For Now (Broken Promises #1) (3 page)

Her head cocks, her lips push together, and I know it’s the doctor’s office. I can’t move from my spot since this photographer is ready to get out of here and there’s not much daylight time left. I’m stuck, and she’s staring at me like I’ve ripped her heart out and plowed it over with a steamroller.

Fuck, how am I going to explain this one?

Alexis

This fucking shoot is taking forever. I thought a shoe shoot was an easy Monday slot but Jesus Christ it’s insane what they’re making these models do and how they’re making them pose. It’s times like this that, despite the fact they get paid a shit ton more than me, I’m happy I’m not in front of the camera. No, I’m completely content here on my tablet, making sure Lane is set for the next month, with shoots and appearances. The man is set for a while, being that most bars and clubs actually pay him to show up. He’s a bigger name than he thinks, but I’m not going to be the one to tell him that. I’d die if my down to earth Lane ever became a stuck up playboy.

Listen to me… ‘my Lane’… “Hah,” I scoff to myself. Wishful thinking. Yesterday was nice being with him and Braydon, but a girl knows when she’s not quite in the company of like-minded people. Bray is brilliantly beautiful and he knows it. Being a musician in LA typically is like trying to find a piece of hay in a haystack. They are everywhere, but Braydon has made a name for himself. Though he’s not famous yet, he’s a big enough of a local artist for people to know his name and face when they see him. He’s fun to jab at, but I do really care for him. Then there’s Lane… model extraordinaire, travels the world and is given the nicest of nice clothes from hot, top designers. He’s a household name and his face has graced the cover of dozens of magazines. He’s laid back and the complete opposite of Braydon.

He’s more my type of man. Dirty blonde hair, laid back smile, easy on the eyes but not overly beautiful. Not intimidating. Not like Braydon who makes me hot and pissed all at the same time.

Then there’s me. Alexis Grant , the girl who randomly met up with these two loons one year in college and haven't left their side ever since. Sometimes I feel the stares of the other girls in the room. They are probably wondering why I'm with these two overly beautiful men when I’m just a normal girl, but I don't care. These two boys, as crazy and pig headed as they might be at times, are all I really have in this world.

I'm not sure what I'd do without either of them in my life.

"You need any coffee?" Mindy, the photographer's  assistant asks me with a warm smile. She's nice, we've met on set a few other times, but I always feel bad for her. She's like the bottom of the bottom feeders here in L.A., but she always has a smile on her face and always makes sure I'm comfortable. There aren’t many managers and assistants in my position, but Lane insists he doesn't need anyone else but me and his financial people, so I don't fight him on it. It just means I’m twice as busy than most, but that's ok with me.

"Sure, that'd be great," I say, smiling back. She looks so excited that she actually has a task to do that I kind of feel bad for not befriending her and helping her through these long days.  I remember just starting off with Lane and how sitting in one spot watching him model for six hours straight got boring. Luckily after a while he got so big that my time was always taken up by emails and phone calls scheduling the next big shoot for him, and always keeping busy.

"Here ya go." Mindy hands me my coffee, black. With shaky nervous hands, she hands over some creams and sugars, smiling sweetly as she turns and walks away.

Mmm, coffee.

As soon as I have it mixed exactly as I like it, I put it to my mouth for that first savory drink, and Lane's phone starts going off on the side table next to me. During shoots he leaves his phone with me so that I can take any important calls, so it's typical that I answer it. Glancing over at him, he must have heard it ring and is watching me as I answer. The unknown name and number aren't anything alarming to me since he doesn't have everyone in the city programmed into his phone, but the minute I see the look on his face, right as I'm answering, I know something's not right.

"Hello?" I answer, not my typical professional greeting when taking calls for him but I have a gut feeling this isn't a professional call.

"Yes, this is Dr. Stanley's office calling for Lane Sheridan. Is he available?"

Doctor?

"Um... I'm his assistant taking his calls while he's on a shoot right now. I can take a mesasge for you." He's staring at me with huge eyes and my hands are starting to shake. I’ve known him for too long to misplace that look. That's the look of fear. Like I shouldn't have answered this call.

Like he's hiding something from me.

"We have the results from the biopsy and need him to come in as soon as possible. Are you able to schedule that for him or will he need to call us back?"

Biopsy? As soon as possible? What the hell did he do? What's going on right now? Lane didn't have a biopsy... biopsy's mean cancer and he would have told me something that big, right?

"I um..." I stammer. "I... just let me..." I start searching through my tablet with shaky fingers, trying to pull up the calendar with his shoots this week but I'm starting to shake so bad I can't get to it. "Shit, I'm sorry... I just..."

"Here," his voice whispers from behind me, his warm hand laying on my shoulder. "I got this, Al." He locks eyes with mine and I feel the sudden urge to cry.

He had a biopsy without even telling me! Oh my God, what if he's dying!

"Oh shit," I whisper, watching him walk away with the phone to his ear.

"Everything ok?" Mindy asks with pure, innocent worry.

"Uh... yea... things are great." I take a deep breath as to not worry the others on set that something's wrong with Lane and muster up a smile. "Thanks for the coffee, it's perfect," I say, nodding towards it on the table. I'd love to take a drink right now but my hands in my pockets are still shaking and I don't feel like burning myself.

Cancer.

Dr. Stanley. He's the cancer doctor to the stars. I heard about him last year when one of the pop stars had cancer. He's apparently really good. So that’s good, right?

Fuck!

"Mindy, when's this thing supposed to be over?" I huff, eyeing Lane who is still on the phone. He glances over his shoulder at me with sad eyes. I want to throw professionalism out the window and run over and hug him. Then punch him in the face.

I can't do that though. I need to keep my composure.

Fuck, it feels like there's a boulder in my stomach!

"I think they are finished. Lane rushed off but I think Carlton said he has all the shots he needs. You want me to check for you?"

"Yea, that'd be great. Thanks Mindy." My eyes won't leave Lane as I watch him hang up and slide his phone in his pocket. His posture looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and my gut feeling that something is wrong has just skyrocketed. He's always so laid back. This isn't the Lane that I know and love.

When he starts walking back towards me I know I need to hold it together for the both of us until we get in the car. If there's one thing I know about L.A., it's that word travels fast I'd rather not have people talking and spreading rumors before we know the truth about shit. Even then he's probably going to want to keep things under wraps for as long as possible.

As he slowly makes it over to me, my face is working as hard as it can to remain impassive and my mind is going a thousand miles a minute. Is it treatable? Will he lose his hair? Will he still be able to model during treatments? What about a will... we need to get him a will made up and make plans just in case it's not treatable.

Holy shit! What if it's not treatable?!

"Hey," he whispers, gently and discreetly laying his hand on the small of my back. The look he's giving me is a pleading look, one asking me not to talk about the fact that he's been found out. He knows I know, and he knows he has a lot of explaining to do.

“Alexis, Carlton said you guys are free to go if need be. He has what he needs from Lane,” Mindy says, smiling sweetly at Lane. Just another one of the many that would love to get in his pants.

I sigh and grit my teeth, holding back the snarky comment I’d like to make, which is insanely uncharacteristic of me. Typically, I don’t care who ogles him… because I’m right there with them. Suddenly in a terrible mood, I thank her and head out to my car without saying a word to anyone. Lane follows, hands in his pockets and head hanging low. He knows he’s going to have to tell me whatever it is that call was about, he’s not stupid. I’m not entirely certain why he went through a biopsy without telling me, let alone HOW. I know his entire schedule… or at least I thought I did.

“So…” he drawls out once the car doors are shut. “I need the morning cleared.” He’s not looking at me. He’s looking out his passenger window to advert my glare.

“You shoot with Tommy tomorrow, Lane. Underwear ad for the billboard in New York. That’s a huge shoot.” I’m trying to keep my feelings out of this, but I can’t hold it back much longer. He’s breaking me by keeping this from me.

“I need to cancel. Reschedule… something…” he trails off and takes a breath. “Hey can you take me to Bray’s bar?” He turns his head and finally looks at me. I see the pain and hurt in his eyes.

Why the fuck is he going through this all alone? Why won’t he let me in?!

“Um… sure…” I say, turning the car at the next light to head to our best friend’s bar.

Braydon owns the place with his bandmate Gabe and plays there some weekends. It’s a Monday night though, so Bray probably won’t even be there.

“Want me to come in?” I ask, about to break down in tears that my best friend is keeping something potentially huge from me and not letting me in. I’ve always respected his privacy, even when the phone rings a million times in a morning from crazy ex-girlfriends or one night stands. I never pry about phone calls, I never delve into his world, but right now I just want to know what the fuck that call was about.

“Oh,” he says, glancing over at me. “Um… nah, it’s fine. Thanks, Al… you’re the best.”

Silently nodding, I watch him leave the car and wait until he’s inside to let the tears flow.

The man I love… the man I’m in love with and doesn’t even know it… possibly has cancer but there’s nothing I can do about it because he won’t talk to me about it. I mean, what else do people typically have biopsies for? I realize I’m crying over nothing right now, since he hasn’t told me anything, but I’m positive that a biopsy means cancer.

Right?

On my way home I call Braydon. It’s typical for us to text throughout the day about randomness so it’s not abnormal that I’m contacting him just to shoot the shit, but typically I don’t call him in tears.

“What’s wrong?” he says as soon as I speak, obviously able to tell that something’s not right.

“Are you at the bar?” I ask, trying to sniffle out my tears quietly. Everything hurts and I feel like my life is crumbling just because I’m being shut out by one of my best friends.

“No, not tonight. I’m free… what’s wrong? Why’re you crying, Al?”

Al. The nickname the boys gave me after only knowing me for a month has stuck all these years. When I was growing up I hated that nickname because it made me feel like a boy, but with them it makes me feel loved. Strange how that works.

“Um.. no just have the sniffles.” I lie. “Lane just had me take him to the bar. I’m just checking in on him… he’s been distant today and I can’t figure it out. I was hoping you were up there to hang out with him. I know he responds better to you anyway when he’s upset.”

“Shit,” Braydon mumbles something and I hear a door slam. “I’m on my way up there. Don’t worry about this, Al… he’ll talk to you. I’ll text you later and let you know how he’s doing. Just go home and rest… I’m on my way.”

“Thanks Bray,” I say, sighing. “I’m worried about him, that’s all. He got a phone call today from an oncologist… about a biopsy… and he’s not talking to me about it.” Parking the car in front of my apartment, I start to cry again and have to cover my mouth so he doesn’t hear me.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Listen, just go home and get your mind off of it okay, Al? Can you do that? I promise you he’ll talk to you about it. I’m almost to the bar… I’ll text you.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re amazing sometimes, Bray.”

“I know, Al. All the fucking time. One day you’ll realize this.”

Then he hangs up and leaves me crying in my parking spot.

Perfect.