“Yeah.”
I stepped closer. “Cal.”
He turned.
His eyes were darker now. Emotion sitting too close to the surface.
“I’m trying,” he said, voice rough. “Therapy. Meetings. Showing up. And I come home and you’re laughing with him like… like I don’t exist.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?”
“He’s my friend,” I said. “He listens. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m auditioning.”
He flinched visibly this time.
“I’m not cheating. I’m not leaving. But I needed someone today. You were gone. He was here.”
Cal dragged a hand down his face. “I hate this.”
“Me too.”
He stepped closer and reached for my hand.
I let him take it.
But I didn’t squeeze back.
He felt it instantly.
His thumb brushed over my knuckles, slow and tentative.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said.
But it sounded fragile even to my own ears.
The house was quiet later that night. Too quiet.
I woke around midnight to an empty space beside me.
My stomach dropped.
I followed the faint glow of light down the hallway and toward the studio. Music wasn’t playing, but the door was cracked open, golden light spilling across the floor.
I froze in the doorway.
Cal sat on the couch; elbows braced on his knees. A bottle of whiskey sat in his hand. Not open. Just… held. His other hand clutched an old photo. I recognized Sydney instantly from the red streak in her hair and the way she leaned into him like gravity bent around her.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
He looked up.
Saw me.
