My assistant will contact you tonight.
Tell her whatever you want — anything.
It’ll be sent to you.
From Alex.
His eyes flick from the note to the money, then back again.
“I swear there’s like a lot of money in here,” he whispers, fingers hovering over the bills but not quite touching them. He looks at it like it’s sacred.
“All yours,” I sign, smiling gently.
He swallows, voice quieter now.
“You guys didn’t have to do all this… but you did. And it means everything to me.”
I stare down at my hands. They’re clenched in my sweater, trembling.
I want to speak. I want to say more.
Even with my chest still twisted tight from earlier—
From him.
From that voice I hadn’t heard in five years, that sick grin I’d begged my brain to forget. From the way the world tilted when I saw him at Walmart, like he’d never left my nightmares.
The panic hasn’t left me since. It’s been clawing up my throat all day, pushing at my ribs, making everything feel unsteady and too loud. But Tyler’s here. And that… that changes something.
Because he’s always been here, he stood by me when I was nothing more than silence and shadows. He dragged me out of bed when I was too numb to care if I ever stood again. He held me when the nightmares came, and never once looked at me like I was broken.
He deserves more than my silence, more than guarded smiles and half-meant gestures.
And the disappointment I saw in his eyes tonight when I didn’t speak… it gutted me. I never want to see that again.
So I breathe.
And I force my lungs to work, force the air past the tightness in my throat, and say softly, barely audible.
“You deserve it.”
Tyler freezes.
His head snaps toward me, eyes wide, like he isn’t sure he really heard it.
“What… what did you say?”
I swallow hard, the knot in my throat sharp and raw. But I meet his eyes this time.
“You deserve all of it,” I say louder, firmer. The words still shake, but they land.
“The gifts. The cake. The view. This whole damn night. This entire world, Ty. You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”
My voice cracks near the end. I hate how weak it sounds, how it trembles. But Tyler doesn’t care. He looks at me like I just gave him something sacred. Like I handed him the moon.
“Lucas…” His voice is soft. Wrecked. “You don’t have to force yourself. Not for me.”
“I’m not forcing myself,” I sign, then pause—fingers stuttering—before speaking again, out loud.
