Lance never touches that money. Not once, the entire time I’ve known him.
Now he has.
Upstairs, with the door closed, the conversation finally happens.
I stand near the window, arms crossed tight over my chest, trying to keep my voice level. “It isn’t my business. You can do whatever the fuck you want with your money, but I will never—”
“I didn’t spend any of it,” he counters, perched on the edge of the bed. “I only moved it somewhere I could reach fast. In case the timeline ran out before we found another way. I wasn’t going to mention it unless it actually became necessary.”
The words reach me. I stay quiet for a moment, letting them turn slowly in my mind.
“Your father knows,” I say.
“He doesn’t know the reason.”
“He looked straight at me across that table.” My jaw clenches so hard it aches. “As if he’s adding up every piece of me he could see.”
“George—”
“I’ve been here four days.” I push a hand through my hair, then drop it. “Your house. Clothes you bought me. Now your father’s downstairs knowing you touched money you swore you’d nevertouch. The only new thing in your life right now is me and my shop that’s circling the drain.”
Lance stands slowly. He crosses the room until he's right in front of me, close enough that I can see the strain sitting under his eyes.
“You know what that looks like,” I say. I can’t keep the hurt out of it.
“It doesn’t look like anything because it isn’t anything,” he says, almost pleading. “I had something I could actually do. That’s it. I happen to have the money, George. You’re in real trouble, and I’m not going to sit on a pile of it while you lose something truly important to you. That’s just fucking insane to me.”
“That’s not the whole story to your father.”
“I don’t care what my father thinks. It’s not his goddamn business.”
“I fucking care.” My voice sounds close to a shout. “I’ve spent my whole life making my own way. I don't take handouts. I don't owe people. I’m not starting now because my best friend can just write a check and fix everything.”
Lance waits me out, jaw tight, eyes on me. Ready to argue but smart enough not to.
“I don’t want your money. That’s not what I am to you. I need it to not be what I am to you.”
The room goes quiet.
“You’re the person I’d burn the account down for if I had to, G,” he says, holding my eyes. “I meant it when I said I’d never touch it. That’s true then. It stopped being the most important thing when there was a real chance I’d be watching you lose your shop while I sat up here with resources I wasn’t using.”
He reaches up, resting his palm against the side of my face. Gentle. Like I'm something that needs handling carefully.
I don't pull away. Don't lean into it either.
Lance’s eyes search mine. “You’re worth more than a line I drew when I was younger and trying to prove I could stand on my own. You’re not a transaction. You’re you, and I chose this. I choose you.”
It’s the first time he’s said it that plainly. Nothing held back to protect either of us.
“Nothing moves without you knowing. I promise, okay?” he whispers.
I believe him, but anger still doesn’t drain out of me.
Lance’s thumb moves once against my chin. “G, I'm so sorry. I know this crosses a line for you. I fucking know. But to me, it's simple. You matter more than your pride or my principles.”
I let out a slow breath.
“Okay.”
