Chapter 31
Hadley
The house was too quiet the next morning. Not the peaceful kind where you could hear birds outside or the hum of the fridge like a distant comfort. No, this was suffocating quiet, the kind that pressed in on my ears, making every creak of the floorboards under my feet echo like an accusation.
I hadn't slept much, my mind replaying Sydney's tears, Cal's soft "drop it," the way the band's loyalty had snapped into place like a lock I could never pick. My back ached from the pregnancy, hips protesting every shift, the baby pressing low at thirty weeks now, like a constant reminder that time was running out for me to fix this mess, or escape it.
I stayed upstairs most of the morning, curtains half-drawn, phone face down on the nightstand. I didn't check for texts from Cal. Part of me hoped he'd reached out; the bigger part dreaded the silence more. Zariah had taken Eli out for breakfast and errands, giving me "space," but it felt more like abandonment. I pushed myself up slowly, wincing as a Braxton Hicks contraction tightened my belly. "Easy, little one," I murmured, rubbing circles over the bump. "Mommy's not ready for you yet. Not like this."
Downstairs, the living room still carried faint traces of yesterday's disaster, wilted flowers drooping in vases, a stray gift bag tipped over in the corner like forgotten evidence. I staredat them too long, my throat tightening, before heading to the kitchen for water. Anything to keep my hands busy.
The front door opened without warning. I stiffened, glass halfway to my lips.
Kei stepped inside, keys dangling loosely from his fingers, his expression cautious, like he was testing the air for landmines. "Zariah said you were home alone," he said softly, closing the door behind him.
I didn't answer. Just set the glass down harder than necessary and turned away, staring at the sink.
He followed anyway, his footsteps hesitant. "Hadley... we need to talk."
I laughed, a brittle, humorless sound that scraped my throat. "Do we? Really?"
"Yes." His voice was firm, but there was an undercurrent of something raw, like regret mixed with frustration.
I took a slow breath, gripping the counter's edge until my knuckles whitened. "You picked her side, Kei."
His shoulders tensed visibly. "That's not what happened."
"It is exactly what happened." My voice rose, cracking on the edges. "You walked in, saw her crying, and immediately told me I was being insensitive. Like I was the one who started it."
He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling heavily. "I was trying to calm the situation down. Things escalated so fast...."
"You told me to be careful with the trauma." The words tasted bitter. "Like I was the problem."
"You brought it up..."
"I defended myself!" I snapped, whipping around to face him. My pulse hammered in my temples, the betrayal burning fresh. "She cornered me, Kei. Attacked my past, my ability to be a mom, called me an incubator. And you stood there, protecting her. You, of all people."
His jaw tightened, eyes flickering with guilt. "You don't understand what Mexico did to us. To her. It's not just a story, it's scars. Deep ones."
"And you don't understand what my entire life did to me," I shot back, voice trembling. "Foster homes, abandonment, raising Eli alone since I was seventeen. But I don't use it as a weapon. You were supposed to be safe, Kei. The one person here who didn't make me feel like I had to claw my way into acceptance."
His expression cracked then, real pain flashing across his features, making him look younger, more vulnerable. He stepped closer, but I held my ground. "That wasn't fair," he said quietly, his voice thick.
"It was honest." Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back. "I trusted you."
Silence stretched between us, thick and charged, the air humming with unspoken things. He looked at me like he was memorizing my face, his breathing uneven.
"I never meant to betray you," he whispered finally, his voice rough around the edges.
"You did." The words hung there, heavy. "You made me think I had a friend who wasn't tangled in Cal's history. And yesterday... you proved you're just like the rest."
"That's not true." Frustration edged into his tone now, sharp and sudden. He paced a step, then another, like he couldn't contain it.
"It is," I said, my voice shaking but steady. "I don't want to be your friend anymore."
The words hit him like a physical blow. His posture stiffened, eyes widening slightly. "You don't mean that."
"I do." My chest ached saying it, but the hurt from yesterday fueled me. "I'm serious. I don't want you here. No more texts. No more leaning on you. You'll always choose the band, the trauma, over me."
