“I found a venue lead for a community car show. It’s not reinventing the wheel, but it works. There are examples in here from San Diego and Orange County. Same setup and kind of businesses. If we move fast enough, we can stage it before the buyout deadline.”
I keep going because I need him to hear all of it before he shuts me down.
“I ran the numbers. It won’t cover everything outright, but it can get close enough. There are other ways to cover it.”
George leans back in his chair, listening all the way through with the patience of a saint. No interruptions, questions, or visceral reaction whatsoever. He sits there turning it over in his head while I continue to stare at him, waiting for him to say literally anything else.
Then he looks at me and says, very simply, “You should go back to Seattle, Lance.”
I could’ve sworn I heard him wrong, but no. He adds the next part without delay, clear enough that there’s no misunderstanding it.
“The program at the hospital must still be open. You should confirm it.”
“I already turned it down.” I keep my voice level, though it takes effort. “Called Cameron’s office more than a month ago. It’s done.”
“Then uncall it.”
I level a stare at him. “Okay, and why the fuck are you saying that?”
Underneath the shock is hurt—immediate and sharp and ugly.
“This,” he maintains, gesturing toward the piece of paper, “isn’t your problem to fix.”
“You know I won’t sit around and watch you lose your shop. I’m making it my problem, George. You know I’d do anything for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” His voice rises slightly, more than he probably intended.
The office suddenly feels too small and hot. The sounds of the shop come through muffled through the walls. Air tools, radios, somebody laughing somewhere outside this room while my entire life starts coming apart inside it.
George sighs, and when he speaks again his voice goes in a careful way I already hate.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done. Really.”
There it is, but I know very well it’s not what he’s trying to say.
“But I don’t need you staying here for this. I’ll handle it from here.”
“Is this about the trust fund again? We’ve talked about it. I’m not touching it unless you want me to.”
“Lance, I don’t care—”
“G, I want to stay.” My voice lands closer to a plea than I’d like. “That’s why I turned it down. It’s not really the shop or the fundraiser. You know why.”
George holds my gaze across the desk, completely still.
“No,” he says evenly. “I don’t.”
Something in me snaps.
“Jesus Christ, do you really need me to spell this out for you?” The words come out loud now. “I’m staying because of you. Because whatever the hell this is between us, I don’t want to leave it behind.”
There’s just silence. For one awful second, I think maybe he’s finally going to say it too. His jaw clenches so hard I see the muscle jump, his knuckles white where they grip the edge of the desk. Pain flashes raw across his face before he locks it down.
Instead, he says with a voice so low and flat, “I think…I think you’re forgetting what we actually are.”
I look at his face, and it very much contradicts that theory. The air leaves my lungs.
“This was never anything more than that,” he continues, forcing the words out. “We’re friends. You were figuring yourself out. I was part of that. That’s what we agreed on.”
