“I don’t know what you want from me,” I said. “But if it’s forgiveness, I’m not there yet. Maybe not ever. Right now, all I care about is keeping him calm. Keeping him safe. If that means staying here two weeks and smiling for cameras, fine. But don’t expect me to like it. Don’t expect me to like you.”
He nodded once. Slow.
“I won’t.”
I walked back to the bedroom. Sat on the edge of the mattress. Watched Eli’s screen. Watched the trains blur past in perfect lines.
Cal stayed in the doorway a minute longer. Then he left. Quiet footsteps down the hall.
I lifted my hand. Stared at the ring. Thin gold. Fake diamond winking in the low light.
“Two weeks,” I whispered. “Just two weeks. Then I can go home.”
But even as I said it, the words tasted like a lie.
I already knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
Chapter 9
Cal
The bedroom door was shut. Locked. I’d flipped the deadbolt the second I walked in, like that thin piece of metal could keep the rest of the world out. Phone face-down on the nightstand, screen lighting up every thirty seconds with Mom’s name. I didn’t pick it up. Couldn’t. Not yet. The vibration felt like judgment.
I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, staring at the carpet. Same beige hotel bullshit every tour stop. Same faint smell of bleach and someone else’s cologne. My head still throbbed from lunch, too much bourbon, not enough food. The guys had stayed downstairs, probably still hashing out damage control with Ron. I’d bailed early. Said I needed air. They didn’t argue.
I kept seeing her face from this morning.
Not the angry one. Not the cold, cutting one she gave me in the living room an hour ago. The quiet one. The one right after I called her a gold-digger. She didn’t yell back. Didn’t cry. Just went pale. Lips pressed thin. Eyes glassy for half a second before she blinked it away. Then she walked out with security like she was the one who’d done something wrong.
I hated that image most.
I hated how easy it had been to wrap my arm around Sydney when she started crying. How natural it felt to pat her back and murmur “It’s okay” while Hadley stood there taking every hit.Sydney’s tears always worked on me. Always had. Since we were kids and she’d cry because her dad forgot her birthday again. I’d fix it. Punch someone. Steal her favorite candy from the corner store. Make her laugh. It was simple. Safe.
Hadley wasn’t simple. Wasn’t safe.
I rubbed my face hard. Skin felt tight. Raw.
I thought about the kid. Eli. The way he’d stepped halfway in front of her when I raised my voice earlier. Small shoulders squared. Eyes narrowed behind those glasses. Protective. Like he’d fight me if he had to. I’d never had that.
Not once. My dad didn’t protect. He won arguments. My mom tried, but she was always the one crying after. My sister and brother learned early, keep your head down, get good grades, become lawyers, don’t make waves. I was the wave. The one that crashed everything.
No one ever stood in front of me like that. Like I mattered enough to shield.
I stood up. Paced to the window. The Strip glittered below, fake, bright, endless. Same view every time we came through. Same emptiness looking back.
I needed air. Needed to move.
I unlocked the door, stepped into the hallway. Quiet. The living room lights were low. Curtains still half-closed. And there she was.
Hadley on the couch. Curled on her side. Eli tucked against her chest, head under her chin, one arm thrown over her waist like he was anchoring her. Blanket pulled up to their shoulders. Her hand rested on his back, open, protective even in sleep. Thering still on her finger. Thin gold catching the lamp light. She looked smaller like this. Not the fighter from earlier. Just… tired. Young. Twenty, she’d said. Twenty with a kid who wasn’t hers by blood but might as well be.
I stood there too long. Couldn’t look away.
Her breathing was slow. Steady. Eli’s matched it. Like they’d found a rhythm years ago and never lost it.
Guilt hit like someone punched me in the sternum. Hard. Sudden. I couldn’t breathe right.
I almost woke her. Almost crossed the room, knelt by the couch, said something real. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I don’t know how to be better but I want to try. Words I’d never said to anyone. Not even myself.
