The Story of Lansing Lotte by L.B. Dunbar Page A

chest, and I felt her shoulders slowly release tension. It was almost as if it was falling off of her, and I was more than willing to take the weight from her.
    Eventually, I heard the even breathing of her and I could feel her racing heart of sadness slow into a steady pattern.  I laid there for a long time in Arturo King’s bed, holding onto his girl, and cursing him further for making her suffer.
     
     
    I was having the most glorious dream. A dream I’d often conjured after I kissed Guinevere DeGrance, all those years ago. I dreamt that I took her on that date I planned, and she kissed me again. Only that time, the innocent kiss led to more. Much more. I could feel her hand skim up my chest and slide around my neck to hold me tight against her breasts, as she whispered across my lips that she had wanted me as much as I wanted her. I imagined those lips gracing mine sweetly before turning into something deeper. A passion that simmered until a boil of kisses everywhere: my lips, my jaw, my neck. I could almost feel her breath mixed with mine, breathing me into her.
    “Arturo?” she whispered, and I woke with a jolt.
    “Where have you been?” she continued into the crease of my neck, skimming her nose along the juncture between my neck and shoulder. She kissed the muscle at the top of my arm and paused. I held perfectly still as she pressed a hand onto my chest and pushed herself upward.
    “Lansing?”
    Dazed blue eyes looked at me in utter confusion. She scanned between our bodies to find herself wrapped within my arms, her own chest hovering over mine, and her leg between my legs as her hips rested on mine.
    “What are you doing here?” she said softly.
    I blinked at her, afraid to answer other than the truth.
    “I heard you crying.”
    “Why are we like this?” She narrowed her eyes at me, as if I had done something.
    “I feel asleep after you did.”
    She rolled off of me and I felt empty, as empty as the look in her eyes. She lay on her back next to me, staring up at the ceiling.
    “I think you should go,” she said softly.
    “Guinie,” I pleaded.  “Don’t do this. Let me help you.”
    “I don’t need your help. You need to stop trying to rescue me. Everyone needs to stop hovering.”
    I laughed bitterly.
    “Well, you need to stop getting into trouble,” I retorted. I sucked in a breath as I recalled the severity of what happened to Guinie. She hadn’t done that to herself. She had lost a baby.
    “What happened?” I asked after a moment.
    “I was pregnant.”
    I waited knowing there was more.
    “Arturo didn’t know. I was told that the tests the night of the kidnapping showed a positive, but it would have been so early…like literally, only two or three weeks. I wanted to wait until I knew something more definite.”
    She paused and I gazed sideways at her. She sighed deeply before she continued.
    “I found out for certain a few days before the fundraising concert. I wanted to tell Arturo before he left on tour. I wanted to tell him that night,” her voice began to shake. She didn’t need to say more. Arturo King had obviously not known he was to be a father, again.
    When Arturo found out he was a father the first time, things were complicated. He had only recently been reunited with his mother, acknowledged by a father, who died before they could meet, and discovered that he had passionate sex with his unknown stepsister. Add to that the fact that he had a son whom he didn’t know existed. Arturo was a mess in his private affairs.  Publicly, he was becoming a shooting star and with it rose the band. 
    I had my own personal demons along with Arturo. I had found out within those years that, I too, had come from a powerful man named Ben Wicke, and his beautiful wife, Ellen.  Unfortunately, Ben had died from a heart attack when I was only a toddler and Ellen had a nervous breakdown. I wasn’t raised by my natural parents, just like Arturo hadn’t been raised by his. I had a foster