Date: Thu, 10 Aug 2000 21:25:31 EDT
From: Gabriella Morrison <sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Surprise Romance 39

Hi y'all!!!!

It's been awhile, eh? Well, anyways, here's a new installment of MSR :) I'm
not exactly sure how this chapter reads (I was a bit unhappy with it), but
the response that I've received for it so far has been pretty good (I
usually post a copy on my website before hand, so you can always preview it
there--hint, hint!)

A big round of thanks goes out to all of those who wrote me about the last
chapter. I really do appreciate all of your kind comments and wonderful
words, because it really does wonders for the writing process. Thank you so
much. And of course, you can always e-mail me with comments, suggestions
and other thoughts by e-mailing me at sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com. I
love e-mail. I live for it, so please mail me.

Second, a round of thank you's go out to my usual crew ( I just can't use
the term `shout-out', I *can't*). Much love goes to Nino, Damon, John,
Khiem, Killian, Val, Cele (the most awesome chica on this planet!), Clarkey
(Jack, the boys should be home in time for dinner--hee hee! Lubs ya
sweetie!), and Justin (you know I love ya too!). Thanks y'all for all of
your encouragement and support.

Third...ahhhhh, what can I say here? The boy-band award finalists have been
out since this morning, I think....and I was incredibly shocked to see my
name on some of those categories. I mean, incredibly...to see my name with
those of authors I greatly respect...eek! Weird. Anyways, go and vote--I
don't care if it's for me (though it sure would be nice :) ), but you
really should because a lot of these authors put in a huge amount of time
into their stories and should be rewarded for it! Okay? Okay.

Finally, a shameless self-promotion hussy alert--please go and visit my
webpage. It's fun. It's colorful. It's got my rants. It's got pictures of
Lance on it. Good pictures. What else can I say?

http://sweetheart.homepage.com

DISCLAIMER: Please go away if you don't like m/m relationships, or if you
think I'm implying the sexuality of Lance Bass or anyone in `N Sync...and
if you're under 18 or 21, then leave...I warned you...although there's no
hot, kinky monkey sex in this installment :) And now for something
completely different...



My Surprise Romance

The Better to Dream of You

Chapter 39--"When a Hero Takes a Fall"


Sleep. Lately I loved to sleep. It was such a peaceful way to get away from
all of my problems and thoughts...I adored sleep. So to be rudely awakened
by the evil buzzing of my alarm clock was the equivalent of a nightmare for
me. It was as though someone had stabbed a pencil into my head. That's how
I felt as I opened my eyes up and slammed my hand down on the clock's `off'
button. I let out a low groan and slammed my eyes shut again.

And then they flew back open. It had suddenly dawned on me that the reading
of my mother's will was only...I turned my head to look at the clock once
more...two hours away. Ugh. I had to get up.

"Stephen?" I heard Lance's sleepy voice call out. "Are you up yet?" I
turned my head towards my boyfriend who no longer had his arms around my
body. Instead, he was flat on his back, his arms sprawled out so that one
hand fell across my chest. Lance gave me a lazy smile as my eyes met his.

"Now I am," I yawned as I continued to lay there. I didn't want to get
up. Couldn't they just bring the will to my house and read it to me in bed?

"We have to get up," Lance sighed, as he pulled himself up before looking
back down at me. He gingerly took my bandaged hand in his. "How are you?" I
almost cringed at his question. I had forgotten about my hand, even though
I had injured it just last night. Looking at it reminded me of how I had
nearly hurt Lance. What was I thinking...

"Okay..." I answered. "My hand hurts...and I have a terrible headache..but
otherwise, I'm fine. " Lance's fingers gently rubbed over the white gauze
taped over my knuckles and then he lifted my hand to his lips and gently
kissed it. I felt my face turn red and abruptly sat up, knocking my hand
out of his.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I told Lance. "I'm gonna go get ready, and
then when I'm done, bathroom's all yours, okay?"  I looked over at him and
saw a look of dejection in his beautiful pale eyes, as he nodded in
agreement. With that, I got off the bed and headed towards the bathroom.

After I had finished off my shower and shaved, I headed back to my bedroom,
where I found Lance still lying on the bed, in the same sprawled out
position that I had left him in.

"Hey lazy," I said teasingly, as I walked back over to the bed and sat on
the edge of it. Lance looked up at me with a grin on his face.

"Lazy? You calling *me* lazy?" he asked, pointing to his chest. "I'm not
the one who has to sleep so much!" He pulled himself into an upright
position and stretched out his arms. "Ugh, I ache all over for some
reason..." he mumbled under his breath.

"Aww, poor baby," I cooed, scratching Lance underneath his chin. "Is my
poor Lance all sore and tired?"

"Yes...but not for the reason's that I'd like," Lance shot back, giving me
a crooked smile, his green eyes bright with humor. "Anyways, I'm gonna go
and get showered now if you don't mind." I just gave him a puzzled look.

"You can do that when I leave," I told him. "Right?" Lance twisted his face
in a confused look of his own as he began to gently run his hand up and
down my bare back.

"Stephen," Lance said, scratching his head. "I thought I was going with you
and your family to the lawyers office?"

"You are?" I asked surprised, by his suggestion. "I mean, it'll probably be
boring..."

"I don't care if it's the most boring thing that I've ever experienced. I
just want to be there for you," Lance said persistently, as his hand
continued to run along the curve of my spine. I closed my eyes at his
gentle touch and then shook myself out of the world I always fell into when
ever he laid a hand on me. I looked back at Lance, to find him staring back
at me with that smile on his face. The one that he had reserved for me
whenever we were alone together. Suddenly, I felt like a big goofy sap. I
felt sheepish. I felt a little embarrassed by how lost I let myself become
when Lance was around. But I didn't care, because I realized that Lance
made me happy, no matter how else I was feeling inside.

"Okay," I said teasingly. "If you insist on it," I added with a laugh, as
Lance leaned over to place a kiss on my lips. And as his mouth met mine, I
asked myself for the hundredth time in that week, why I was the one chosen
to have met such a wonderful person.




It was eight forty five a.m. and Uncle George, Aunt Florence, Cynthia,
Natalie, Lance and I were sitting in the waiting room of the lawyer's
office. Not surprisingly, a nervous feeling had sprouted in my stomach and
was beginning to grow heavy with worry and anticipation. I looked over to
see Florence and George talking quietly between themselves, while Cynthia
busied herself by reading a book to Natalie. Lance and I sat there
silently, and I was thankful that there was no other people in the office
besides us. The last thing I needed today was some teenage girl in there,
going crazy at seeing a member of 'N Sync. Instead, I kept my mind off of
things by looking around the room that I was sitting in. It was a standard
lawyers office--a large oak desk for the prim and proper secretary to sit
at, a rack of month-old magazines, and plenty of hard backed, spasm causing
chairs for clients to wait in. And that was exactly what we were
doing...waiting. I wished I was a more patient person.

I began to unconsciously jiggle my leg up and down. `What was taking so
long?', I thought nervously. `Just let us in and read the fucking thing
already.'My restless thoughts were driving me into an inner frenzy. Out of
the corner of my eye, I saw Lance turn to me.

"Stephen," he said in a low whisper. He placed a hand on my shaking knee in
a feeble attempt to control it. "You're singlehandedly causing an
earthquake here. You gonna be okay?" I turned to look at Lance, whose face
had become such a mask of worry, my heart nearly broke into two.

"I'm gonna be fine," I managed to say, even though the words had tumbled
from my lips in a shaky mess. "Don't worry," I added hastily, opting to
look at my boyfriend instead of keeping my mind on my problems. He was a
nice distraction. A smile came over my lips, as I eyed Lance. He had
borrowed some clothes from me that morning--a pale blue shirt and a pair of
black dress pants. He looked great in them. "You look nice."

Lance grinned at me. "You have excellent taste in clothes, Stephen--that is
when they're not covered in paint. And I better look good," he added
menacingly with a laugh to knock the edge off his voice. I allowed myself
to relax little bit, but only because Lance was there with me. `Thank God
for him,' I thought silently to myself. It was as though we had read each
other's minds, I noted, as Lance gently brushed his fingertips over my
knuckles, as though he was returning my thoughts.

It stuck me as odd then. Here I had spent my whole life worrying about
other people, and now *I* was the one who was being worried about. I was
Lance's center of attention and I wasn't sure how I enjoyed that...I wasn't
comfortable with it, yet, I wasn't exactly uncomfortable with the idea
either.

As we sat there, a door perpendicular to us swung open and a middle aged
man poked his head out into the waiting room. "Peterson family?" he called
out, as he emerged from his office. The man's eyes fell on us, as we were
the only people present in the office, and he walked over to where we were
sitting.

"Hello," he greeted us with a smile. "My name is Albert Weinstein, and I'm
handling Patricia Peterson's will. I'm assuming that you're members of her
family, right?" he asked, shaking each of our hands.

I nodded at the lawyer, while Uncle George introduced all of us. "Hello,
Mr. Weinstein. I'm George, Patricia's brother. This is my wife, Florence;
our daughter, Cynthia; Stephen and Natalie, who were Patty's children and
Lance..." My uncle's voice wavered uncertainly for a brief second, and I
could tell he was wondering on how to introduce Lance to the lawyer.

"A friend of the family," I interjected hastily, as Lance shook
Mr. Weinstein's hand. Lance, in return, received an odd look from the
lawyer, before a knowing look appeared on the older gentleman's face.

"Aren't you with that pop group?" Mr. Weinstein asked him
curiously. "Um..what's their name...Backstreet Boys?" Next to me, Cynthia
attempted to hide a snort of laughter, clamping a hand over her mouth,
while Lance's face turned pink with slight embarrassment.

"Um, no sir--I'm in `N Sync," Lance politely corrected him, darting his
eyes around the room, as though he wanted to escape. I could tell that he
was somewhat uncomfortable at his `celebrity' status. Mr. Weinstein just
let out a gentle laugh at his own mistake.

"Ahh, I knew it was one of those bands..." Mr. Weinstein said. "Well, my
daughter loves you...mind if I get an autograph?" Lance nodded a bit
uncomfortably as the lawyer rushed over to his secretary's desk and
returned to us with a piece of paper. He handed it to Lance, as well as a
pen and my family and I proceeded to watch Lance dutifully ink the slip of
paper for Mr. Weinstein.

"Here you go," Lance said, as he handed the items back to Mr. Weinstein,
who folded the paper into a neat square and slipped it into his shirt
pocket. As I watched the events unfold in front of me, I couldn't help but
feel agitated at what I perceived to be Mr. Weinstein's unprofessional
behavior. This was my mother's will reading, not some autograph
event. Despite my annoyance, a little part of me understood why he would
ask Lance for an autograph. I silently counted to ten in my mind and told
myself that if I wanted to be with Lance, I would have to get used to
things like that happening all the time. Plain and simple.

It was Mr. Weinstein's voice that brought me back to the present, as he
peered at us over the top of his oversized spectacles. "I'm afraid that I
can only allow the immediate family members in the office," he explained
somewhat apologetically. We all looked at each other.

"That would be us three," Uncle George said, pointing to Natalie and I. He
turned back to Florence, who had begun twisting a tissue nervously between
her fingers. "We'll be back." His voice had tried to come out chipper, but
instead sounded shaky and anxious. I looked at my uncle suspiciously. I had
a feeling that both he and my aunt knew something that I didn't, but I
brushed my apprehension aside as Lance briefly grabbed my hand and squeezed
it as I stood up. I looked back down at him, but found myself unable to
smile at his tender gesture of affection. Instead, I just headed into
Mr. Weinstein's office.

Once inside, I sat down in a padded leather chair that was lined up in
front of the oversized oak desk. It's surface was covered in messy stacks
of papers and files. One file sat smack dab in the middle of the mess and I
could read the name on the tab: Peterson, Patricia. I sat there, sandwiched
in between Natalie and my uncle, feeling as though I was ready for my
execution. Mr. Weinstein sat down at his desk and stared at the three of us
for a few seconds before opening up the file.

"Now, this is the revised copy of Patricia's will," Mr. Weinstein said
slowly as he looked over the papers in front of him. "It was revised about
two days before her suicide..." He cleared his throat and looked up at
us. "Ready?"

"Ready," my Uncle George said. He looked pale and I watched his hands grip
the armrests of the chair he was sitting in. Natalie looked a little
disinterested in the whole thing, staring at her shoes instead of the
lawyer and I suddenly broke out into a cold sweat. Mr. Weinstein cleared
his throat once more and began to read.

"Okay...I, Patricia Leanna Peterson, being of sound, body and mind, leave
the following possessions to the following family members...to my brother,
George...I leave half of the assets in my savings account. This roughly
totals around five hundred thousand dollars." I looked over at Uncle
George, whose mouth had dropped open in shock. His wasn't the only one, as
mine did too--I mean, whose wouldn't? My mother...had all this money saved?
And she had never told us about it?  All those years we had struggled to
stay afloat after my father died, making mortgage payments by the skin of
our teeth...all those times we had nearly had our electric shut off, our
phone line disconnected...and she was loaded? Inwardly, I was fuming. I
couldn't believe her...If she was there right in front of me, I would have
shaken her by her shoulders and started screaming at her.

Sensing our shock, Mr. Weinstein gave the three of us a nervous
look. "Shall I go on?" he asked simply, placing the will back on his
desk. My uncle nodded and Mr. Weinstein picked up the paper once more and
began to read.

"To my daughter Natalie..." Natalie? Shouldn't I have been next? The seed
of worry in my stomach practically branched out into a fucking forest as
Mr. Weinstein continued to read. "I leave the other half of my
account--which also roughly totals five hundred thousand dollars. This
money is not to be touched until Natalie turns eighteen years old."
Mr. Weinstein stopped once more and looked at the three of us again. Even
Natalie realized what had happened and her mouth had also dropped to the
floor, agape at the idea of inheriting all this money when she was
eighteen.

"Where did this money come from?" Uncle George finally asked Mr. Weinstein
once he had regained control of his voice. He was staring at the lawyer in
total disbelief, and I couldn't blame him.

Mr. Weinstein's face turned into a look of sadness. "Patricia had invested
in many shares of stock...she had come into my office with her stockbroker
the day before she rewrote her will. She had decided to sell them all. It
seems that after the death of her husband, Patricia had invested in
numerous companies with his insurance money...." Mr. Weinstein shook his
head in obvious disgust. "I can't tell you how many people do this--they
have a secret life that isn't found out until after their death. It's a
shame really..." he trailed off before picking up the will and began
reading it once more.

"I also wish that custody of my daughter, Natalie, be placed in the care of
my brother, George and his wife, Florence. I feel that this is in the best
interest of my daughter." Mr. Weinstein looked at us once again, and smiled
at my blonde haired sister, before continuing on.

"To my son, Stephen William Peterson Junior..." I felt my body tense upon
hearing my name. "I leave nothing."

I sat there for a second, not sure if I had heard right. Nothing?
*Nothing*. I felt my breathing grow ragged, as I realized that my mother
had cut me out of her will entirely. Nothing. Not even one penny...I barely
listened as Mr. Weinstein continued on.

"I also wish that my residence at 1050 Andrews Street be sold. The money
netted from the sale of the house will be placed in the care of my brother,
George, as well. I wish the house to be sold as soon as possible." The
house...she was selling the house...my God, I would be homeless....

The first words that popped into my mind was, `that fucking bitch' (God
help me, it wasn't the kindest thing I could say). She had screwed me over
entirely. It wasn't as though I was a greedy person, mind you. I would have
rather had my mother alive than a pile of money, but she had crossed the
line and completely left me out. Not even a penny...and it wasn't as though
she didn't have enough to give to me.

But you know what the worst realization was? The fact that my mother really
hated me. She despised me. She despised me enough to cut me out of her will
and leave me with nowhere to live. As my mind slowly came to terms with
what was happening, I looked up to see both Mr. Weinstein and Uncle George
staring at me cautiously.

"Stephen, I'm...I'm sorry," my uncle said awkwardly, as he patted me on the
back. He looked up at the lawyer, concern plastered all over his
face. "Isn't there a way we can challenge this? I mean...Stephen was her
only son. He deserves something, you know."

Mr. Weinstein sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Well...yes, you can,
but it takes ages to do. There's an awful lot of factors involved in
questioning a will...not many people challenge them due to the amount of
money involved and time it takes." He took off his glasses and rubbed them
against their shirt. "People who have challenged wills, usually drop the
investigation since they're so time consuming."

To my ears, the words sounded like, `blah-blah-blah'. Suddenly, I was so
disgusted with everything. I let out a sigh and abruptly got up from my
seat. I didn't even want to know what else was going to be discussed. I
made my way to the door, and as I did this, I heard my uncle call my name
out, but his cry fell on deaf ears. All I could hear was the sound of my
own thoughts...my mother...she had betrayed me in every way possible and I
couldn't even ask her why...

I turned the knob on the door and walked out of Mr. Weinstein's office. I
noticed my Aunt nervously chewing on her fingernails, while looking out the
window next to her. Cynthia and Lance were gently laughing over something
or other. That is, until they noticed me striding out of the office, not
even giving them a second glance as I headed towards the exit.

"Stephen?" I heard Lance call out, as I walked out of the lawyer's
office. I just ignored him and walked outside, into the hot, muggy air that
nearly suffocated me once I came into contact with it. I took off my blazer
and loosened the tie I had picked out to look `respectable'. `What the hell
good was that going to do for me now?' I thought bitterly as I continued to
walk.

I really had no idea where I was going, or what in God's name I was
doing. I had become blind with rage and hurt at what my mother had been
capable of. All I kept hearing was the lawyer's words in my
head... `nothing'... and while I should have expected something horrible to
have been revealed at the reading of the will, I certainly hadn't expected
it to come true. I didn't think my mother was that cold hearted. Even
beyond the grave she had managed to hurt me terribly. My eyes filled with
tears as I continued my stride to nowhere. I walked over a section of
freshly cut grass, then a patch of stones that my feet kicked with every
step I took.  I felt my arms swing next to me, as I dropped my blazer onto
the ground. My tie followed suit. And I kept walking...

I heard a pair of footsteps running behind me. And whoever was running
shouted out my name. But I blocked it out, concentrating on the words that
the lawyer had spoken and the memory of my bitter, hurtful mother--may her
soul rest in peace. I saw nothing in front of me.

And then I heard it.

The loud honk of a horn that jolted me back to life. I stopped dead in my
tracks to realize that I was in the middle of the street, in the middle of
mid-morning rush hour traffic and I was about to be hit. I froze as I saw
the black car racing towards me...

And then I felt someone pull me backwards. I stumbled over my own feet as a
pair of arms encircled my waist and pulled me back onto the sidewalk to
safety. I fell on top of that person, and just laid there for a few
seconds, my eyes focused on the bright blue sky above me. I was alive. I
was still alive. I had nearly died a few seconds ago, but I was still
alive. Right? Or was this a dream? Was I dead and just hadn't come to terms
with it yet?

And then I heard someone crying. The person underneath me was crying. When
I rolled myself off of that person, I realized that it was Lance. He was
the one who had pulled me backwards...it took my brain a few seconds to
realize this, and when I did, my heart began to beat like it was about to
burst out of my chest.

Lance saved my life. Why? Why didn't he just let me walk out into the
traffic?

As my boyfriend pulled himself off the hard sidewalk, he gave me an evil
glare. "Jesus fucking Christ, Stephen!" Lance screamed, his voice echoing
throughout the neighborhood. "What the fuck were you trying to do?" His
face had turned beet red as he continued to yell at me. "What the fuck was
that?!?!"

"I...I..." I stammered. To be honest with you, I wasn't sure what had just
happened there. It was as though I had become possessed by some strange
spirit. To avoid looking into Lance's accusing eyes, I looked down at my
hands instead. They were shaking violently, like I had just been
electrocuted. What had just happened there? Why had I nearly let myself be
hit by a car? It wasn't as though I had ever thought of killing myself..I
had never been like that before. All these different sides of my
personality were emerging out of me, and I didn't like any of them at
all. They scared me.

"I--I--" Lance mimicked my words angrily, as he crawled over to me and
slapped me upside the head--hard. I winced, but didn't respond because I
knew I deserved it. "Were you trying to kill yourself? Jesus,
Stephen...what happened to you?" The anger disappeared and turned to
confusion as Lance looked at me searchingly, his green eyes filled with
worry. Just then Aunt Florence and Cynthia ran over to where we were
sitting.

"Stephen!" Florence shrieked as she reached my side. "What happened there?
What were you thinking?" She knelt down next to me and placed a protective
arm around my shoulder.  I didn't answer her question, mainly because I had
no idea why I had done that myself. Instead, I looked up at Cynthia, who
had tears streaming down her face. It hurt me terribly to see that I had
made my cousin cry like that. I quickly shifted my gaze back to Lance, who
had a look of utter incredulity on his face. Everyone was making me
uncomfortable with their accusing stares, so I just pulled myself off the
ground and brushed off my pants.

"Look," I began, my strong voice fading with every word I spoke. "I don't
know why I did that...but I'm fine." And without saying anything else, I
began walking back towards the car. I knew that the three of them were
exchanging looks with each other as I walked away, but I didn't care. They
could look all they wanted to. Right now, I didn't care what anyone thought
of me...




"Look, Stephen--Florence and I had a feeling your mother was going to pull
something like this." My uncle's voice had cut into my thoughts like a
piece of glass. We were back at my house now. I was sitting by myself at
the kitchen table, so lost in thought that I hadn't even heard him walk
into the kitchen. Aunt Florence and Cynthia were upstairs doing some last
minute packing. Lance had gone off with Natalie to help her pack up some
things that she wanted to take to Wisconsin with her. George took a seat
next to me, and placed a hand on my arm.

"I don't know what to say, Stephen. I really don't.." George took a deep
breath, before continuing. "We got a letter the day after the funeral from
Mr. Weinstein explaining that the will had been changed only two days
before Patty...killed herself." His eyes began to fill with tears at the
thought of his deceased sister, but he managed to compose himself. I looked
at him in surprise. My uncle had always been somewhat cool and
collected. In a strange way, I had always looked up to him. He taught
sociology at a private college in Wisconsin and for some reason, George
always reminded me of my dad. Nice, friendly...able to laugh at
anything. So it hurt me to see him so torn up and confused at the memory of
his only sister.

"I don't know why Patty did this...I always knew she was a little
strange...we all knew it, Stephen. I grew up with her. She used to chase me
around with a knife when we were kids and no one ever got it." I looked at
my Uncle as though he had gone insane. No one got *that*? That should have
been a clear warning sign that she was unstable from the get-go.

"Patty was placed under the care of a few psychologists when she was a
teenager--" George shook his head. "It shouldn't have surprised anyone that
Patty wound up taking her own life--she tried it about six times when she
was in high school." A pause. "And then, the doctors put her on some
medication and she was okay...she wound up going to college and she met
your father. Stephen saved her life." George smiled at me and took my hand
in his. "He was probably one of the greatest guys I've ever met. You were
lucky to have known him for the time that you did."

Despite the melancholy I felt in my heart, I couldn't help but grin broadly
at my uncle's comment. "I know...what I remember of dad..he was a great
guy," I said proudly. George smiled at me and then a funny look crossed his
face.

"He was, Stephen, he was. And may I say something here?" he asked a bit
hesitantly, as though he didn't want to offend me. I nodded.

"There are some qualities in Lance that remind me of your dad...the way he
acts with Natalie, for one," George said somewhat wistfully. "He just seems
like a wonderful person..." My Uncle cleared his throat, and this time he
definitely looked uncomfortable. "Florence told me how he saved your life
today, Stephen. What went on today? I couldn't understand why you left the
office like that. And I couldn't understand why you walked in the middle of
the street."

I sat there silently. Part of me didn't want to answer this question. But I
knew I had to. "Uncle George," I began. "I don't know." My answer was
honest. I didn't know why I had almost killed myself this morning. "I just
can't believe that mom would do something like that to me."

"Neither do I, Stephen. All I can say is that after your father died, Patty
became her old self again. She was nervous and shaky...irritable...we never
understood what happened to your father's insurance money after he
died...but now we know," George added bitterly, as our minds thought of the
stocks that she had hidden from all of us. "I can't believe she would do
something so selfish to you and Natalie. But then, I can't believe that she
would cut you out of her will entirely."

`Neither could I', I said to myself as I placed my head in my hands. I felt
my Uncle's hand rest on my shoulder.

"Stephen, we'll give you the money...I'll give you half of the money from
the will, don't worry--" I stopped him.

"No, Uncle George. I want to challenge the will..." I heard myself say
these words and I was shocked. "I need to. I want to know why mom cut me
out so suddenly." What the hell had I just said? I wanted to investigate
the will? I could hear Mr. Weinstein's words in my head -- `It takes
forever', but I didn't care about that. I know I wouldn't feel at peace
with myself until a full investigation would be taken...

"Stephen, please. It will take ages for it to go through. Just take the
money...we'll somehow do it so you can buy this house from me, please,"
George pleaded with me. But I shook my head.

"No, I want to find out why mom did this to me." I took a deep breath. "I
want to know if she really hated me that much." I looked up at my uncle to
find him staring at me with what I could only describe as admiration in his
eyes.

"Okay, Stephen," he said, as he rose from the table. "But remember, your
aunt and I will always be here for you. Always." Despite my sadness, I
forced myself to smile at him and stood up, grabbing him in a quick hug.

"Thanks Uncle George...thank you so much," I said, closing my eyes,
relieved that I still had family members who cared about me.





A little while later, Lance and I were standing in the middle of the
airport, saying good-bye to my family. They had to leave, head back home to
their lives and as much as I didn't want to admit it, I was kind of glad
they were leaving. I couldn't place my exact finger on the reason, but I
knew by the lifted feeling in my heart, that I was relieved. My aunt walked
over to me and gave me a sad smile, as she placed her bags on the floor.

"Please, take care of yourself, Stephen," Aunt Florence begged as she
wrapped me in one of her bone crushing hugs, causing the air to be pushed
out of my lungs. I was waiting to hear the bones snap in my chest.

"Don't worry about me, Aunt Florence," I told her as I pulled myself out of
her death grip. "Please don't." She just gave me one of those,
`I-know-better' looks before retrieving her on-fight bags from the
floor. Uncle George walked over to me next, and wordlessly wrapped me in a
quick hug. We didn't have to say a word--our peace had been exchanged in
the kitchen. When we parted, the only words he spoke were, "Remember
Stephen--we're here for you." And then he walked away, hand in hand, with
Florence.

As I looked over to my right, I watched Lance and Natalie say good-bye to
each other. My sister would be going back with to Wisconsin with George and
Florence...I wouldn't see her for weeks, if I was lucky. I felt a lump form
in my throat as I watched them exchange a few words, but before I let
myself get misty-eyed, I felt a pair of arms encircle my neck.

"Stevie," Cynthia said as she gave me a forced grin. I felt myself exhale a
sigh of relief at hearing my old nickname once again. Unable to feign
happiness any longer, my cousin stared at me with serious violet
eyes. "Look, I'm not going to lie and say that I'm not worried sick about
you, Stevie. Because I am. You don't know what thoughts went through my
mind this morning..." Her words trailed off as her body shuddered slightly
at the idea of my death.

"But..." Cynthia continued, the corners of her mouth picking up in a slight
smile. "I feel okay abut leaving you, and only because of one person." She
swung her head to the side and looked over at Lance, who was giving Natalie
another good-bye hug. I'll admit, he looked a little silly wearing dark
sunglasses and a hooded sweatshirt in the middle of the well-lit airport,
but his disguise seemed to work okay. Sure, he might have looked like the
Unabomber, but he wasn't being mobbed by teenage fans either, and believe
me, there were plenty in that airport. Cynthia and I looked at each other
again and she gave me a poignant grin.

"Him," Cynthia said simply before giving me a kiss on the cheek. "Take care
of each other, Stevie, okay? For me?"  She opened her violet eyes wide
enough to let them fall out. I couldn't help but laugh at her extreme
puppy-dog gaze.

"Okay, Cynth--no problem," I answered her, as I threw my arms around my
cousin's skinny frame. "How can I resist that look?" We both laughed and as
we parted, she looked at me sadly once more.

"I'm just a phone call away, Stevie. Talk to me, okay?" And with those
final words, Cynthia walked away from me and towards the terminal entrance
where her parents were waiting for her. Three good-bye's down, one to go, I
thought as I watched Natalie head over to me...and this one would be the
hardest.

Natalie walked over, looking shy and hesitant. And once she was in arms
length, I spontaneously picked up my sister in my arms and held her close
to me. My sister...my only sister....I felt terrible for her. We were being
separated. For some reason, it had been so easy to tell George and Florence
that they could have custody of her. But once we had to actually go through
the motions of saying good-bye? Forget it--that was a different story. She
buried her face in my neck, before turning her face up to mine.

"Stephen," I heard Natalie whisper into my ear. "I'm gonna miss you so
much." Those were the only words I needed to hear to make me break down,
right there in the middle of the airport. I didn't care who was watching or
who was judging me. This was my sister....

"I know Natalie, I know," I attempted to reassure her through my haze of
tears. But you have to go with them--they love you just as much as I do. I
promise I'll come up to Wisconsin and visit you, plus, Nat, remember, you
still have to come back home and get all of your other stuff," I tried to
make my voice sound soothing, but it didn't work. My words came out ragged,
as I held her closer to me. She began to sob in my chest, wetting the
fabric of my t-shirt with her tears. I had never felt so helpless in my
life...

I gently stroked her blond hair, and just held her in my arms. I wasn't
going to tell her to stop crying. That would be
cruel...sometimes...sometimes you just need to get it out. And so I held
just Natalie in my arms, until that annoying voice came over the airport's
PA system.

"Flight 205--New York to Wisconsin, now boarding at terminal 8D. Flight
205--New York to Wisconsin, now boarding at terminal 8D" Upon hearing these
words, Natalie looked up at me, her blue eyes brimming with tears. She knew
it was time for her to go.

"Bye, Stephen," she said as she managed to give me a very sad
smile. "Promise you'll come visit me?"

I looked down at my sister and nodded, not daring to speak, because I knew
if I did say anything, the words would most likely be, "Don't leave me
Natalie." She was the only link I still had to my family, my old life. And
now she would be gone.  I squatted down, opened my arms up and let Natalie
free. And then with one final kiss on the cheek, my sister, like the rest
of my family was gone too.




Needless to say there wasn't any conversation between Lance and I on the
ride back to my house. I just kept my concentration on the winding road in
front of me, until we were sitting in the driveway. Wordlessly, I got out
of the car and walked towards the back entrance, with Lance following close
behind me.

It was weird walking into an empty house. All of the times before, I knew
that even if I was alone, someone--my mother or Natalie--would have come
home to fill up the void and the space in the house. It was a strange,
eerie feeling; one that I had never felt before. And I didn't like it one
bit.

As I stood there in the kitchen, seemingly paralyzed by my thoughts, Lance
came next to me and gently touched my shoulder. I looked over at my
boyfriend, to see him staring at me with a strange look on his face.

"Stephen...I'm really...really sorry for what you found out this morning,"
Lance said a bit quietly.  "I don't know what to say." He looked downwards
and shuffled his feet before looking back up at me with an odd smile on his
lips.

"Don't worry...there's no need to apologize," I told Lance quietly. "It's
not your fault that my mother wrote me out of the will." I walked over to
the table and took a seat, expecting Lance to follow me. But he didn't. I
looked over to see Lance still standing where he was. It was as thought
were had been playing freeze tag and someone had just made him `it'.

"Lance?" I called out nervously, feeling my heart speed up as I stared at
him. "What's wrong?" He turned his head slightly, only enough to meet my
eyes and then licked his lips.

"Stephen," he finally spoke after a few seconds had passed. His voice was
barely audible and his face turned itself into a grimace. "What if it was
*my* fault?" My eyes examined Lance with a blank stare, not understanding
what he was trying to say. Usually the stupid thoughts were left up to me,
ready to fall out of my mouth, and not Lance's. He was the sane one.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, trying to control the shock in my
voice. I stood up from my place at the table and walked over to
him. "You're not making any sense to me." I took my hands in his and peered
into his green eyes.  I locked gazes with him, waiting for a sensible
answer to fall from his lips. And it finally did.

"What I mean is that after your mother saw us together in bed, she kinda
flipped out. Remember?" Lance recalled, his deep voice growing soft at the
memory. "And it was after that, that she disowned you. Maybe it was all my
fault. If I had never come back for you that one night, we wouldn't have
slept together and she would have never saw us." Lance quickly glanced at
the floor before looking up at me once more. His lower lip trembled
slightly at the words he had just spoken as he searched my face for some
sort of answer. "Stephen, please answer me. It's been bothering me all
morning," Lance pleaded, as his hands gripped mine tighter.

I couldn't believe it. Lance thought that he was responsible for the
will. As much as I wanted to laugh at the idea, I couldn't. It wasn't
funny. I knew where his thoughts were coming from. When people go through
times of distress, the first and most natural reaction is to blame
yourself. For some reason that God only knows, blaming yourself for
something that had gone wrong makes the most perfect sense in the
world. But in this case, Lance was...blaming himself...and that was just
odd.

"Lance," I began softly. "There's no reason that I would blame you for my
mother's actions. That's silly." The blank, worried stare that had graced
Lance's face was replaced with one of relief. A matter of seconds passed
and a calm smile appeared on his lips.

"Now you're calling me silly," Lance answered, rolling his eyes while
punctuating his gentle laugh to take the edge off of it. "Thanks a lot,
Stephen."

"No problem," I bantered back before sinking back down into my chair.

"So what are you planning to do?" Lance questioned as he took a seat next
to me. I could tell by the tone in his voice that he really didn't want to
pry, but he couldn't help it. He was curious.

I carelessly shrugged my shoulders and let my fingers trace imaginary paths
on the table in front of me. "Honestly? I have no clue. My mother wants the
house sold, so I have no place to live. I have no money to my name
and...and..." I trailed off, not sure what to say anymore. "And I guess my
mother really hated me." My breath came out in a shaky gasp as I said this,
because I knew that once I actually spoke the words, they became real. And
that was something I didn't want to be real. I didn't want to acknowledge
the fact that my mother had died hating me. The thought was much more than
I could handle...

"You could come and live with me."

When his words hit the air, my head jerked up as I looked at Lance. He was
staring at me with a hopeful expression and anticipation lurked in his
eyes. Live with Lance? The thought had never crossed my mind...

"Lance," I finally said as a nervous laugh escaped my lips. " I
couldn't..."

"Why not?" he asked simply, his eyes growing bright with the idea. "Think
about it, you move down to Florida with me...find another school with a
great art program...it's a good idea. Plus," he added mischievously, trying
his best to cheer me up. "We'll get to spend lots of time together." He
devilishly arched his brown eyebrows at me, causing me to crack up.

I let a mock groan escape my lips at what he was alluding at, but couldn't
help grinning despite the sadness I felt. The idea of moving in with Lance
was kinda nice--okay, better than nice. It sounded great. Like the only
patch of light in a dark tunnel. We'd get to be together all the time...

And then the hammer of reality bounced down from the sky and hit me in the
head again. `Hold it, Peterson,' the sensible part of my brain spoke
up. `You have no job. No money. What are you planning to do? Live off of
Lance?'

`No,' the romantic part of my brain shot back. `You'd get a job down
there. No biggie. And that way you and Lance could live together. And you
could still challenge the will..it's just that you'd be in Florida...that's
all.' I let my mind absorb all of this while Lance just continued to gaze
at me with that optimistic expression on his face. It was kinda
distracting, so I just dropped my eyes to the surface of the table in front
of me, allowing Lance and I to spiral into that comforting wave of silence
that I had come to rely on whenever I felt awkward.

As Lance and I sat there, I eyeballed him out of the corner of my eye. As I
secretly examined him, I could feel my heart swell...I loved him. There
were no other words for the way that I felt. I loved him. He had rescued me
from my own stupidity this morning, but that wasn't the only time. He had
saved me from the murky depths of my own self-loathing and
unhappiness. Lance was wonderful and I loved him more than anything else in
the world. I couldn't use any words in a coherent sentence to put my
emotions into words, and although I was angry at my mother, the feelings of
love for Lance overpowered any other thoughts throughout my mind, heart and
body....love banished those feelings to a minute annoyance whenever he
entered my thoughts...it was kind of overwhelming.

My contemplating was broken down when I heard a familiar stumbling on the
front steps. From years of experience, I knew that the mailman had arrived
with that day's mail. Lance looked up at me, about to say something about
the noises. I cut him off, and smiled at him in return.

"It's the mailman," I told Lance as I rose from my seat and headed towards
the living room. Once I got to the front door, I opened it up and took out
the mail from the box attached to the front of the house. As I rummaged
through the envelopes, I sighed with disgust. Nothing but bills and junk
mail. However, it was the last letter in the pile that caught my eye ...it
was from the state university that I had been attending for the past three
years. Rarely did I ever get mail this early from them--it was usually in
August that the tuition bills started piling up in the mailbox, so this
letter was a weird one.

`It's probably just a form letter,' I told myself in a feeble attempt at
reassurance. I ran my thumb under the flap of the envelope, pulled the
folded paper out of the envelope and began to read...



Dear Stephen,

It is with great pleasure that I award you an increase in your art
scholarship. As you have noticed, at the end of past semesters, both your
departmental and dean's list scholarships have been increased after the
registrar committee reviews your GPA. After careful review and
reconsideration, the registrar's office has noticed that your GPA at the
end of the Spring semester made you eligible for the dean's list. It is
also the highest in the senior class's art division. With that, it is my
personal honor to announce that you have been increased to full scholarship
status for your final year at SUNY. Congratulations!

Sincerely,

Roger Weaver Head Dean, SUNY college


Underneath his signature, was a hastily scribbled note from my advisor in
the art department, Professor Bell.

`Stephen', it read, `I told you all your hard work and perseverance would
pay off in the long run! Congratulations! You deserve it! See you in the
fall! Professor Charles Bell'.



I read this note roughly six or seven times, not sure if my eyes were
playing tricks on me. At first, I thought that maybe the past few days had
rendered me insane. Full scholarship?  Dear God...I had only dreamt that I
would be the one picked for this...the previous years it had always been
given to the already-rich snob kids. You know, the ones who came from
wealthy families? The students who looked at their tuition bills and
knowingly spent the same amount on their fall wardrobes....and now that
student was me...Stephen Peterson...I had never even given it a second
thought, because I never thought that it would happen to me.

I guess my awestruck silence had been too much for Lance to ignore, because
a few seconds later, he walked into the living room, one of had
ever-present concerned looks fixed on his face.

"Stephen? Are you okay?" he asked as he walked over to where I was
standing. His eyes shifted down to the paper in my trembling hand.. Unable
to speak or breathe properly, I just shoved the letter into his waiting
hands. He looked at me curiously, before reading the typed-out words
himself. As he read them, the smile on his face grew from normal to
extremely wide.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed as he finished off the letter and wrapped me in a
hug. "Stephen! I'm so proud of you!!!" I felt my face turn red at Lance's
enthusiasm as my body eased in his warm embrace.  It felt good...no scratch
that...it felt wonderful to be held by Lance, I thought as a genuine smile
appeared on my face. I was so happy that he was still here with me. When we
parted, Lance looked at me once more, this time a look of admiration
appearing on his handsome face.

"Cute, talented..." Lance sighed as he pulled me closer to him for a quick
kiss. "Good in bed..." He murmured against my lips before meeting them once
more. I allowed myself to fall into his kiss for a few seconds. As I fell
that familiar thrill run through my body, the God's of ruin, decided to
pull my mind back to my obvious problems.  Stifling a sigh, I shook myself
back to reality.

"Lance...what am I going to do?" I asked as my dilemmas came back to kick
me in the ass once more. `Why couldn't I just sink into a fantasy land
where everything was going my way?', I thought with disgust.

"What?" Lance asked, a little confused by my sudden change of
personality. "What are you gonna do about what?" His mind was clearly still
on the kiss. I took the letter back from him and skimmed the brief
paragraph once more.

"Okay, I have my tuition paid for the year...but where am I gonna live?
Lance...as appealing as the idea is, of moving down to Florida with you, I
don't think I want to." It hurt me to even say the words. "I like my
college here. I like it a lot. This is my senior year...I get my own
exhibit at the end of the spring semester...I want that. I've worked so
hard for it Lance..." My voice faltered out on the last words, and for a
brief second, I was afraid to look at him. I thought he was going to be mad
at me. I mean, how many opportunities in life come up like this? But when I
finally dared to meet Lance's eyes, I was rewarded with the saddest smile I
had ever seen to grace my boyfriend's lips.

"I understand Stephen," Lance said softly, as he reached up to trace a path
down my cheek. "It would have been great to have you down there with
me...but I understand. Totally." He took my hand in his and just held onto
it for a couple of seconds.

"What am I going to do?" I said after a few seconds. "I don't even have
enough money to challenge the will..." I shook my head and walked over to
the couch, flopping down on it so hard, I'm lucky it didn't crack under the
pressure of my weight. Lance walked over and sat down on the couch next to
me.

"Why does everything have to happen at once?" I said to no one in
particular as I tipped my head back and rested it on the top of the
couch. I was staring at the ceiling, as though I expected someone...God..or
some other deity from above to answer me. `Yeah, right Stephen...because
you're so fucking special, God's just come down and give you special
answers...', I berated myself before speaking out loud. "My mom kills
herself, she fucks me out of the will and then I get this incredibly letter
about school..." I shook my head and looked at Lance. "It's like someone is
screwing with my mind or something."

Lance nodded and pressed his lips together. "I know...I just wish I could
help you out...." He stared off into space for a couple of seconds and then
as though something had bitten him, an excited, shocked look crossed his
face as he turned back to me. "Stephen, I got an idea..."

"What?" I asked cautiously, not sure if I wanted to hear what Lance had to
say. He took a deep breath, obviously calming down his slightly frazzled
nerves.

"Stephen..." Lance began slowly.  "My uncle's a lawyer...did you ever hear
about the big lawsuit that we had to file against our old management
company?" He patiently waited for me to answer him.

"Mmmm, a little," I said as I tried to recall the news I had heard about `N
Sync legal problems. I had heard about it, but I really didn't care, since
it didn't interest me at the time.  Talk about your irony.  "I remember
hearing something about that," I told him honestly. "But I never got too
interested in it."

Lance just grinned at me. "Not keeping up on current events, are we?" he
asked slyly, raising an eyebrow at me. "Well, anyways...my uncle was the
one who looked at our contract when I thought there was something fishy
about it. I'll bet you any money, he'd help you out if I asked him. For
nothing. Free. Pro Bono."

I stared at Lance for a couple of seconds. He really did want to help me
out. He wasn't just shoving the problems on me and leaving me to deal with
them. Part of my mind marveled at his persistence. And then the shock wore
off, and I just found myself grinning like an idiot at my boyfriend. He
really wanted to help me out...even though it wasn't his problem and he
could have washed his hands clean of it.

"Are you sure?" I asked tentatively. My grin disappeared as another thought
crossed my mind. "Lance, it's a good idea, but what are you gonna tell the
rest of your family when they ask you who I am?" It was like I had popped a
balloon. A completely astonished and overwhelmed look crossed his face as
he thought about his family. He had somehow conveniently forgotten about
them. How he did, I don't know, but he did.

"Uh..." Lance trailed off uncertainly, before placing his head in his
hands. "Shit," I could hear him mumble. "Shit, shit, shit. I completely
forgot about them..." Lance looked back up at me once more, a completely
dejected look on his face.

"Stephen...I..I.." Lance stammered, not sure what to say. "I don't know
what to do...I want to help you out so badly and I *know* my uncle can help
you out here. He's a great guy, he knows his stuff...I guess I could tell
him that you're one of my best friends though--right?" Lance added
hopefully, as he looked at me.

 I attempted to control the expression on my face as best as I could. His
best friend? Sure and while we're at it, maybe we should pick up some
rent-a-date girlfriend for you so that you could introduce her to your
father. I knew that my thoughts were bitchy and crabby but maybe I had a
good reason to think that way. Was Lance just going to keep putting the
fact that he *was* gay on the backburner? His mother knew already--she knew
her son had a boyfriend and that *I* was that boyfriend.  So when was he
going to tell his father?

Still, I knew it was going to be very difficult for Lance to come out to
his father. He had worried incessantly about it. The last thing I wanted to
do to him was pressure Lance to come out when he wasn't ready yet. God only
knows that it took me long enough to tell my mom. And I knew, just by
looking at Lance, looking at him sitting there next to me, that he was
petrified to admit it to his dad. I could relate. That was one thing that I
was always kind of relieved about (and this may sound heartless and morbid
to you) but I was glad that my father was never around to hear the fact
that I was gay. I had no idea how he would have reacted. He had always been
`tough' (for lack of a better word). I knew that during his high school
career he had played football and ran track, he was a police
officer...would he have accepted me the way I was? Or would he had treated
me in the same manner that my mother did? That I would never know...

I looked back over at Lance, and just rested a comforting hand on his
kneecap. He shifted his gaze onto me and his green eyes took in my face,
slowly going over every feature and detail...I couldn't help but blush at
his intense scrutiny.

"Lance...don't worry about anything," I sighed, trying to forget about my
thoughts. "Don't drag your family into my messes, okay? Please? Everything
will be okay," I lied through my teeth. "I'll just drop the idea of the
will, take a job and find myself an apartment. It'll be easier that way."

Upon my words, Lance's gaze became more intense--so intense, I'm surprised
that he didn't burn holes right into my soul. An array of emotions flashed
though those magnificent pale eyes of his. We locked gazes for God only
knows how long and then his lips parted, finally breaking the building
silence between us.

"You know what, Stephen? It just dawned on me that I don't care what my
family thinks of me...my mother still loves me...why not the rest of
them..." He took a deep breath, before speaking again. "Stephen, hand me
the phone. I'm calling my parents up...I want to tell them that I'm coming
home for a visit and that you're coming with me."

My mouth dropped open. It wasn't so much the words that somewhat shocked
me, rather it was the intensity that he said it with. He was so passionate,
so determined, that a chill ran down my spine.

"Stephen," Lance repeated my name, a small grin forming on his lips. "Hand
me the phone. I'm gonna have to make a long distance phone call, if that's
okay with you."

Still, I kept my eyes locked on him, in a wordless gaze. He was going to
tell his father...he was going to tell him...and all on the account of
me. Just so that he could (hopefully) help me out. Even if it would destroy
his relationship with the paternal part of his family, he would do it. All
because of me...the idea that he cared about me so much, completely floored
me. I finally shook myself out of the coma that I had unwittingly slipped
into.

"Lance," I began tentatively, afraid to speak the words. "What if your
father rejects you...like my mom did?" I saw Lance cringe slightly at my
words, but he still didn't say anything. "What if everyone hates me and
your uncle refuses to help me? It will be all for nothing..."

"*Stephen," Lance said a little more forcefully this time. "I don't care. I
can't hide this from the rest of my family forever. My mom knows. She loves
me. Now if you'll hand me the phone. *Now*."

"Lance, are you sure you wanna do this?" I asked nervously, as it dawned on
me that Lance could lose the rest of his family just because of me. "Please
don't do it on the account of me...please." My voice was begging with him
and I was on the verge of telling him not to go through with it, as much as
I wanted him to. We stared at each other for a few more seconds. And then
Lance did what he normally would do in a situation like this. He leaned
over and gave me a kiss on the tip of my crooked nose.

"Stop worrying, Stephen," Lance whispered softly, staring into my eyes. "Go
get me the telephone, so I can call my mom and tell her that I'm coming
home. And that I'm bringing my boyfriend with me." And since I know when
I'm beaten, I reached over and handed Lance the cordless phone. In only a
few short hours, Lance and I would be in his home state, Mississippi, ready
to see whatever fate had in store for us.



Well, if you haven't guessed the next chapter will be in Lance's words: "Mi
crooked i crooked i i crooked i crooked i hump back hump back i" Yup,
Mississippi....if anyone has ever been down there, could you tell me how it
is? Remember, e-mail is good, e-mail is good --
sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com.  Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter...I
hope to have the new one out in a couple of days :) So with that I bid
adieu and take care of yourselves! Love ya, Gabriella...