49. Lance #2
I feel stripped bare, completely off-balance, like he just reached in and flipped every switch I’d spent months trying to shut off.
“This is why I left the shop for someone else to manage,” he says, voice rougher now.
He’s past the point of debating it. “Can’t live in my father’s shadow and call it a future that’s mine.
He’s gone. You’re here. I pick the present with you.
If that meant leaving everything else behind, then that’s what it was.
And I don’t regret it, not once, even on the days you ignore me or throw away the coffee. ”
He draws in a slow, heavy breath, then lets it out.
“This car is probably the last thing I’ll ever keep exactly the way it belonged to him. And that’s enough. I can love my father without living my whole life buried beside him.”
He looks at me, eyes shining in the dark.
“But the rest of it—the present, the future—I want that to belong to us. I want you in my life, Lance. All in, not in fucking pieces. I’ll do it even if I have to crawl through hell to earn my old spot in your life back.”
The words wrap around me like heavy, warm chains. I press my palm harder against the leather armrest, feeling the engine thrum through my bones while my stupid heart tries to climb out of my ribcage and throw itself at him.
I’m gathering my thoughts while actively fighting for my life in here, then I go with the first thing that lets me keep whatever dignity I’ve got left.
“Am I still your emergency contact?”
George’s brain visibly lags. “My what?”
“I’m asking if I’m still your emergency contact,” I say, “or have I been demoted to the role of ex-fuck buddy slash current professional menace who can at least do CPR?”
When it clicks for him, George coughs out a laugh that sounds close to a choked-off groan. He clears his throat hard, clearly trying to drag himself back into something resembling serious, grumpy territory.
“Yeah…” he says, clearly a little thrown that I’ve picked this moment for something so painfully mundane. “Listed you a while back. Should’ve asked first. Sorry. I’ll change it if you—”
“No.”
“No?”
“I mean, yes. Keep me. I’ll put you down as mine too. Seems only fair.”
He makes a small, strangled sound, like he’s trying to hold it together and failing a little. “Why?”
I stare straight ahead for half a second, then just say it before I change my mind.
“Because I love you too, you absolute pain in the ass.”
Silence stretches for a full minute. I can feel him trying to process it. I turn to look at him. His mouth is slightly open.
“What did you just say?”
“I love you too,” I say, a little louder, letting some sarcasm slip in. “God, aren’t we slow tonight?”
“That’s not—” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing. “That’s not a response to what I just said.”
“I got your fucking cassette tape,” I say. “That’s the response. I’m responding now.”
He keeps his focus on the road, but I can see him fighting a smile.
“What?” I ask.
“Give me a fucking second. I’m not…I don’t know how to just…”
He glances at me, looking lost for a moment.
I let out a shaky breath. “It took me months to even reach the first step of my highly disorganized moving-on process. And then you showed up and…undid the rest.”
That hangs in a long silence.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
The turn signal clicks once before he changes lanes, and the sound feels absurdly loud in the charged silence of the car.
George lets out a slow, frustrated breath.
“Telling me you love me in a moving car,” he mutters, sounding slightly unhinged, his grip tightening on the wheel.
I shake my head. “You told me you love me on a fucking cassette tape like this is some nineties coming-of-age movie. Don’t talk to me about timing.”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he suddenly yanks the wheel hard to the right.
The Gran Torino cuts sharply off the road with a crunch of tires on gravel, fishtailing just enough to make my stomach flip.
We skid to a stop on a narrow overlook above the beach, the dark ocean stretching out beyond the drop, waves crashing below in low, rhythmic roars.
The abrupt movement throws me forward against the seatbelt.
For a second, neither of us moves.
The engine ticks as it cools. The windows are already starting to fog from the heat rolling off both of us.
Suddenly, my backrest releases.
I let out a sharp, undignified sound as I fall back, fingers scrambling for the door handle. “What the—”
George leans over me, one big hand still on the seat lever. He doesn’t give me time to finish. His mouth crashes into mine, months of hunger and relief all at once. His possessive tongue pushes past my lips, and I meet him with the same frantic desperation.
The kiss is messy and urgent, like we’re both terrified the other might disappear again. I taste want, apology, and something that feels dangerously like forever. Months of frustration and want pouring out all at once.
Fuck. Can’t believe I went this long without him.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathing hard, staring up at the roof of the old car like it holds answers.
“You fucking barbarian,” I say, still breathless. “You dropped my seat.”
George looks down at me, his face lit by the soft gold spilling from the restaurant above. His eyes are open and warm.
“I love you.”
The words slam into me, stealing my breath and leaving me reeling. His voice rough with feeling. “I’m fucking in love with you, Lance. Can’t even contain it anymore.”
He straightens my seat carefully, then reaches over and takes both of my hands in his. He brings them to his lips and kisses my knuckles, eyes glistening in the low light. He pushes a stray piece of hair off my forehead, then places his thumb on my lower lip like he’s memorizing the moment.
I feel dizzy, like the ground just tilted and I’m perfectly happy to fall.
“Yeah,” I manage, voice a little hoarse. “I’m crazy about you too. I love you.”