Chapter 12 Lance
Lance
Franklin Penngrove—mayor and Art’s dad—rounds the corner, his security detail at his back. His silver hair’s immaculate, and he’s wearing a charcoal overcoat that’s perfectly pressed. He looks like he stepped off a campaign poster.
Art’s spine goes straight, and my arm drops from around him.
“Dad. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” The mayor’s eyes slide to me, cool and assessing, before returning to his son. “We need to talk.”
“I’m in the middle of something.”
“Now, Arthur.”
The mayor steps closer to his son, lowering his voice like he’s delivering state secrets.
“Do you have any idea the position you’re in?” he says. “The Rag’s running stories about your bartender girlfriend sneaking around with Lance, and you’re out here with him like nothing’s wrong?”
I straighten off the wall. “Mr. Penngrove, it wasn’t like that. I was just walking her home since Art was busy with you.”
Franklin laughs. “I don’t give a shit. You know what people will remember? That my son couldn’t keep a leash on his friend or his woman.”
Every muscle in my body goes taut. Leash. The word burrows under my skin like it knows exactly where to prick.
“Is that what you want?” he asks Art. “For everyone to see you get cucked by your own friend?”
My jaw tightens.
“Dad, come on.”
“You’ve been hiding that girl away for over a year, and now people are filling in the blanks themselves, just like I told you they would. You should have left her in whatever back alley you found her in. Because now, they’re making you look like a fool, and that reflects badly on me.”
My weight shifts forward before I catch myself and lean against the wall.
Art shrinks. “You’re the one who said to keep her low-key.”
“She’s not an appropriate match for you, Art, but if you insist on keeping her around, then for God’s sake control the narrative.”
Art’s hands curl into fists, but he doesn’t argue.
“Bring her to Paxton’s anniversary party.”
“What?” Art’s head snaps up.
“Dress her up and flaunt her publicly,” Franklin says. “Before I’m forced to fix your mistakes for you.”
Art swallows. “Yes, sir.”
“Lance.”
I give him a chin jerk. “Mr. Penngrove.”
“How’s your father?”
“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t talked to him.”
“Hmm.” Franklin’s lips curve. “Probably for the best he’s not witnessing you in the headlines this way.” He adjusts his cuffs. “Tell Paxton I said hi.”
He doesn’t wait for a response—just turns and walks away, his footsteps fading into the night.
Art’s still standing there, looking like a kid who got sent to the principal’s office, and I hate that his father can do this to him after all these years.
“You good?” I ask.
He flashes me a grin. “You know it.”
“Your dad’s a dick.”
“So is yours.”
“Yeah, but at least mine’s left the country.”
“Valid point.” Art bumps his shoulder to mine, and we make our way back out front until we’re standing in front of Dante’s.
“Look at us, just two lone members keeping the Silver Spoon Survivors’ Club alive.”
He holds out his fist and I bump it, then we clasp hands, pull in, and knock shoulders—the same stupid handshake we made up when we thought a pact between two kids whose dads loved power more than their sons called for a secret society.
We swore we’d never become them.
The front door of Dante’s swings open, and Juliette steps out with Roman at her side, Felicity and Alex trailing behind.
“There you are,” Juliette says, her voice clipped. “We’re leaving.”
I ignore her because Roman’s staring at Art and me with his mouth hanging open. “Was that a secret handshake?”
“No,” I say.
“That was a secret handshake.” He spins to Juliette, gesturing at us.
“It did look choreographed,” Felicity adds.
“Thank you, Felicity,” Roman says.
Juliette glares at me like this is my fault. “Great. See what you’ve done?”
“I don’t even know what’s going on.” I throw my hands in the air.
“I’ve been begging you for months, and you told me it’s something adults don’t do. But these two get to have one?” Roman gestures at us again.
“We’ve had it since we were eight,” Art offers.
“Exactly!” Roman says. “I bet you were a Boy Scout, too, weren’t you?”
Art grins. “You know it.”
“For what it’s worth,” Alex chimes in. “I think handshakes are a valid form of emotional expression.”
“Alex, shut up.” Juliette smacks him in the head.
“Fee?” he asks. “You and me? We could workshop something.”
“Sorry, I’ve already got a handshake with Roman, and one’s my limit.”
Juliette’s mouth drops now and she spins out from under Roman’s arm. “You and Felicity made a handshake? Without me?”
“You didn’t want one.” A smirk spreads across his face. “Besides, our emotional expression involves different body parts, Little Rose.”
Alex gags. “And just like that, I’m out.”
Felicity sighs. “I should head out, too. Got some stuff to handle.”
The group splinters. Roman and Juliette walk toward his car after she makes me promise to call her. Alex tries to convince Felicity to let him walk her home.
Art lingers.
I shove my hands in my pockets.
“So,” I say. “Paxton’s anniversary party. You’re ready to parade Genevieve in front of everyone now that your dad snapped his fingers?”
“Do I have a choice?” He scrubs a hand down his face. “People are ‘drawing conclusions.’”
“People are nosy.”
“People vote. And my dad never lets me forget it.”
“Speaking of Genevieve.”
Art groans. “What is with you two bringing each other up every chance you get?”
My heart kicks.
“Your girlfriend’s been asking about me?”
“Do you have a point here?”
“Yeah, why the fuck are you letting her go down to the Lye by herself after that guy in the bar the other night?”
“What guy?”
“The guy at the tavern the other night, who was definitely watching Genevieve.”
Art’s face goes pale. “What do you mean, watching her?”
“I mean staring, clocking her.” I cross my arms. “She didn’t tell you?”
Art’s quiet for a long moment before he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck.”
“You know who he is?”
“I don’t know who he is specifically,” he says. “But I might know why he’s there.”
My stomach drops. “Why?”
“Her dad.” Art starts pacing, his hands shaking. “I told you he was in trouble.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Benny says the Feds are sniffing around Boston.”
A flare sparks behind my ribs. “About Myrddin and Badon Hill?”
He shrugs.
“Why would Benny know what’s going on?”
“He was Freddy’s favorite, and has a direct line to Myrddin, so I don’t know why he wouldn’t. But, Lance… This could be a good thing. If the Feds find out, they can take it all down.”
“If the Feds find out, they’ll drag me down with them.” My stomach sinks. “What’s this have to do with Genevieve’s dad?”
“Well… Benny thinks that maybe she’s being watched to make sure Leo doesn’t flip.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, man, but I should never have brought her here. I don’t want her to get fucked because of her dad’s choices…or because of mine. I love her, Lance.”
His voice cracks.
I rub the back of my neck.
“Then be honest with her.”
“No.” The word comes out fast. “If she finds out, she’ll go to Boston and try to help him. And if any of this is true, that’s the last place she should be. She’d be walking right into their hands.”
“Okay, at least quit sending her down to the Lye, then.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Listen, if you see that guy again…”
“I’ll handle it.”
He nods, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “I’m trying to figure this out, Lance. I swear. I just need time.”
Time. That’s what he always says.
“Go. Figure out your shit.” I pat him on the back. “I’ve got your girl.”
“Thank you,” he says. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”
My chest twists. “We’ve established that.”
“You need a ride?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
He nods and disappears down the alley, leaving me alone with the cold.
I should go home.
But my feet carry me the other direction.
Toward HillPoint.
Toward her.