I stand up and cross to him. "Are you okay?”
He nods and wraps his arms around me. I hug him, holding him tightly.
“I went for a drive. Ended up at that lake we used to go to.”
“Yeah?”
I wait for him to tell me more. It’s killing me, but I won’t push. This has to be his choice.
“I told him to leave us alone,” he says.
“I’m guessing he didn’t just accept it.”
“I didn’t give him a choice.”
He pushes off the door and moves past me into the living room.
I follow him. "What can I do?"
"Nothing." He sinks onto the couch. "You didn't do anything. This is all him. His manipulation. His control issues. His inability to see people as anything other than assets or liabilities."
I sit beside him and take his hand. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For even thinking about the money. For letting his words get in my head. For making you have to choose between your father and me."
"You didn't make me choose anything. He did that when he showed up at our house trying to bribe you." He squeezes my hand. "And don't apologize for considering the offer. I get it."
"Do you?"
"The money is real. The job opportunity is real. The security it would provide is real." He looks at me. "I can't really understand what it's like not to have money. I was raised with it. Never had to worry about paying bills or making rent or choosing between groceries and gas."
"It's exhausting," I admit quietly. "Always calculating. Always worrying. Always one emergency away from disaster."
"I know. And I wouldn't judge anyone for what they'd do to have that security." He brushes his thumb across my knuckles. "Especially someone like you who works so hard for everything."
"But I shouldn't have even considered it. Not for a second."
"You're human. He made a persuasive offer designed to hit exactly where you're vulnerable." He pulls me closer. "That's what he does. He finds people's weak spots and exploits them."
We sit in silence for a moment.
"What happens now?" I ask. "With your father?"
"I don't know. He said that I'm making a mistake I'll regret.” He leans his head back against the couch. "He's probably right."
"About what?"
"All of it. The career. The opportunities. The future he's been building."
"I’m so sorry.”
"I told him I was done. That I no longer wanted his help. His connections. His support." He looks at the ceiling. "So, I guess I figure things out on my own now."
My stomach drops. "What about your financial support? For school? For living expenses?"
"I have a trust fund my grandfather set up. I haven’t touched it. I was given full control of it at eighteen, but my dad has always handled things." He shrugs. "It would have doubled with my father's contributions, but I'll be fine. And when I say I’ll be fine, I mean I might have to think about a Maserati instead of a Ferrari."
