Cal looked down at his hands. “And?”
“She turned me down. Said we’re all toxic, you, me, her, Syd. That the four of us enabled each other’s worst shit for too long. That even without Syd in the picture, we still carried her poison. That we all need therapy. Real therapy.”
Cal exhaled slowly. “She’s right.”
“I know.”
He looked at me, pain in his eyes, but no anger. “You love her.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I do. Did. Do. But she’s right. I can’t be what she needs. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
Cal nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t make me feel this way. I did that myself.”
Silence stretched.
Then I spoke again. “She still loves you, Cal.”
He looked up sharply. “What?”
“Her walls are sky-high. She’s protecting herself. Protecting Asher. But the way she talks about you, the way her face softens when she says your name, she still loves you. She’s just terrified you’ll break her again.”
Cal’s eyes filled. “I already did.”
“Yeah. But you’re trying to fix it. Keep trying. Don’t give up on her. Don’t give up on yourself.”
He swallowed hard. “I won’t.”
I stood. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“Check on Syd.”
Cal blinked. “Fuck no men. Why?”
“Because despite everything, despite the manipulation, the hurt, she was our oldest friend. We survived Mexico together. We carried that trauma together. She’s spiraling. She blames Hadley, but she’s hurting. She needs someone to tell her to get help. Not to forgive her. Just… to care enough to say it.”
Cal stared at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded. “Okay. But I'll have to tell Hadley first”
I walked to the door. Paused.
“I’m stepping back,” I said. “From her. From you guys for a while. I need to figure out who I am without the band. Without the guilt. Without her.”
Cal stood. Crossed the room. Hugged me, brief, fierce.
“I love you, man,” he said. “Thank you for being honest.”
I hugged him back. “Love you too.”
Then I left.
....
The bar was half-empty, dim lights, low music, the kind of place where no one asked questions. I slid onto a stool, ordered a club soda with lime.
