35. WADE
WADE
Call me a fool, but I am a fool for Cal.
I was a protective fool, overseeing the man who had become engraved into my every thought, broken and lost. My mind automatically went to where I was not that different from him.
The screen door slammed behind me as I limped inside, my knee screaming with every step. The brace dug into my skin, a constant reminder of how much I’d lost. Lavender and baked goods greeted me, but the warmth of home didn’t touch the cold knot in my chest. It wasn’t comfort. It was a mockery.
“Wade? That you, sweetheart?” Mom’s voice floated out from the kitchen, light and hopeful, the way she always sounded when she was trying too hard.
“Yeah,” I grunted, making a beeline for the couch. Each step was deliberate, measured, as if walking too fast might let the floodgates open. I collapsed onto the cushions, the stiffness in my leg a dull background ache compared to the firestorm in my head.
“Wade, honey, you need to eat.” Mom appeared in the doorway, holding a plate of cookies and a glass of tea like they’d fix everything.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, rubbing a hand over my face.
“You’re not fine,” she countered, the softness in her voice edged with determination. “You’ve barely touched anything all day.”
“I said I’m fine,” I repeated, louder this time, my frustration bubbling over.
She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she placed the plate on the coffee table. “You’ve got to let us help you,” she said softly. “You’re home now. You’re safe.”
Safe. The word crawled under my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch. My jaw tightened. “You don’t get it,” I muttered, my voice low and cold.
“Then help me understand,” she urged, sitting down beside me. “Let me in, Wade. Please.”
“I can’t!” The words exploded out of me before I could stop them. I shot to my feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in my knee. “You can’t fix this with cookies and tea, Mom! You can’t make this better!”
“Wade,” she started, her voice shaking slightly.
“No!” I cut her off, pacing the room, my limp making my movements uneven, jerky. “You didn’t see it. You didn’t live it. I lost Sam over there! I lost my team! I lost everything that mattered, and now I’m stuck here, in this house, in this goddamn brace—” My voice cracked, and I turned away, breathing hard.
“Wade,” another voice said, low and firm. I turned to see Wylie standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“What?” I snapped, my anger redirecting itself. “You got something to say too?”
“I get it,” he said simply, his tone calm in a way that only made me angrier. “You’re pissed. You’ve been through hell. But taking it out on Mom isn’t going to fix anything.”
I laughed bitterly, running a hand through my hair. “Oh, yeah? What will fix it, Wylie? You got all the answers now?”
“No,” he admitted, his voice steady. “But I know shutting us out won’t help.”
“Maybe I don’t want help!” I shouted, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “Maybe I just want to be left the hell alone!”
The room fell into silence, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. Mom’s eyes shimmered with tears she wouldn’t let fall, and Wylie’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.
I stormed past them, slamming the door behind me as I limped out into the barn. The scent of hay and leather wrapped around me, grounding me just enough to keep me from punching something. I sank onto a bale of hay, my head in my hands, and let out a shaky breath.
Sam’s face flashed in my mind, clear as day. His lopsided grin. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he’d nudge my shoulder after a bad day, telling me it was going to be okay even when we both knew it wasn’t.
I could still hear him. Still feel the weight of him against me that last night. Sam’s voice was barely a whisper as he slid into my bunk, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound in the stillness of the barracks. It was late, long after everyone else had fallen asleep. If anyone had ever noticed these quiet moments between us, they never said a word.
“Do you wish you were home, Wade?” he asked, his breath warm against my neck as he settled against me.
“No, Sam,” I murmured, wrapping an arm around him, pulling him closer. “I made the choice to be here.”
He tilted his head up, his hazel eyes searching mine in the dim light. “Don’t you regret it? Being away from your home? Your family?”
I shook my head, pressing a kiss to his hair, the familiar scent of him mixed with the smell of artillery smoke, military issued soap and boot polish, a far cry from the country boy from Massachusetts. “No, Sam,” I said softly. “You are my home. You are my family.”
He exhaled, a quiet, contented sound, and I felt him relax against me. In that moment, the world outside didn’t exist. There was no war, no danger, no chaos. Just us. Just the fragile promise we’d built in the darkness. A promise I’d failed to keep. That we would get out together.
The barn door creaked open, and Tania stepped inside, her steps cautious but deliberate. “Wade?”
I didn’t respond, my gaze fixed on the floor. She didn’t wait for an invitation, just walked over and sat down beside me, her shoulder brushing mine.
“Wylie’s pissed,” she said lightly, breaking the silence.
“Good,” I muttered. “He should be.”
“Mom’s worried,” she added, ignoring my response.
I didn’t say anything, and after a moment, she sighed. “You’re allowed to feel this way, you know. Angry. Hurt. Lost. But shutting us out isn’t going to make it go away.”
“You don’t get it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Then help me get it,” she pressed, her tone soft but firm.
I looked at her then, my chest tightening. “I failed him, Tania. I failed Sam. And now I’m here, and he’s not, and I don’t know how to live with that.”
Her expression softened, and she reached out, placing her hand over mine. She remained silent as we looked out through the barn doors, like she too didn’t know what the answer was. But she knew that me being alone wasn’t it.
As I held Cal, that memory of the man I was, hurt, broken— I wanted so badly to take it from him, to pull him out of the darkness and show him he wasn’t the problem—not in the way he thought. But grief wasn’t something you could take; it had to run its course, carving its path until there was room to heal.
So, I did the only thing I could: I held him tighter, letting him fall apart in my embrace. Each tremor of his body, every tear that soaked into my shirt, chipped away at me. It was gut-wrenching to see Cal like that—so far removed from the sparkly, mischievous man who could own a room with just a flick of his eyebrow. But I understood all too well. More than I wanted to.
I’d been in this place before—grieving, hurting, broken in ways that made even drawing breath feel impossible. I knew what it was like to lash out, to shove away the people who cared, to let the darkness pull you under until you didn’t know how to fight your way back to the surface.
My hand moved instinctively, threading through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. Whether it was the rhythm of my touch or pure exhaustion finally taking over, his sobs began to ease, his breathing evening out into a steadier rhythm. Little by little, the tension melted from his body until he drifted into sleep, heavy and unguarded against me.
I stayed there for a long moment, reluctant to move. A part of me wanted to stay all night, just in case he woke up and needed me again. But there was more to be done, plans already forming in my mind. Cal didn’t deserve to feel this small, this unwanted. And if I had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t feel this way for long.
Carefully, I shifted out from under him, cradling his head as I lowered him onto the bed, making sure his leg stayed propped up on the pillow. He stirred, murmuring something too quiet to make out before settling back into stillness. I adjusted the blanket over him, brushing a stray tear track from his cheek as I took in his tear-streaked face one last time.
Then, I slipped out of the room.
It was time to make things right.
By morning, everything was packed and ready. The old me would have scoffed at the idea of changing my life for anyone—lord knew I’d learned that lesson the hard way. Twice. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…well, you know the rest. And fool me three times? I shook my head to clear the thought, letting my gaze drift to the sleeping man in my bed.
Somehow, this felt different.
This time, no one was asking me to change. Cal certainly wasn’t. If anything, he’d probably start screaming the second he found out. That was exactly why I knew I wasn’t making a mistake.
One message to my family back home, and they sprang into action like a pit crew on race day. It was a little surreal how fast they worked—reminding me of how Cal himself lit up at the sound of planning an event or solving a crisis. By the time the sun crept over the horizon, flights were booked. A crew was scheduled to staff my bar.
I chuckled under my breath, imagining the look on Cal’s face when he found out. He’d think it was insane. To be fair, so did I. But if there was one thing I was starting to understand, it was that no one had ever jumped through hoops for Cal Johnson. Not like this.
And that was the problem.
Because somewhere along the line, he’d started believing he wasn’t worth it. That he was too much for anyone to handle. And maybe I wasn’t perfect—I’d never claim to be—but it was about damn time someone showed him otherwise.
He deserved to know that the right person would go to hell and back to make sure he was happy, loved, and supported.
I only hoped I could be that man.
“Jack? Are you going somewhere?” His voice was a sleepy mumble, thick with concern that even grogginess couldn’t disguise.
I turned from the bags, and there he was—his beautiful face adorably scrunched in a mix of worry and confusion. It was the kind of look that might’ve been funny if it didn’t also tug at my heartstrings.
It was comforting in its own way because Cal Johnson was nothing if not guarded—always balanced precariously, like one of his daring lifts, arms steady as his skating partner soared above him. You were never quite sure when he’d come crashing down. But the fact that he cared, that he worried about whether I was staying or going, was the breadcrumb of hope I clung to.
“We, darling,” I said gently, “we are going somewhere.”
His frown deepened, and I moved to his side of the bed, lowering myself slowly so as not to jar him. I rubbed my thumb over the creases between his brows, trying to smooth them out.
“What do you mean we ?” he asked, voice sharper now, though still laced with sleep. “Did you forget? I’m an invalid. Torn and broken, unable to walk, a major tendon—snapped—”
I laughed, cutting off his dramatics. “Okay, Mr. Tragic Monologue. Said tendon had a successful surgery, and you’re in the healing process. Part of that process is not being locked in a loft for six weeks. So, we’re going.”
“We?” he echoed, sitting up straighter, his brows furrowing again. “No. Not we. I’m the broken one. Send me away—I’m well-versed in being sent away.” His tone sharpened as his hands gestured wildly. “You have your bar, your livelihood. Between my competition, the snap that rivaled Elle Woods’ bend and snap , and now… You’ve already lost way too much time here.”
I cupped his face, stilling his spiraling thoughts with the warmth of my hands. “Yes, we. And I’m not losing time with you because of my bar. You need me. And there’s one thing you should know, Cal—I don’t leave people in need.”
His eyes searched mine, the lines of his brow creasing again as he processed my words. It was as if he was trying to piece together a puzzle, one where he couldn’t quite find the pieces.
“You’re a fool,” he said dryly, shifting in the bed and reaching for his crutches with a stubborn determination.
I grinned, stepping back to give him space. “Nope. How can I be of assistance, Pretty Boy?”
The look he gave me was pure exasperation. “What, want to hold my cock while I take a piss? Go right ahead—it’s the closest thing to sex I’ll be getting these days.”
I just shrugged, my grin widening. “Sure, if you want me to.”
He glared at me, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I was being sarcastic, you glorified oxygen tank!”
I chuckled, moving aside as he fumbled with the crutches, struggling to stand. His lips tightened with a mixture of pain and frustration, and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from offering help—or worse, just stepping in to do it for him.
But Cal was my pretty, caged bird, broken and unable to fly. I knew better than to push him. He’d bite me every time I reached into that cage. And honestly? I didn’t mind.
“Don’t think this means I’m agreeing to whatever we’re going entails,” he muttered, wobbling as he steadied himself.
“Of course not, Pretty Boy.” I smirked, watching the fire flash in his eyes.
He’d fight me on it every step of the way.
And I’d still win.
It was proven not ten minutes later. After the sound of the toilet flushing, I heard the shower turn on. I waited, counting the seconds until realization dawned on him—taking a shower with a cast on was going to be a far bigger challenge than he’d anticipated.
“One... two... three...”
On cue, the symphony of chaos erupted. The clattering of bottles hitting the tile floor came first, followed by an explosion of expletives that could have earned him an honorary title in the navy. The walls practically shook from the sheer creative force of his frustration.
I couldn’t hold back the smirk as I stood from where I’d been perched, waiting for this exact moment. Then came the pièce de résistance:
“WELL, JACK, THIS IS WHERE YOU COME IN AND SAVE THE DAY!”
I strode to the bathroom door, trying to keep my laughter in check as I cracked it open. “Everything alright in there, Pretty Boy?”
“Does it sound alright?” he snapped. I could picture him standing there, soaking wet and glaring at the world like it had personally wronged him.
I stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind me. The sight that greeted me was everything I’d imagined and more. He was balancing precariously on one leg, the other encased in its waterproof cover, with shampoo suds in his hair and an empty bottle rolling away on the floor. He turned his glare on me, a mixture of annoyance and begrudging relief.
“Careful,” I teased, holding up my hands. “You’re looking at me like I’m the one who broke your Achilles.”
“You might as well have,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. The movement made him wobble slightly, and I shot forward, steadying him before he could topple over.
“Alright, alright,” I said, suppressing a grin. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you kill yourself—or take out my shower curtain.”
“I don’t need help,” he started, though the redness in his ears suggested otherwise.
“Sure you don’t,” I said lightly, stepping into the role of caretaker as naturally as breathing. I adjusted the water temperature and grabbed a washcloth, ignoring his grumbles as I gently guided him to sit on the shower stool I’d conveniently set up earlier.
“See?” I said, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair with careful fingers. “You don’t have to do everything alone, Cal.”
He didn’t respond right away, just sat there quietly as I worked. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, the edge gone.
“Thanks, Wade,” he muttered.
I smiled, brushing a soapy strand of hair out of his eyes. “Always, Darlin.’”