The paper is still sitting between us.
Julian has already written down one year, separate finances, no involvement in the garage and enough other rules that this is starting to look less like a ridiculous idea I came up with at three in the morning and more like something two sane adults might actually sign.
Which is probably why he starts finding holes in it.
“Your father cuts you off.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Fine. He’ll cut me off.”
“Money?”
“Yes.”
“Car?”
I hesitate.
“His?”
“Technically.”
“That means his.”
“I know what technically means.”
“Apparently not.”
I ignore that.
“Where do you live?”
“With him.”
Julian looks up from the paper.
“With Edward?”
“He’s my father. You don’t have to say his name like I told you I live with a serial ki
