“I can’t go.”
I step to the side, but he mirrors me, refusing to let me pass. My frustration sparks, and I shoot him a glare.
“What the hell does that mean?” His hands slice the air, impatience pouring off him in sharp movements. “Why can’t you go?”
My own hands are faster now, my chest tight.
“I can’t afford it. I don’t have the luxury for that.”
His face twists like I just told him the sky isn’t real.
“The fuck you mean you can’t afford it?” His signs all jagged edges now, angry and urgent. “You have an entire trust fund. Sitting in your name. For this exact reason.”
I stare at him like he’s the one losing it.
“It’s not my money.” The words feel like gravel in my hands as I sign. “It’s Alex’s. How am I supposed to use it? How can I even have the heart to when I’ve pushed him away? When he doesn’t want to see me anymore?”
Tyler’s eyes narrow. “It is your money. It’s in your name. Alex doesn’t have access to it, and it’s irrevocable. He set it up that way.”
“You think I don’t know that?” My signing slows, weighted with a kind of quiet anger. “I know. And when Alex and I were together, I didn’t mind that I would use it for school. But now?” I shake my head. “Now it feels like I conned him. Like I took what I wanted and then slammed the door in his face. I hate it, Ty. I hate it.”
He stares at me for a long beat, something softer trying to push past the frustration on his face, but it doesn’t win.
“Okay,” he signs, “I get what you’re saying, I do, but let’s rewind for a sec, what do you mean he doesn’t want to see you anymore? You’re the one who said you didn’t want to see him.”
My chest tightens.
“Lucas,” he signs, this time slower, “he’s been here every damn day. And if he’s not here, he’s texting and calling me, checking up on you to see if you’ve eaten or slept. Every thirty minutes when he’s not here, he’s checking in on you, Lucas. Every. Thirty. Minutes.”
I blink, everything he just signed landing heavy in my chest, making it almost hard to breathe. My mind scrambles to piece them together, and my heart is pounding so hard that I have to swallow hard.
“What do you mean, he’s been here?” I sign, my hands trembling so much the words almost falter in the air.
Tyler exhales slowly, his expression softening, but there’s something heavy in his eyes.
“He’s been around ever since I brought you back home,” he signs carefully, as if each word might shatter me.
I just stare at him, unblinking. My pulse is pounding in my ears.
“He hasn’t been inside or anything,” Tyler continues, “but he’s been parking his car at the curb near our apartment most of the time when he’s not at work. When he’s not there, Mike is. Alex even sleeps at the motel nearby at night.”
I blink hard, my disbelief almost choking me.
“Why would he do that?” The signs spill from me fast, sharp, like I’m trying to slice through the absurdity of it.
The image hits me—Alexander Petrov, in that sleek, too-perfect world of his, sitting in his car all day in this run-down street. The motel nearby is three blocks away, and it is entirely out of place for someone like him. He wouldn’t be comfortable there. He shouldn’t be comfortable there.
“He said he has to be nearby in case there’s an emergency,” Tyler signs, glancing away briefly before looking back at me. “I offered him the living room, told him you wouldn’t even notice since you barely leave your room. But he refused—over and over.Said you’d know if he was close. Something about his scent, or some shit like that. And… he didn’t want to freak you out, since you said you didn’t want to see him.”
Something twists hard in my chest, the weight of it unbearable.
Fuck, Alex.
Tyler’s words trigger a memory so vivid it feels like it’s happening now—one quiet night, tangled together in bed, his warmth pressed to mine. I’d told him, half-asleep, without even thinking, that I would know if he was near, even in a room full of strangers. He’d asked how.
And I’d told him the truth—his scent… It’s unique, unshakable. It’s something I could never mistake for anyone else. How calming and warm it is, how it clings to me even when he’s not around, like a part of him had marked me without asking. Lodged deep under my skin, impossible to scrub out.
I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. It’s not pure relief, more like a fragile thread of it, tangled with an ache and a longing so deep it cuts.
