“It’s for the center. I did what I had to do,” is the only answer I can give, and when his gaze finally meets mine, I question whether I should’ve just said nothing at all.
His brow gathers, and the muscle in his jaw ticks.
“Did what you had to do?” he shoots back, unable to dull the sharp edges of his words this time. “Why the hell would you do something like this without talking to me?”
“I don’t need your permission, West.”
“Well, I’m glad you feel that way, because I went to the bank after practice and paid the loan in full.”
“You did what?” My head snaps up, and we lock eyes.
“We’re cool making moves without talking shit out with each other first, right? Your words.”
“Un-fucking believable.”
“No, what’s unbelievable is paying interest on money you don’t even need,” he argues. “We’ll keep doing things the way we have been, and—”
“It’s shit like this that made me take out the loan in the first place.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and I’m feeling so many things all at the same time.
Frustrated.
Validated.
Small.
A beat of silence passes between us, giving us both a second to decompress. He takes a breath, and I brace myself.
“Look, we’ve been in a weird place. You know it, I know it. But when have I ever given you reason to think I’m not all in with helping you finish your project, Blue? Hell, at this point, I’m just as emotionally invested as you are.”
I’ve never questioned whether he cares, but I hada decision to make, and I made it. Getting the loan was the only way I could move forward without syphoning off resources that don’t actually belong to me, the fruits ofhislabor.
I’m deep in thought as the air between us shifts. West reaches toward me, touching my knee. I stare at his hand settled there, the warmth of his palm against me, his thumb smoothing over my skin.
“I know you don’t owe me anything, but… please, tell me why you’d take out a loan after agreeing to let me finance your project.”
I take a breath, feeling gun shy. Talking has done more harm than good with us lately.
His thumb continues to move, focusing on the tiny scar there. I got it when I fell against the curb while learning to ride my bike at age seven. It’s a story West has heard before, because he’s heardallmy stories.
Because he’s my person.
I let out another breath and raise my eyes to meet his, holding that thought for comfort.
Heismy person.
“I called the bank after we argued about my mother going to the treatment facility.” I pause to gathermy thoughts. “You brought up how hard you’ve worked foryour money, and… I felt something. Something I’ve never felt before. Not with you, anyway.”
He tilts his head. “What was the feeling?”
I shrug and honestly consider stopping the conversation here, but then his eyes soften.
“Distance,” I admit. “I felt like we were miles apart. Like we weren’t on the same team anymore.”
His hand leaves me, but he stays close, leaning his large body forward to rest both elbows on his knees. He stares at the floor again instead of me, and I wish I was inside his head, able to confirm whether he’s feeling upset, guilty, confused?
“I regretted the way that came out the second those words left my mouth,” he admits, and I soften toward him a little more. “I only meant that we have a lot—more than most people—and if anyone outside the two of us is going to benefit from that, it should be our family. I never intended to make you feel like anything we have isn’tbothof ours. Hell, if it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve blown every dime that’s come to me a long time ago,” he adds with a soft laugh. “But that’s why we work. We balance each other out, and we’reso muchbetter together than we are apart. Which is my way of saying… I need you.”
