ZANDER
I only learn Lance has returned when I see it on the news. He joined today’s search as soon as he landed. He hasn’t even fully stepped out of the motorboat when the media flocked him.
It’s understandable, given that the public still thinks they’re boyfriends. He looks tired and worn out, nearly breaking as he called for everyone’s help on television.
It’s almost midnight when I finally took a taxi and headed to Lance’s house. Biting my nails, I ring the doorbell. The door swings open a moment later. It’s Lance, and he’s wearing a white sleeveless shirt and jogger pants. He doesn’t smile when he sees me.
“Z,” he says, holding the door like he’s hiding someone inside. I just stare at him. f**k. I have a lot to say, but nothing’s clicking in my head.
“Can I come in?” I ask instead
