“He said we didn’t need them to know who I am. If I didn’t want to.”
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“What?” I asked.
“He doesn’t wantyouthinking he’s using your name,” she said. Not a question. A realization. “Or your money. Or your influence. He needs a friend.”
I closed my eyes, something in my chest loosening. “Oh.”
“Think about it from his perspective,” Rowan said. “He’s standing there knowing those rich motherfuckers are going to clock everything. No money. Halfway house. A baby he can barely afford, let alone fight for the way they can. He’s taking all of that on board.”
My heart hurt.
“He doesn’t want to use you,” she went on. “Not your name, not your money, not your influence. But hedoeslike you. As a friend. And that puts him in a mess, because he also knows you could help—without meaning to, just by existing, and he doesn’t want you to think you’re being used.”
I was shocked: “No! I don’t think that.”
“Morgan won’t want you thinking he’s using you,” she said. “Jesus, Cole—have you actually had this conversation with him?”
That hit harder than I expected, and I exhaled a breath despite myself. “Kind of? Actually, not really, no.”
“You’ve got him all this baby stuff,” Rowan said gently. “You could swoop in and fix anything with money. That’s a hell of a power imbalance. So, the poor guy is probably thinking, what does he giveyou?”
That was a jab to the ribs. Unfair. I was offended on Morgan’s behalf before I even thought it through. “Himself,” I snapped. Then, softer but no less confident, “And Gabbi.”
Rowan went silent for a moment. “But if his self-worth is damaged,” she said carefully, “will he even see that? Will he believe he’s enough without balancing the scales?”
“I just wanted to ask you what I should wear, not for you to analyze Morgan and me,” I snapped, then scrubbed a hand over my face and sighed. “Shit. I’m sorry.” There was no judgment from her, just quiet. “I get it,” I said. Then, because it mattered, I added, “I really like him, Ro. And I want more. I want to be in his world, and I’ll do anything…” I scrubbed my face. “I just don’t want him to be swallowed bymyworld.”
“Okay,” she said after a moment. “Practical advice time.”
“Please.”
“Wear the jeans,” she said. “The shirt. Casual. Approachable. Non-millionairey.”
Relief flickered—then doubt. “Not the suit?”
“Leave it on the hanger.” I frowned at my reflection. “But wear the Rolex,” she added.
“Rowan—”
“Don’t argue,” she said, and her image shook as she waggled her hand. “This is me slapping you upside the head through the phone.”
I snorted. “Ow.”
“Jeans says you’re normal, just a friend who’s there to advocate for him, or stand in the corner, or whatever he needs,” she said. “The watch says you’re not powerless either. Casual—but you’re still you. You’re showing yourself without pulling out the artillery.”
I studied the mirror again. Tried to see it the way Morgan might. Not the money. Not the name. Just… steadiness. “Okay,” I said.
“Good,” Rowan replied. “Also?—”
“There’s always an ‘also’.”
“If at any point you start thinking you’re there to fix things instead of stand beside him,” she said calmly, “take a breath and shut the fuck up.”
I smiled, slow and real this time. “You’re a terrible motivational speaker.”
“And yet,” she said, smug, “you calledme.”
