Robbie opens his mouth to argue, but the quelling look on Lance’s face stops him. In fact, Robbie doesn’t know how someone in Nora’s situation would feel about being offered help. And Lance, unfortunately, does. So, Robbie just nods and spares the house a final glance before he gets into the passenger side of Lance’s sleek car.

The engine starts with a purr which is so subtle, it’s almost silent, and Robbie is pretty sure the seats are grain leather.

Lance looks uneasy as he pulls off his gloves and then takes the wheel in his bare hands. “Niall is here.”

Robbie stiffens. Lance doesn’t look at him except out of the corner of his eye, putting the car in drive and easing it slowly through the gathered snow on the driveway.

After a few seconds, Robbie works through the shock enough to put the pieces together. The charges went away. Lance has the car back. Niall is here. So, Niall is the reason that Lance’s case was dropped and the car was released. Robbie wrestles with his reaction. He remembers how dismissive Lance was of Niall and their relationship. But—Niall has been in Lance’s life for a long time. Lance lives with Niall in Chicago. Their careers are intertwined. Robbie rubs his jaw and struggles to keep his voice even. “He dropped the charges, then?”

Lance nods, focused on the road as he pulls away from the end of the driveway. The layer of snow is just enough to lend the car traction; there’s a crunch under the tires, but the vehicle doesn’t slip an inch, instead navigating the white-drenched road smoothly.

“He thinks I’m visiting my dad. He thinks that after I do that, I’ll go to his hotel.” Lance looks at Robbie, then quickly away. “I let him think all of that.”

“Good,” Robbie says roughly. “If it got him to drop those bullshit charges, then I’m glad you told him whatever you had to.” He hesitates. “At least, I assume that you just told him…that you didn’t…well.” He trails off, hating himself a little for saying anything at all.

Lance gives him a desperate look. “I didn’t do anything,” he promises. “I didn’t—we didn’t—” He reaches his right hand toward Robbie, swallowing. Robbie catches it in his, Lance’s bare fingers held tight in his gloved ones.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. That’s good.”

Lance’s eyelashes are fluttering, like he could cry.

“It’s okay,” Robbie says, low and soothing. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just drive.”

When they’ve reached the snowy yard at the ranch and Lance has the car in park, Robbie leans over and kisses his cheek, then his shoulder, feeling him tremble. “It’s okay,” he says again. “You don’t have to see him again if you don’t want to.”

Lance presses a knuckle into his left eye, then his right. “I do, though,” he says on a breath. “He has most of my stuff back at our—his place. Everything except what I threw in a bag when I left.” He turns his face toward Robbie’s and their lips graze. It’s not quite a kiss, but Lance makes a low, needy sound that Robbie feels in his gut, and lower.