Lance had to laugh. At himself. At the world. Figuratively. Literally.

What a mess. Such a mess.

They kept telling him that he ran from his problems. That he hid from his life. But that couldn’t be true. Here he was, right where he’d always been. Sleeping with the ghosts, sitting with the memories, living with the past.

Sometimes it was hard to breath with all that history shoving in on him, squeezing him out.

Yet here he was. Lancelot Emery, Oceanview, California’s finest bred born and… well, raised. Running in place. Hiding in the open. Smiling through it all.