The Touch - Rewrite

I glanced up at my father curiously when he mentioned my birthday present, expecting him to disappear for a wrapped box or maybe some dramatic speech about whatever mysterious thing he had planned. Instead, Dad simply motioned toward the laptop sitting open in front of us on the kitchen table.

That only made me more suspicious.

He smiled at the look on my face and turned the screen slightly so I could see it better.

“Just watch.”

I shifted on his lap, still leaning comfortably against his chest as he minimized the document he had been working on. The page vanished, replaced by a web browser. My father typed in a website address with practiced ease, and a banking page pulled up on the screen.

I frowned.

“What’s this?”

“Patience, baby boy.”

He typed in a username and password, and after a second, the page changed.

At the very top of the screen was my name.

Zyan Montgomery.

I stared at it for a second before my eyes dropped lower, scanning numbers and account information that didn’t make much sense to me. Then I saw the total at the bottom.

My breath caught in my throat.

I sat up so fast I nearly smacked my father in the face.

“This can’t be right.”

Dad laughed softly.

“When I sold my first book, I created bank accounts for certain people in our family. Your mother and I opened yours and Kyan’s a few months after you were born. Every year on your birthday, we make a deposit based on the age you’re turning.”

I blinked at him.

“What does that mean?”

He pointed at the screen.

“You both started with one thousand dollars. Every year after that, we added one-hundred-fifty percent of the previous year’s amount and deposited it again.”

I looked back at the number.

Then back at him.

Then back at the number.

“There’s over eight-hundred-thousand dollars in this account, Dad.”

He said it so casually it made me feel like I was the crazy one.

“You have to remember,” he said with a chuckle, “you haven’t exactly been around to spend it the way your brother and sister have. Kyan burns through money like your mother burns through coffee.”

I barely heard him.

I was still staring at the screen like it might suddenly admit it was joking.

“That’s not all of it, either.”

I turned slowly.

“What do you mean?”

Dad clicked another tab like he was discussing the weather.

“You own stock in a few major corporations, Zyan.”

I just stared at him.

He kept going.

“I think you even own a percentage share in a hotel chain.”

My mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

“I own a hotel?”

“Part of one,” he corrected. “Don’t get too excited. I’m pretty sure you only own enough to complain about wallpaper choices.”

I stared harder.

He smiled.

“Your lawyer has been handling business on your behalf for years, so eventually you should probably show up at a shareholder meeting just to prove you actually exist.”

I was pretty sure I had stopped breathing.

Dad clicked again.

“Would you like to see how much you’re actually worth?”

I nodded because words had apparently abandoned me.

Another page opened, full of numbers and percentages and enough financial nonsense to make my head hurt. I scanned it for a moment before giving up and looking helplessly at him.

Dad just pointed to the number at the bottom.

I followed his finger.

And forgot how breathing worked all over again.

My jaw literally dropped.

“Seriously?”

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it.

Dad wrapped an arm around me and kissed the top of my head like he was proud of me for being rich.

“Yeah, buddy.”

I pointed at the screen like maybe it would change if I accused it.

“This says over twenty million dollars.”

“It does.”

“Twenty million.”

“Still does.”

I turned to look at him.

“Dad.”

He laughed.

“Yes, Zyan?”

“I’m twelve.”

“That is also still true.”

I groaned and covered my face with both hands while he laughed harder.

“This is too much.”

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “it gets better.”

I dropped my hands.

“It should not get better.”

He ignored me and pointed again.

“It looks like you’re one of the majority shareholders of a technology company too. Avatar Technologies. Damn.”

That name hit me differently.

I blinked.

“That’s Uncle Geoff’s company.”

Dad looked at me.

“Who?”

“Greg’s brother,” I said quietly. “He gave me my phone. I call him Uncle Geoff, and his son Gavin is one of my best friends.”

I hesitated.

“We’re family.”

The last two words came out smaller than I meant them to.

Because they were.

Even now.

Even with all of this.

Dad didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he turned in his chair and pulled me into a tight hug.

“They will always be part of your family, Zyan,” he said softly. “No matter what. Nobody is asking you to give that up.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Okay.”

He kissed the top of my head again.

“Good. Because your mother would fight Greg in the front yard before she let that happen, and frankly, I don’t want to referee that.”

I giggled.

Dad smiled, clearly satisfied that I was breathing again.

“Now,” he said, shifting the subject before I could spiral back into financial panic, “how would you like to go shopping?”

I blinked.

“For what?”

“For whatever you want.”

He ruffled my hair and leaned back in his chair.

“Are you happy with your room? Do you want a computer? More games? Clothes? Movies? A pony?”

I frowned.

“I don’t think a pony would fit in my room.”

“That sounds like quitter talk.”

I giggled again before I looked down at the table, suddenly nervous.

“A keyboard?” I asked quietly.

Dad didn’t even hesitate.

“Done.”

I looked up.

“Really?”

“Like I said, baby boy. You can get whatever your little heart desires. Clothes, games, movies, music stuff—whatever you want.”

Before I could answer, my stomach growled loud enough to betray me.

Dad looked down at me dramatically.

“Well, there it is. The tiny monster has spoken.”

I covered my face.

“No.”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “And if we don’t feed you soon, your mother is going to accuse me of starving you to death.”

I laughed into my hands while he hugged me again.

When he pulled back, his expression softened.

“You’ve grown so much this week, buddy. More than you realize. You’re the bravest twelve-year-old I know.”

I felt my face turn red immediately.

“Thanks, Dad.”

I hesitated for only a second before saying it.

“I love you.”

His smile was instant.

“I love you too, Zyan.”

Then he stood up and held out his hand to me.

“Now come on. Let’s go get food and do some damage to your mother’s sense of financial responsibility.”

We stopped for lunch first at a pizza place that had a buffet, and I immediately decided it was one of my favorite restaurants in existence. The smell of melted cheese and fresh bread hit me the second we walked through the door, and I was pretty sure I could have happily lived there for the rest of my life if someone let me.

By the time I was heading back for my fourth plate, my father was openly laughing at me from the booth near the window. I slid back into the seat across from him with two more slices of pizza and another breadstick, trying not to look embarrassed.

“Zyan,” he said, shaking his head dramatically, “I’m beginning to think I should have taken out a second mortgage before bringing you here.”

I blushed so hard I nearly dropped my plate onto the table.

“I’m hungry,” I defended.

“I can see that.”

He took a slow drink of his soda, still grinning at me like this was the funniest thing he had seen all week.

“At this point, I’m pretty sure the manager is considering charging us rent.”

I laughed despite myself and shoved half the breadstick into my mouth so I wouldn’t have to defend myself any further. Dad just shook his head fondly like he had expected exactly this.

“Your mother warned me.”

I frowned around my bite of bread and swallowed quickly.

“She did not.”

“She absolutely did,” he said without missing a beat. “Her exact words were, ‘make sure he eats before you let him spend money or he’ll buy the whole food court first.’”

That sounded so much like something my mother would say that I couldn’t even argue.

I groaned while Dad laughed harder.

Lunch ended up being one of my favorite parts of the day, and it really had nothing to do with the pizza. It was sitting there with my father, listening to him tell stories about the last ten years—about book tours, weird interviews, awkward signings, and the ridiculous things people said to him when they found out he wrote vampire novels.

He told me about airports and hotels, long road trips for book promotions, and how hard it had been balancing all of that while raising Kyan and Sarah.

“It helped that your mother was willing to be a stay-at-home mom, Zyan,” he said with a small smile as he leaned back in the booth. “I never would’ve made it without her support. I was gone a lot more than I wanted to be, especially when the first few books really took off.”

He smiled to himself for a moment, like he was remembering something specific.

“She held everything together. She still does.”

I smiled at that because it felt true.

Even after only a few days, I could already tell that my mother was the center of everything. She was the one everyone orbited around without even realizing it. Dad might have been louder and more dramatic, but Mom was the gravity that kept the whole family standing.

Dad paid the bill before I could even pretend to argue, and then we headed back out to the SUV so we could continue what he kept calling my “financially irresponsible birthday adventure.”

During the short drive, I spent most of the time messing with the knobs on the radio, flipping through stations until Dad reached over and pressed one of the preset buttons himself.

A few soft piano notes filled the car.

Then came the unmistakable melody of Fur Elise.

I leaned back in my seat almost immediately, smiling before I could stop myself as the familiar notes filled the quiet space between us.

“Natalie told me that you loved listening to classical music in the car,” Dad said as he drove. “So I programmed a few stations into the radio for you.”

I looked over at him, surprised by how much that simple thing meant to me.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled without taking his eyes off the road.

“Of course, baby boy.”

I sat there quietly after that, listening to the music and watching the road pass by outside the window. It felt easy. Comfortable. Like maybe I had been doing this with him forever instead of only a few days.

Before we made it to the mall, though, we had one more stop.

The license bureau.

Apparently, my mother had left very specific instructions that I needed a proper photo identification card handled that day, and according to my father, ignoring Lauren Montgomery’s notes was how wars started.

“She left me a sticky note on the coffee maker,” Dad informed me as we pulled into the parking lot. “Do you know how threatening your mother can make neon pink paper look?”

I laughed as he parked the SUV.

“She also underlined it twice,” he added. “Twice, Zyan. That means I had no choice.”

“I’m pretty sure that means you were already scared.”

“I live in survival mode, buddy.”

The license bureau itself was exactly as miserable as I expected it to be.

There were too many people, uncomfortable plastic chairs, and the kind of fluorescent lighting that made everyone look like they were serving a prison sentence. Dad looked personally offended by the entire building.

“This place feels illegal,” he muttered as we waited.

When it was finally my turn, I got dragged up to the little camera station and tried very hard not to look like I was being booked for a felony. The woman taking the picture didn’t seem impressed by my efforts.

“Sit still.”

“I am sitting still.”

“You blinked.”

“I have eyes.”

Dad was laughing so hard behind me that I nearly gave up entirely.

By the time we were finally finished and I had my temporary paperwork in hand, I was convinced my ID picture would haunt me for the next ten years.

“That looks like a mugshot,” I muttered as we walked back outside.

Dad glanced at it and nodded.

“Honestly? A little. But you’re a very cute criminal.”

“Dad.”

“I’m just saying, if you rob a bank, they’ll catch you immediately.”

I groaned while he laughed and unlocked the SUV.

Once we finally made it to the mall, Dad handed me a small leather wallet before we even made it through the entrance.

I opened it curiously and found a credit card with my name on it, my brand-new photo ID tucked neatly behind it, and a folded stack of cash. For a second, I just stared at it.

It felt strange seeing my name there.

Zyan Montgomery.

Not Zach.

Not the name I had spent years answering to.

Mine.

Real.

I looked up at him with a smile I couldn’t quite hide.

“It’s only fifty bucks,” he said as we walked inside. “That way you don’t have to use your card for little stuff.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He reached over and ruffled my hair like he couldn’t help himself.

“Where do you want to go first?”

I slowed for a second, taking in the stores, the noise, the crowds, and the strange freedom of knowing I could actually buy things without panicking over the price.

Then I spotted the shoe store.

I pointed immediately.

“I want new shoes.”

Dad laughed.

“Spoken like your mother.”

I grinned and headed straight for it.

I had never really been able to just buy things for myself before.

Not like this.

Not without guilt sitting heavy in my chest. Not without fear that every dollar spent meant something else would be missing later. For so long, every little thing had to be justified—food, clothes, school supplies, even things I actually needed. Everything always came with the feeling that I was asking for too much.

This was different.

This was my money.

Mine.

Not borrowed. Not begged for. Not something I had to apologize for.

For the first time, I could walk into a store and want something without immediately trying to convince myself I didn’t need it.

It felt strange.

It felt a little terrifying.

And if I was being honest, it felt really, really good.

The shoe store was chaos in the best possible way.

I tried on more pairs than I probably should have—nice sneakers, dress shoes, casual shoes, even a pair of boots that Kyan would absolutely steal the second he noticed them. Dad sat nearby watching the entire thing like he was witnessing some kind of personal financial tragedy.

Every time I came walking out with another box, he would sigh dramatically and shake his head like he was preparing for bankruptcy.

“Lauren has created another one,” he muttered at one point, rubbing his forehead like he had just received terrible medical news.

“I heard that.”

“I wanted you to.”

I laughed and kept shopping.

At one point, I walked out wearing a pair of black boots and Dad just stared at me for a long second.

“No.”

“What?”

“No boots. Kyan will steal those before we even get home.”

“That sounds like a Kyan problem.”

“That sounds like my problem when your brother starts climbing through your closet like a raccoon.”

I laughed so hard I almost bought them out of spite.

By the time we finally left, I had several new pairs of shoes, and Dad was looking at me like he was watching my mother all over again.

“I’m telling you right now,” he said as we carried the bags back toward the mall entrance, “if you start asking me about throw pillows next, I’m calling your mother and blaming her.”

“I don’t even like throw pillows.”

“That’s exactly what she said.”

That only made me laugh harder.

Our next stop was the clothing store where Tracey worked.

She was helping another customer when we walked in, but the second she looked up and saw me, she froze right in the middle of folding a shirt.

Then she pointed at me dramatically from across the store.

“I told you that you looked familiar!”

Before I could even respond, she hurried over and pulled me into a tight hug like she had known me forever instead of only meeting me a few times.

“I’m so glad they found you again,” she said warmly as she pulled back enough to look at me. “You deserve to be with your family, Zyan.”

Then she grinned like she had just remembered something.

“I should’ve just called Sarah instead of ignoring my gut. I knew there was something familiar about you.”

I blushed a little while Dad laughed beside me.

“Apparently there’ve been a few near misses,” he said with a smile. “Sarah heard him singing at the school while he was waiting for his foster mom to pick him up, but she didn’t have time to push through the crowd.”

Tracey made a face and shook her head.

“That is going to annoy her for the rest of her life.”

“She’s already dramatic enough,” I said.

Dad laughed harder.

“Careful, buddy. If she hears you, she’ll make you brush her hair for a week.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is.”

Tracey laughed softly and pulled me into another quick hug before stepping back.

“I’d love to help you today, but I already have a customer,” she said, motioning apologetically toward the dressing rooms where a woman was waiting with an armful of clothes. “Do you want me to grab someone else, or are you just browsing?”

“I can come back,” I said quickly. “I’d rather work with you.”

That made her smile even bigger.

“Well, now I feel special.”

“You should.”

“I agree,” she said immediately. “Give me thirty minutes. I’ll make sure I’m free.”

Dad spoke before I could.

“Tracey, make sure it’s you when we get back. If Zyan goes through this store like he did the shoe store, you’re going to make one hell of a commission today.”

Her eyes lit up so fast it made me laugh.

“Oh, I like the sound of that.”

She looked at me like I was her favorite customer already.

“I’ll be ready.”

Once she went back to her customer, Dad turned toward me with a grin.

“Where next?”

“The game store.”

He nodded like he had expected exactly that answer.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

He rested his hand lightly on my shoulder and steered me back out into the mall, and I couldn’t help smiling as we headed toward the glowing wall of video game posters waiting down the hall.

The game store was overwhelming in the best possible way. Rows of games lined every wall, bright covers stacked from the floor almost to the ceiling, and I actually stopped in the doorway for a second just to stare. It felt like walking into a place I had only imagined from commercials and birthdays I never got to have.

Dad laughed quietly behind me when I froze.

“Take your time, buddy. I’m pretty sure they’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m making no promises,” I said as I wandered farther inside.

I spent several minutes going through shelves, comparing titles, debating what I wanted most, and trying not to grab everything in sight. There were games I had only heard Gavin talk about, games Toby had begged Greg for, and a few I had played once or twice at their house and secretly wanted for myself. I tried to be reasonable.

I failed.

By the time we left, I had more than enough, and Dad was giving me the same look he had in the shoe store—the one that said he was mentally preparing his bank account for emotional damage.

After that, we wandered into another clothing store.

A young man greeted us almost immediately.

His nametag said Brian.

He had dark-rimmed glasses, neatly styled brown hair, and the kind of expression that somehow made him look annoyed before he even opened his mouth. Even the way he stood there made him seem like helping customers was personally offensive to him.

“How can I help you today?”

The question was directed entirely at my father.

Dad, to his credit, immediately stepped to the side and gave me a small push forward.

“Ask him,” he said easily. “He’s the one shopping.”

Brian’s eyes shifted to me, and I caught it—that tiny flicker of disappointment before he forced a customer-service smile onto his face. It wasn’t huge. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed.

But I did.

“What are we looking for?” he asked.

“I want a new outfit,” I said plainly. “Something light and cool, but still formal. Maybe a light blue polo shirt with tan shorts. Something nice without feeling too stiff.”

Brian nodded, but his eyes immediately flicked back to my father.

Dad smiled.

“He knows what he likes.”

Brian gave a short nod like that somehow surprised him.

“I think I may have a few things that fit what you’re looking for.”

He led me through a few different racks, pulling out shirts and shorts, but every single time I made a comment—every single time—I watched his eyes shift back to Dad instead of staying on me.

It was subtle at first, but once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop seeing it.

I would say I didn’t like a color, and he would glance at Dad.

I would ask for something lighter, and he would glance at Dad.

I would say I wanted something specific, and he would still somehow look past me like my father was the one making the final decision.

Not me.

Dad.

Like I wasn’t standing right there in front of him. Like I wasn’t the one choosing what I wanted to wear. Like I was too young to know what I liked, too young to understand what I was buying, too young to be taken seriously even while I was the one holding the wallet and the one spending the money.

At first, I tried to ignore it.

I really did.

I told myself maybe I was imagining it. Maybe he was just trying to be polite because Dad was standing there. Maybe I was overreacting because I still wasn’t used to any of this and I was reading too much into it.

But then it kept happening.

Every single time I answered a question, he checked with Dad.

Every single time I said no to something, he looked at Dad like maybe my father would step in and correct me.

Every time I made a choice, it felt like Brian was waiting for an adult to approve it.

It made my chest feel tighter with every minute that passed. By the time he held up another shirt I hated and started talking to my father instead of me again, I was already one comment away from losing my patience.

Then he held up a shirt I hated and asked my father, “Do you think this would work for him?”

Not me.

Him.

Like I was standing there as some kind of accessory instead of the actual customer.

That was the moment my patience snapped.

I crossed my arms and looked directly at him.

“Why do you keep asking him?”

Brian blinked like he genuinely didn’t understand the question.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s my money,” I said, and my voice came out sharper than I had planned. At that point, though, I didn’t really care. “So why do you keep looking at my dad for permission? I’m the one buying the clothes.”

His expression shifted immediately.

“I—well—I was just trying to—”

“Just because I’m twelve doesn’t mean I don’t know how to manage my own money,” I cut in before he could finish. “You keep talking like I’m not standing here.”

The silence that followed was immediate.

It was the kind of silence that somehow made the entire store feel louder. I could hear the music playing overhead, people talking near the register, hangers sliding across racks somewhere behind us, and even the quiet hum of the air conditioner above us. It felt like the whole place had paused just long enough for everyone to notice exactly what had happened.

Dad turned away so fast I knew he was trying not to laugh.

His shoulders were already shaking, and I could tell he was losing that battle fast. He pressed a hand over his mouth like that was somehow going to help, but it absolutely was not.

Brian, however, looked like I had slapped him.

His face had gone pale, and for the first time since we walked in, he looked genuinely uncomfortable. The fake confidence disappeared so fast it was almost impressive. He opened his mouth like he wanted to defend himself, thought better of it, and then closed it again without saying anything.

“I’d like a different sales rep,” I said.

That came out colder than I expected, but I didn’t take it back.

Honestly, if anything, I wished I had said it sooner. I had spent the last ten minutes trying to convince myself I was overreacting, but standing there now, I knew I wasn’t. I was tired of people deciding I was too young to be taken seriously before I even opened my mouth.

A manager appeared almost instantly, probably because the tension in the store had become impossible to ignore. He had likely been watching the whole thing from somewhere nearby, waiting to see if it would fix itself.

It had not.

He took one look at Brian’s face, then at mine, then over at my father—who was very obviously losing his fight not to laugh—and seemed to make a decision immediately.

There wasn’t even really a discussion.

Brian started trying to explain, but the manager held up one hand and shut that down fast. Whatever excuse he was preparing died right there in the middle of the sales floor.

Instead of Brian, I got a trainee.

Seventeen-year-old Riley Shores.

And Riley was immediately better.

He walked over with an easy smile, shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes, and the kind of energy that made people relax around him without trying. He looked like the kind of person who made friends in five minutes and somehow got invited everywhere. There was nothing stiff or fake about him, and I liked him almost instantly.

“Hi,” he said, offering me an amused smile. “I’m Riley, and apparently I’ve inherited your shopping emergency.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

“That bad?”

He glanced over his shoulder toward Brian and lowered his voice like we were sharing state secrets.

“I mean… I’m trying to stay employed, so officially? No comment.”

That made me laugh harder.

Riley grinned.

“Okay, let’s start over. What do you actually want?”

And just like that, everything felt different.

He talked to me like I was an actual person.

He asked what I liked and actually listened when I answered. He made suggestions without sounding condescending, explained what matched what, and somehow turned shopping into something that was actually fun instead of irritating.

When I said I wanted something nice but comfortable, he nodded like that made perfect sense.

When I said I hated stiff collars, he immediately pulled me away from an entire rack.

When I said I wanted clothes that looked good without feeling like I was pretending to be someone else, he just said, “Okay, that I can work with.”

It was simple.

Normal.

The way it should have been from the beginning.

Meanwhile, behind us, I heard Brian mutter something to the manager.

Something about “some snot-nosed brat spending his daddy’s money.”

Unfortunately for him, both my father and the manager heard it.

The manager’s face changed instantly.

Dad physically stepped away because he had started laughing too hard to stay standing there.

Brian, however, was not laughing.

He was sent home on suspension right there in front of everyone.

Riley watched the entire thing happen, then looked at me and said, “Well… I can confidently promise I’m less dramatic.”

I laughed so hard I nearly bought two of the same shirt.

By the time we were done, I had spent several thousand dollars and somehow didn’t feel guilty about any of it.

Riley carried half the clothes to the register himself, still helping me choose between two different polo shirts while we walked.

“Blue says responsible,” he said seriously. “Green says mysterious and emotionally unavailable.”

“I’m twelve.”

“Exactly. Start your dramatic reputation early.”

I laughed again and picked the blue one.

When we finally checked out, he handed me the last bag and smiled.

“Honestly? You were my easiest customer all week.”

“That feels like a lie.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “The lie would be me saying Brian was having a better day than you.”

I laughed again.

Dad returned from his conversation with the manager still looking far too entertained by the whole thing.

“Ready to continue destroying my bank account?”

I lifted one of the shopping bags and smiled.

“Technically, it’s my bank account.”

He pointed at me like I had just proven something important.

“That attitude right there is why I’m proud of you.”

After we left Riley’s store, Dad looked at the growing pile of shopping bags in our hands and gave me a dramatic look of concern.

“Please tell me you’re done.”

I adjusted two of the bags on my arm and smiled innocently.

“We still have to go see Tracey.”

He sighed like I had personally betrayed him.

“I knew I should’ve pretended the mall was closed.”

I laughed and followed him back down the hall toward the store where Tracey worked. By the time we stepped inside, she was already waiting near the register with a grin on her face like she had been preparing for battle.

“There you are,” she said, pointing at me like I had kept her waiting for years. “I was beginning to think you chickened out.”

“I got distracted.”

Dad snorted behind me.

“That’s one word for it.”

Tracey’s eyes immediately dropped to the number of bags we were carrying and she let out a low whistle.

“Oh, I like you already.”

Dad set several bags down near one of the fitting rooms and looked at her seriously.

“I warned you.”

“You did,” she admitted. Then she smiled brightly at me. “Alright, Zyan. What are we looking for?”

I thought about it for a second.

“Stuff that actually feels like mine.”

That made her expression soften a little.

Then she nodded like she understood exactly what I meant.

“Okay. That I can work with.”

And somehow, unlike Brian, she actually did.

Tracey moved through the store like she had a mission. She asked what colors I liked, what I hated wearing, what made me uncomfortable, what I actually felt good in. She listened when I answered. She pulled soft hoodies, nicer button-down shirts, jeans that didn’t feel stiff, lightweight jackets, and enough casual clothes that even Dad started looking nervous again.

At one point she held up a dark blue sweater and narrowed her eyes.

“This one makes you look expensive.”

Dad laughed from the chair outside the fitting room.

“He already is expensive.”

“I heard that,” I muttered from behind the door.

“Good.”

Tracey kept going.

She found nicer clothes for family dinners, comfortable clothes for school, and even a few outfits that Sarah would probably approve of without trying to redress me herself. She also insisted on making me try on a black jacket that she claimed made me look “mysterious and emotionally devastating.”

“I’m twelve,” I reminded her.

“Perfect,” she said. “Start early.”

Dad was absolutely no help.

“I support this.”

“You are both terrible.”

“Yes,” they answered together.

By the time we were finally done, I had spent nearly an hour in the store and several more thousand dollars without even realizing it. Tracey looked entirely too pleased with herself as she rang everything up.

“I’m officially your favorite salesperson now,” she informed me.

“I think Riley might fight you for that title.”

“Riley folds under pressure. I do not.”

Dad picked up a few of the bags and smiled.

“She’s not wrong.”

Tracey leaned over the counter and pulled me into one more quick hug before we left.

“I’m really glad you’re home, Zyan.”

I hugged her back.

“Thanks, Tracey.”

When we finally made it back to the SUV, I was pretty sure we had bought half the mall.

We had made six different trips to the car throughout the afternoon just to empty our hands, and there were still several larger things being delivered to the house because they wouldn’t fit in the truck. I leaned back in my seat with a tired smile as Dad started the engine.

All in all, it had been a really good day.

We were nearly home when my mom called.

Dad hit the button on the steering wheel and her voice filled the car through the speakers.

“What is taking you two so long?”

Dad smirked immediately.

“I think your son is going to be a shopping bug just like you, dear.”

I groaned quietly while he kept going.

“Can you have Kyan meet us in the garage? This is going to take a few trips to get everything inside.”

“What all did you buy, Zyan?” my mother asked with a giggle.

“He pretty much bought the mall, Lauren,” Dad said with his own chuckle. “He definitely made an impression on a few salesmen today. Especially the young man that wouldn’t stop looking at me for permission.”

“Is that so?” Mom asked. “I take it the man learned that Zyan was the boss today?”

“Definitely, Lauren,” Dad said, laughing again. “You should have seen it. I had to walk away because I was laughing so hard. The man went pale.”

“You said it was my money,” I retorted. “He had no right to keep asking you for permission.”

Dad laughed again.

“I’m not denying anything, Zyan,” he said defensively, even while still laughing. “You had every right to put him in his place. I just wish your mother would’ve been there.”

“Me too,” I admitted with a smile.

“Are you almost home, David?” Mom asked.

“We’re about ten minutes out,” Dad replied as he checked the road ahead.

“Okay, I’ll start getting the rest of dinner ready. The pot roast shouldn’t be too much longer, anyway.”

I immediately sat up a little.

“I love pot roast.”

“Me too, buddy,” Dad said happily.

“I’ll see you both soon,” Mom said before Dad ended the call.

I smiled for the rest of the drive home.