween,” he said. “It's the one time of the year that you can dress up in any costume you can imagine, be anyone you want to be...be an entirely different person, you know?”

She nodded lightly, trying not to move as the makeup artist applied heavy, black eyeshadow around her eye sockets to mimic the nurse character from the movie. She had never thought about it that way. As a kid, Halloween was all about dressing up as your favorite character and running around the neighborhood just before dusk gathering up as much candy as you could. Sometimes her, Lance, and their group of friends would see how many neighbors they could con out of extra candy by changing into each other's costumes, until they would get caught.

She chuckled.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“I was thinking of when you and me and Darren went trick-or-treating and we were able to con half the neighborhood out of extra candy just by switching costumes with each other.”

He laughed. “I remember that. You have to admit, Darren looked pretty good in your cheerleader costume.”

“He did have a pretty nice ass,” she said with a smile.

They laughed together as she let the artist finish applying the eyeshadow, watching out of the corner of her eyes as he spun around in the chair, kicking the floor with the toe of his sneaker when the chair would slow down, launching himself again.

“You're making me dizzy,” she finally said.

“Have you ever wanted to be a different person?”

She looked over at him curiously as the artist pulled away, going to her table for another item.

“That's kind of an odd question,” she said.

“Really? I thought it was pretty valid.”

“Lance, you know this stuff isn't real,” she said.

When he only looked at her, she nodded.

“Yes, I have,” she said. “Who hasn't? I wished I was a different person all the time back when I was with Lucas.”

At the mention of his name, the two of them went silent. She let the artist finish applying her makeup, and he continued to twirl in the chair.

“Have you?” she finally asked.

He stopped the chair abruptly using the toe of his sneaker, and looked up at her.

“I wished I was Lucas.”

She was surprised when he stood up, walking away from the makeup area they had set up.

“Can you give me a minute?” she asked as the lady prepared to put the brush to her face again.

She held a single finger up as the lady pulled her brush back, looking annoyed, and quickly stood up out of her seat. She followed after him, struggling not to trip on her high heels.

“What did you mean by that?” she asked once she had finally caught up with him, weaving through the different rooms of the house as the crew set up the rest of the haunted house. “Lance, stop.”

She was surprised when he stopped abruptly, and she almost ran into his chest as he turned.

“It's nothing, Layla,” he said. “It was just...a stupid thing to say. I don't know, it sounded really stupid.”

“No, it didn't,” she said. “You meant something by that. What did you mean?”

He looked away, hesitant to say anything.

“Lance, tell me what you meant by that,” she said.

“I meant I wished it was me instead of him,” he said. “I meant that I wished it was me you were with instead of him. Instead of him treating you like dirt and beating the crap out of you all the time, it could have been me treating you like a queen.”

“What are you saying?” she asked.

“I'm saying that I'm in love with you,” he said. “I'm completely in love with you and I have been ever since we were kids. I was going to tell you when you moved to New York but I waited. I wanted to give you time to settle into the city because I didn't want to overwhelm you. But then two weeks later you met Lucas and...fuck, Lay, I just lost my chance. And I feel like you spent three years in hell and I could have changed it all for you.”

She could hardly catch her breath. “Lance, I--”

“Hey, Lay--”

She turned when she felt an arm on her shoulder, looking up to see Michael in his full costume.

“--Jesus, your makeup isn't even done, Layla,” he said, looking at her eyes, only one covered in the black eyeshadow. Then he chuckled. “You look ridiculous, you know.”

“Yeah, thanks Michael,” she said. “Is this important? Lance and I were sort of in the middle of something.”

“Well, the house is going to open in thirty minutes,” he said. “I was just checking to see if you guys were almost ready. There's already people waiting outside to get in.”

“We're almost ready,” Lance said. “Tell the crews to step on it. Get the hospital scene ready for me and Layla and finish the Chainsaw set out back and make sure that Jamie's Ring setup is finished, too. We'll open just as soon as everyone's ready.”

“Uh...okay,” Michael said.

When he stopped to look between Layla and Lance, Lance looked up.

“Is there something else, Michael? Or are we done here?”

“Nurse, I think Doctor Lance needs a chill pill and a time-out,” Michael said, leaning over to her before walking away.

He sighed as she chuckled.

“Lance...”

“I never should have said anything,” Lance said. “When you bottle it up for over a decade, I guess it just has a tendency to explode on you. Finish getting your makeup done and I'll meet you in the dining room in fifteen.”

“Lance.”

“Finish getting your makeup done, Layla,” he said. “We're done here.”

She watched as he turned on his feet and walked out of the room, stopping to join Michael and the rest of the crew working on the set.

He was...in love with her?

Chapter Three

“I'm a moron.”

Lance leaned against his kitchen counter, nursing the glass in his hand as he watched the dancing crowd in his living room, his eyes focused on one particular person.

“Talk about the most random moment to blurt out the most embarrassing thing ever,” he continued.

“Maybe she didn't hear you,” Michael said, loading a plate with bite-sized Halloween-themed treats.

“She heard me,” Lance said. “I thought her eyes would pop out of her head when she looked at me.”

“Well, that's a bit of an embellishment,” Michael said, chuckling as he tossed pieces of caramel-covered popcorn into his mouth.

“She's been ignoring me all night,” Lance said somberly. “She must absolutely hate me.”

“Anybody who knows Lay knows she could never hate you,” Michael said. “Give her a break, man – she's been through hell and back lately. Six weeks ago she was laid up in bed with broken ribs. She just started therapy. She's got a lot of stuff to process.”

Lance mumbled, taking another sip from his glass as he watched Layla. She stood near the living room wall, trying to stay away from most of the party-goers. She stuck close to Jamie-Lynn and Lance's assistant, Lisa – mostly because they were the ones she was comfortable around. She had a hard time in big crowds, always wary of an unexpected situation. For a moment, he wondered if he should gather his courage and go to her; make sure that she knew she was in a safe zone.

“Staring at her from across the room isn't going to turn back time, you know,” Michael leaned in and said softly. “You've got two choices – either go talk to her or don't.”

“I have to talk to her at some point,” Lance said. “She's not like the other guests – at the end of the night, she isn't going to leave. She lives here. She...oh, shit, she sleeps in the same bed as I do.”

“That presents a pretty good opening opportunity to talk to her about it,” Michael said with slight amusement.

“I've really fucked this up,” Lance said, shaking his head.

“Not yet,” Michael said with his trademark grin.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And so I said, 'Only one of us can go out Halloween night with a baby in the house'...”

Layla hugged her glass closely as she scanned the room. As if she wasn't nervous enough, Lance's party-hardy guests made her more so.

She heard Lisa chuckle at something Jamie-Lynn had said, then felt a hand touch her arm.

“Layla, you okay?”

She looked over to see Lisa looking at her.

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?” Lisa asked again.

“Oh, yeah,” Layla said, trying to sound carefree.

“Are you sure?” Jamie-Lynn asked. “You've been quiet all night.”

“I'm just distracted, that's all,” Layla said.

“Mmmm, I think I know why she's been distracted,” Jamie-Lynn said, smirking in Lisa's direction.

“What are you talking about?” Layla said, clueless to the look the two of them shared.

“Doctor Lance, Nurse Layla requires your assistance,” Jamie-Lynn whispered.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glance at him. Lance was by far the most dressed-down of the evening. He had shed the warm, uncomfortable doctor's coat, wearing only his sneakers, baby blue scrub pants and shirt, and a white t-shirt barely peeking underneath. They had both washed off the white makeup that made them both ghostly pale. Other than her slightly era-outdated nurse's dress, the two of them looked like any regular person who might walk the hallways of a hospital.

“No,” Layla said. “No! He's all the way over there and I'm all the way over here. I'm just looking around at all these people. It's getting a little crowded in here.”

“Lance has plenty of space around him,” Lisa said. “So why don't you walk over there...”

“No, okay? Just no,” Layla said. “I'm fine right here.”

Just as she thought she was safe from the two womens' continuous urging, Lance stopped talking to Michael in the kitchen and shoved himself off the counter with his arms, heading her way.

“Oh,” Jamie-Lynn said. “Looks like someone got lonely with all that space around him.”

Don't come this way, don't come this way, Layla urged him in her mind. But she quickly realized that no matter how much she urged, he wouldn't stop, when he walked straight up to her.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she responded.

He glanced over at Lisa and Jamie-Lynn, giving them a brief smile before he looked back at Layla.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” he asked.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Yeah,” she said, trying to keep herself casual.

She handed her drink over to Lisa, noticeably shaking.

“Have fun, kids,” Jamie-Lynn said, giving them both a smile and wave.

I will kill you, Layla tried to say with the look she shot back at her friends before she walked away.

Lance led her through the crowd of people who had made a dance floor out of his living room, gently excusing the two of them between couples and dance partners. He finally found the only semi-quiet spot in the entire house, the upstairs hallway.

“There's a lot of people here,” Layla said, partly out of insecurity and partly out of amazement.

“Yeah, I invite friends and then they invite friends and before you know it, it's a madhouse,” he said, leaning up against the wall as he turned towards her. “I hope it dies down soon.”

“Isn't this what you're into though? The big Halloween parties?”

“Usually, but I guess tonight I'd just rather be by myself, in a quiet house,” he said.

She bit her tongue, afraid to say one of the plethora of things running through her head.

“Layla, about what happened tonight...”

“Lance,” she said, abruptly stopping him, “we don't have to talk about this. Really. It's okay.”

“Okay with who?” he asked. “I know you. It's been hours, and you've analyzed what happened earlier a million ways to Sunday. You have at least fifty different things that you want to say about what happened.”

“Well, maybe,” she responded. “But I know you only have one thing you want to say. That it was a mistake, and you're sorry, and let's just go back to being friends and pretend it never happened. And I'm okay with that.”

He shook his head. “No. No, Layla, that's not what I wanted to say at all.”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said. “Every word of it, in fact. The only thing I wish I could take back was blurting it out like I did.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You meant it...that you...?”

He was waiting for the finish of her sentence, but they were interrupted by a couple of party-goers bumping into them – first into Lance's back, then into Layla's arm on the recoil.

“This is insane. Let's go upstairs to talk,” he said, sensing her discomfort in the space overrun with people.

“Aren't people going to wonder where we've run off to?” she asked.

“The alcohol will keep them occupied for hours,” he said. “Don't worry about it. Come on.”

He took her hand, pulling her in front of him as he put a hand on her shoulder. He led her up the stairs, the warmth and simple presence of his hand on her shoulder a comfort. Once they were up the stairs and the crowd of people had dwindled, she felt some of the anxiety lift off her shoulders.

But as she made her way into the bedroom they shared, a whole new emotion took over.

“Peace and quiet,” Lance said as he closed the door behind them. She noticed that he took the extra precaution of locking the door, to avoid random guests and those who happened to be drunk trying to wander in. “I'm sorry, Lay. This whole party was probably a bad idea so soon after...you know, with you trying to recover.”

“It's okay,” she said.

She took the opportunity to sit down on the bed on her normal side, craning her foot to remove the shoes that had become uncomfortable. She felt the dip in the bed as he sat down beside her.

“No, Layla, it's not okay,” he said as he turned to look at her. “This whole night...I mean, it's not just the party. I shouldn't have sprung that on you like that.”

“It's really okay,” she said with a slight smile, looking at him as she threw her last shoe down on the floor. She turned to lift her legs and rest her whole body on the bed, holding herself up with her arms.

He was quiet a moment, the sounds of the party still going on in the background, watching her as she seemed more relaxed than she was a few moments ago.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She smiled. “What are you thinking?”

“We could play that game all night,” he said with a light chuckle. “One of us has to start.”

She paused a moment, to think.

“I guess I'm thinking...” she started. “Well...I guess I'm thinking, 'Wow. He told me he was in love with me.'”

“And?” he asked.

She leaned up, hooking her arms around her knees, her face closer to his.

“And I guess I'm wondering, if you've been in love with me for so long,” she said. “...why haven't you kissed me yet?”

He felt a smile coming to his face.

“Do you want me to?” he asked.

She turned her face slightly away as she smiled, her cheeks blushing.

“I'll take that as a yes,” he said.

He reached up to brush her turned away cheek with his finger before cupping her chin. As he tried to turn her face, she resisted slightly, and he could see her smile growing in embarrassment.

He leaned in further and turned her face toward him, angling his eyes down as she lowered hers, in an attempt to avoid his stare.

“Layla,” he said with a whisper.

At the sound of his voice, she lifted her eyes. She barely peeked at him beneath long eyelashes. As he lowered his lips, she closed her eyes, pulling back slightly out of fear.

But the moment he touched his lips to hers, she leaned back in. The fear and anxiety she had felt lifted out of her stomach like a weight, replaced by a light, fluttery feeling. She relaxed into him as he pressed his lips closer into hers and he wrapped his hand around the back of her head.

As she felt him lift his lips off hers, she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her forehead against his.

“Lance,” she whispered.

“I'm sorry, Layla,” he said. He started to pull away. “I shouldn't have--”

She clamped her hand gently over his mouth. She could feel him exhale a breath against her palm as he reached up, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand off his mouth. She extended an index finger and touched it to his wrist, allowing it to travel up his palm until she intertwined her fingers with his.

“I love you too,” she said.

She barely managed to catch her breath before he leaned in and landed his lips to hers, making her moan softly. She released his hand from hers and placed it on his leg, traveling up to his waist and moving her hand underneath his shirt. Her fingers trailed the ribbing on his wifebeater, all the way to his back. She felt him jump slightly as she ran over his spine, feeling him shiver at her touch.

She grasped at the hem of his blue scrubs, pulling away from his lips, and lifted it over his head, throwing it to the floor.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

His eyebrows raised, wary. “I'm not so sure that's--”

“I haven't had a man make love to me in over three years,” she said. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do,” he said.

“He didn't,” she said, hating even bringing up the thought of him in such a setting. “It just felt...filthy. It wasn't love; it was dirty, filthy animal lust. I haven't felt love in such a long time, Lance.”

She bit her lip as he pushed a clump of stray hair that had made its way out of her ponytail out of her face.

“I'm not sure I remember what it feels like,” she said.

“Well,” he said softly, “let me remind you.”

She felt her heart jump as his lips crashed against hers again. She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around him securely as she felt his fingers travel up the back of dress and grasp the zipper.

She broke away from his kiss as she felt him start to lower the zipper. As much as she tried to push it away, a disgust at the memory of Lucas doing much the same thing took over her.

She was comforted when his nose and lips brushed against her ear and her cheek.

“It's me,” he said, as if reminding her.

She turned toward him as she felt the zipper reach its end, once again connecting with his mesmerizing green eyes. She reached for his wifebeater, pulling it over his body and head as he stared at her.

Before she realized what she had gotten into, she found herself lifting her dress over her head, staring across at her best friend – her best friend in the entire world, the only man she could even trust – hoping she wouldn't only end up regretting it.