Cal’s head snapped toward me. His eyes widened slightly, something raw flickering across his expression before his jaw tightened, the muscle ticking beneath his skin.
Dr. Patel didn’t interrupt. She didn’t comfort. She just let the silence exist, letting it stretch until it forced honesty to surface.
Cal inhaled slowly through his nose before speaking. His voice came out lower this time. Rougher.
“I don’t know how to love normally.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers pressing into tense muscle like he could physically knead the confession out of himself.
“I never learned it right,” he added. “For me, love is… possession. Protection. Keeping someone safe. Providing. Making sure no one hurts them. Not… whatever this vulnerability shit is supposed to be.”
He let out a humorless breath, eyes dropping to his hands before lifting again, landing on me with startling intensity.
“I protect you. I show up. I do the things. But feeling it? Saying it? That part’s broken.” He paused, jaw flexing. “I’m trying to fix it. But I don’t know if it’ll ever work the way you want.”
My throat burned instantly, emotion crawling up like smoke with nowhere to go. I turned my body toward him fully, ignoring the therapist, ignoring the room, focusing only on the man sitting inches from me who somehow still felt miles away.
“You say you protect me,” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to keep it steady. “But you protected Sydney for years. You protected your band. Your image. Your numbness. And everytime something got hard, I was the one left standing in the hallway listening to doors slam.”
His eyes flickered, a quick, involuntary reaction. A flinch.
“So yeah,” I whispered, tears blurring the edges of my vision, “I feel like I’m auditioning. Because I’ve spent my whole life proving I’m worth not leaving. And I’m tired, Cal. I’m so tired.”
He flinched again. Smaller this time. But deeper. Like the words landed somewhere he didn’t know how to shield.
Dr. Patel spoke softly, her tone steady but firm enough to anchor the moment.
“That’s a lot of fear on both sides,” she said. “Cal, you’re afraid vulnerability will break you. Hadley, you’re afraid being chosen is temporary. Both of those fears are valid. But they’re also preventing you from seeing what’s happening right now.”
Cal dragged both hands down his face, exhaling sharply.
“I don’t want temporary,” he said, voice muffled behind his palms before he dropped them. “I want her. I want this.”
“Then say that,” Dr. Patel replied calmly. “Not as a defense. Just say it.”
The room felt unbearably still.
Cal turned fully toward me, his knee brushing mine. His gaze locked onto mine, and for once there was no deflection, no sarcasm, no carefully constructed emotional armor.
“I want you,” he said.
His voice cracked on the last word, the sound so subtle most people wouldn’t notice it.
I did.
“Not because of the baby,” he continued. “Not because of obligation. I want you. Even when I don’t feel it right. Even when I’m scared shitless. I want you.”
My chest tightened painfully, heart beating so loudly I wondered if both of them could hear it.
“And if the feeling never comes?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.
He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.
“Then I’ll still show up,” he said quietly. “Every day. Until it does. Or until you tell me to stop.”
Dr. Patel nodded slowly. “That’s a promise,” she said. “But promises live in actions. Not just words.”
The session continued, but it felt less like structured therapy and more like carefully guided emotional landmines.
