39. WADE
WADE
The Sparkle, The Storm, and The Sway
F rom where I leaned casually against the bar, I couldn’t help but admire Cal in action. The Rossler Flats function space, with its vaulted ceilings and elegant chandeliers, was already breathtaking, but under his direction, it was transforming into something extraordinary. And if anyone could pull off extraordinary, it was Cal.
Dressed in a crisp button-down and fitted slacks—an outfit I didn’t mind enjoying a little too much—he commanded the room with a mix of charm and sharp authority. His voice carried effortlessly, cutting through the chatter as he directed the caterers, florists, and lighting crew. He was equal parts conductor and perfectionist, weaving every detail into a symphony of brilliance. It was captivating. Hell, it was downright sexy.
“Not there,” he barked at a caterer, waving his hand like a maestro redirecting an orchestra. “If the brie’s that close to the honey, we’ll have sticky cheese fingers, and nobody wants that.” I stifled a laugh behind my coffee cup, watching the poor caterer scramble. Cal’s standards were as unyielding as ever, and he wasn’t about to compromise on something as vital as brie placement.
A few steps later, he was deep in battle with the floral team. Hydrangeas, apparently, were his mortal enemy today. To the untrained eye, the arrangements were perfect, but not to Cal. I chuckled, listening as he told the lighting crew the room needed to look like the inside of a champagne flute—effervescent, golden, and sparkling. Who even came up with analogies like that?
I watched him with quiet awe. To everyone else, he might’ve been intimidating, but to me, he was just Cal—my demanding, brilliant, beautiful partner. He worked with the kind of focus that could make you believe perfection was within reach. The sparks of creativity practically danced in the air around him, his tablet in one hand, a line of concentration on his lips.
The tables shimmered with gold chargers and crystal glassware. Floral arrangements soared like sculptures, their blush, cream, and gold tones catching the light in just the right way. The space was a masterpiece. Cal had orchestrated every detail with the kind of precision most people only dreamed of.
I watched him pause to chastise a slacking waiter, his hands flying through the air as he gestured with animated determination. It was probably time to intervene before the staff filed for hazard pay. Setting my coffee down, I strolled over, calling out, “Pretty boy, you’re scaring the staff. They’re going to start calling you General Johnson.”
Cal glanced at me briefly before turning fully, arms crossed. “It’s not my fault people lack basic spatial awareness,” he replied, arching a brow. “Besides, I have standards. That’s what makes me good at this.”
I grinned, my chest swelling with pride. “Good? Try extraordinary. You’ve turned this room into something even my mom would cry over.”
A smile flickered across his lips, softening his expression just enough to make my heart skip. “Well, I do try,” he said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “But if one more person hands me subpar hydrangeas, I’m going to lose my mind.”
I reached out, my hand brushing his shoulder, grounding him for just a moment. “Remind me never to cross you,” I teased, my eyes meeting his.
His snort was almost affectionate. “You’d never survive,” he quipped, turning back toward the room. But as he walked away, barking orders about a tablecloth, I caught the faint blush dusting his cheeks. It was moments like this that I loved most—watching my commanding, confident Cal blush like a schoolboy despite being in complete control.
As I settled back to watch, my thoughts wandered. The last six weeks had been a whirlwind, a mix of rebuilding and rediscovering. Cal still carried the faintest limp—a detail probably only I noticed—but it never slowed him down. He moved with purpose, hands slicing the air as he spoke, a magnetic force in every room he entered. This was Cal at his best, unstoppable and alive.
And yet, as much as I admired his fire, a quiet ache settled in my chest. This life we were carving out together felt fragile, as if it could slip through my fingers at any moment. Cal had helped me find parts of myself I thought were lost—parts I didn’t even realize I missed. Through his sharp wit and unwavering determination, he’d brought me back to life. He’d made me feel whole again. The thought of losing him was unbearable.
The crisp spring air called to me, so I stepped outside, letting the vineyard stretch before me. The wind carried the scent of new blooms, mingling with the faint hum of life waking up around the farm. It should’ve been calming, but the weight in my chest remained.
“Brother, what’s wrong?” Wylie’s voice pulled me from my thoughts as he approached.
I stared out at the vineyard, the vines stretching endlessly under the soft glow of the spring sun. My chest tightened, the words catching in my throat before I finally let them out. “He’s so happy—here. It’s like everything he’s been through doesn’t weigh on him anymore. He belongs here, Wylie. He’s thriving.”
Wylie leaned against the porch railing beside me, his brow furrowed. “But?”
I exhaled sharply, the tension in my chest spread, blooming like a vine wrapping tighter with every breath.
“My life’s in Vancouver. I started fresh there for a reason—away from people micromanaging my every move, away from the ghosts of who I used to be. I promised another life once, Wylie. Back when Sam and I were in the middle of a war zone, making plans for a future we never got to have. When that ended… I rebuilt myself. I built something good, something I thought was solid.”
My voice cracked as I continued. “I tried staying here before—with Danton. I tried living this life, in this place, and it didn’t make me happy. I felt trapped, like I was walking through someone else’s dream, not mine.”
Wylie didn’t interrupt, letting the words tumble out, raw and unfiltered.
“But Cal…” I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping to my hands. “I think I’ll lose him if I go back. He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him—right here. He’s finally found himself again, and I can’t take that from him. I won’t.”
Wylie’s silence stretched between us, his thoughtful gaze fixed on the horizon. When he finally spoke, his tone was gentle but firm. “Wade, you’ve always been the guy to put everyone else first. Your family, Sam, your squad, Danton and now Cal. But maybe the question isn’t about where Cal is happiest. Maybe it’s about where you can be happy together.”
I looked at him, unsure how to respond.
“You can’t live your life running from one place to the next, hoping the right one will make everything fall into place,” he continued. “It’s not about the location—it’s about who you’re with and what you build together. If Cal’s the one—and I’m guessing he is—then this isn’t just about keeping him happy. It’s about figuring out what happiness looks like for both of you.”
His words cut through the tangle of doubt in my mind, sharp and undeniable.
“And what if that means letting go of everything I’ve built?”
Wylie met my gaze, “Then maybe it wasn’t as solid as you thought. The life you built in Vancouver was about starting over, about survival. But Wade… maybe it’s time to stop surviving and start living.”
I blinked, the weight in my chest dissolving, like mist fading beneath the morning sun.
Wylie clapped a hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone in this. You’ve got us, and you’ve got him. Don’t let fear keep you from building something real.”
As he walked back inside, I stayed on the porch, the spring air swirling around me. Wylie’s words echoed in my head, their weight sinking deep into my bones. Because he was right—Cal was worth the risk, worth everything. And if I wanted a future with him, I had to be brave enough to take the leap.
I headed closer to the function space after clearing my head and steadied myself as to what I was going to do , my feet stumbled at the sound of the shrill voice that grew louder, cutting through the otherwise serene atmosphere of the farm. My chest tightened, and my steps quickened. The voice was sharp, slicing through any remnants of calm I’d found on my walk. My first thought was Cal—where was he in all of this?
The moment I entered the venue, the air shifted, heavy with tension. The room, still sparkling with Cal’s meticulous work, felt suffocating. At its center stood a woman, poised and unflinching, her tailored suit and sharp tone commanding the space. Her assistant hovered nearby, clipboard clutched like a lifeline.
“Callum, I told you to leave me alone. What part of that don’t you understand?” she snapped, her voice slicing through the air.
Cal stood a few feet away, his fists clenched, shoulders squared, though I could see the tremor in his hands. I froze, unwilling to interrupt but unable to look away.
“I didn’t realize you were throwing the party,” Cal retorted, his voice bitter, anger lacing every word. “And I sure as hell didn’t realize ‘Miss Elle’ was just another fake name. What, were you afraid someone might recognize who you really are?”
The assistant flinched, shrinking further into the shadows, but the woman didn’t waver. Her eyes narrowed, her lips curving into a cruel smile.
“I got a new name with my new life” she replied smoothly. “Now, leave and stop being a petulant child.”
Cal laughed—a hollow, bitter sound that echoed through the room. “Petulant? That’s rich. You don’t think I have a right to be here? After all, I built this. Every detail, every sparkle—this was me. You? You’re just the name on the check.”
She crossed her arms, tilting her head as if considering him for the first time. “And yet, I still paid for it. Let’s not pretend you’re here because you needed the job. Or is that limp of yours making it hard to find better opportunities?”
The words hung in the air like poison. Cal flinched, his jaw tightening, but he stood his ground. When he spoke again, his voice cracked, raw with a pain I wasn’t used to hearing from him.
“You really haven’t changed,” he said, his voice low. Then his gaze snapped back to hers, blazing with anger and hurt. “But I have. And I’m done pretending this doesn’t matter. So tell me—why didn’t you want me? Why wasn’t I enough?”
Her mask faltered for just a moment, her perfectly painted face showing a flicker of uncertainty. But then she straightened, her voice sharpening like a blade.
“You want the truth?” she said, her words cold and deliberate. “Fine. You were never part of the plan. I got pregnant because I thought your father’s family would secure the life I deserved. But when they found out, they gave him an ultimatum: stay with me and the baby, or lose the money. And your father, well…he chose us. But that meant he was going to be a poor man. No inheritance. No future. And I wasn’t going to let that be my life.”
Cal’s face paled, his lips parting as though the air had been ripped from his lungs. “He…chose us?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “He wanted me?”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yes, Callum. He wanted you. But he couldn’t give me what I needed. So, I left. I changed my name, disappeared, and found someone who could.”
The room fell silent, the weight of her words suffocating. Cal stood frozen, his breathing uneven as her confession settled over him like a crushing wave.
“You knew,” he said finally, his voice breaking. “You knew I would’ve had a father. A real one. And you took that away from me.”
“I did what I had to do,” she said coolly, her gaze unwavering. “You were better off at boarding school. It was practical.”
“Practical?” Cal repeated, his voice rising with disbelief. “You shipped me off because I was a reminder of the life you gave up! You didn’t want me then, and you sure as hell don’t want me now. You took away my father, my chance to know him—and for what? Some dream of being a trophy wife?”
Her lips tightened, but she didn’t deny it. Cal let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words.
“You’re right,” he said, his tone hollow now, but with an edge that cut deeper than any shout could have. “I didn’t know this job was for you. If I had, I would’ve run in the opposite direction. Because now I see it—you’re not a mother. Not to me, not to Beatrix, not to anyone. You’re just… hollow. A name. A title. A role you played when it suited you, but you never meant it.”
His words landed like stones, each one weighted with the hurt he’d carried for so long. Her face didn’t change—cold, composed—but her silence spoke volumes.
“I’m sorry for the man you married, for what he must’ve gone through loving someone like you. And I’m sorry for Bea. She deserves better than the empty shell of a woman who only sticks around when it’s convenient. She’ll figure you out, just like I did.”
His voice cracked on the last word, but he didn’t falter. He held her gaze, unwavering, as though daring her to deny any of it. But she didn’t. She just stood there, rigid and silent, like she was too far above him to even try.
“And you know what?” he continued, his words trembling with barely restrained emotion. “I’m sorry for me too. Sorry I wasted years chasing after someone who couldn’t even bring herself to look back.”
Cal’s voice dropped, quieter now, filled with a sadness so raw it almost hurt to hear. “But I’m done. I’m done trying. Done hoping. Because you made your choice a long time ago—and it wasn’t me.”
He turned then, his limp pronounced as he started for the door, His body quivered, as if straining beneath an invisible tide, threatening to pull him under.
I stepped forward to follow him, pausing just long enough to look her in the eye. “He deserved so much better than you,” I said, my voice low, steady.
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out after Cal.
It didn’t take me long to see his retreating form through the vineyards, moving all too fast for his newly recovered form. My breath caught when the toe of his shoe caught on a root, and he went down. I saw him try to catch himself, his hands reaching out to break the fall, but it was like he’d given up halfway through. His body crumpled into a heap on the ground. His sobs sank into something more primal, unguarded and uncontainable.
I could see that the encounter dug up all those emotions he thought he buried, but I knew, it wasn’t as simple as letting it out once for a wound to heal.
“Cal,” I called softly, rushing to him, dropping to my knees beside him. My hands hovered, unsure where to touch first, not wanting to startle him. “Darling, I’ve got you,” I said, my voice steady even as my heart twisted painfully in my chest.
He didn’t move, just buried his face into his hands, his entire frame shaking. I reached out carefully, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close against me. His breath hitched as he let himself be held, and I didn’t say anything else. Words felt useless in the face of this kind of pain.
So I held him, my hand moving slowly over his back, letting him know I was there. No matter what, I was there.
All I could hope was that the six weeks of growth, of rebuilding, of confidence that Cal had worked so hard to regain wouldn’t crumble under the weight of her cruelty. He had come so far—turning heartbreak and setbacks into momentum, finding a new spark in himself as he planned and created, even for a woman who seemed to have been sent straight from hell itself.
No. She wouldn’t undo this. She wouldn’t pull him back down to the level where I’d found him, broken and lost, questioning his worth.
He could cry now. He could grieve for the loss of a mother who didn’t deserve the love he still carried for her. That was okay. It was human. But this? This wouldn’t break him. Not while I was around.
I tightened my hold on him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, his soft waves brushing against my lips. His sobs started to slow, his breaths deepening as he clung to me like I was his anchor. And maybe I was. Maybe that was exactly what I needed to be right now.
“We’ll get through this,” I murmured, my voice steady, filled with the certainty I needed him to feel. “We will, Cal. You’ve already proven how strong you are. She doesn’t define you, and she never will.”
I didn’t know if he believed me in that moment, but I’d make sure he did. We’d get through this—together.
Eventually, his sobs quieted, fading into the stillness of the spring air. I waited until his breathing steadied before carefully lifting him into my arms. He didn’t resist—didn’t argue like I half-expected he would. He just let me hold him, his face pressed against my chest, his hands clutching at my shirt like I was the only thing keeping him together.
Without a word, I started back toward the cabin. The path felt longer than usual, each step heavy with the weight of what he’d just gone through. I glanced down at him every so often, his eyes closed, his body limp in my arms, and my chest ached with the overwhelming need to protect him from everything—including himself.
When we finally reached the cabin, I nudged the door open with my foot and carried him inside, setting him gently onto the couch. I crouched down in front of him, brushing a strand of hair from his damp face. His eyes fluttered open, brown and glassy, but they found mine immediately, holding on as if I might disappear if he looked away.
“You’re home,” I said softly. “You’re safe.”
He didn’t speak, just nodded, his lips trembling slightly. I reached for the throw blanket draped over the armrest and tucked it around him, his shoulders small beneath the fabric. Then, without another word, I sat beside him, pulling him into my side. For now, that was all I could do—just be there. And I would. For as long as he needed.
I checked his ankle, gently pressing along the soft skin that was hot under my touch and watched his face for any sign of discomfort. To my relief, he showed no pain, just a small shake of his head as he mumbled, “It’s fine, Wade. Really.”
Still, I made a mental note to give him a proper massage later and keep it elevated—just in case.
Eventually, he leaned back against the contours of my body, the tension in his body softening as exhaustion overtook him. His hand found mine, his grip firm despite his obvious weariness. I squeezed back.
The afternoon melted into evening as Cal and I sprawled together on the couch, a blanket thrown over us while the fire crackled in the hearth. His head rested against my shoulder, his fingers absently tracing circles on my chest. It was one of those rare, quiet moments where the rest of the world didn’t matter—just us and the soft glow of contentment.
“Tell me a story,” he murmured, his voice warm and lazy. “Something I don’t know. Something funny.”
I smirked, letting my head fall back against the cushion. “Alright, how about the time Sam and I nearly burned down the Rossler wine cellar?”
Cal’s head snapped up, his honey-brown eyes sparkling with intrigue. “Wait, what? How have I never heard this?”
“Well,” I started, grinning, “it was just before we left for basic training. Sam had come to stay at the farm for a few weeks, and, being the brilliant pair of idiots we were, we decided that sneaking into the wine cellar would be a great send-off.”
Cal’s hand stilled on my chest, his lips twitching. “This is already going places.”
“Oh, it went places, alright. We got in, no problem—Sam knew how to pick a lock, and I conveniently ‘forgot’ to tell him my dad had the cellar keys in his office.” I chuckled, shaking my head. “We opened a bottle—some fancy vintage my mom had been saving for a special occasion—and started pouring like we were kings. We didn’t know jack about wine, by the way. I think we paired it with Doritos.”
Cal laughed, the sound muffled against my shoulder. “You two sound like culinary geniuses.”
“Oh, absolutely,” I said, grinning wider. “But it didn’t stop there. By the third bottle, Sam decided it was a brilliant idea to ‘enhance the ambiance.’ So, naturally, he started lighting candles from the supply shelf.”
Cal winced, his hand moving to cover his mouth as he tried to stifle his laughter. “Please tell me this doesn’t end in a fire.”
“Almost,” I admitted. “One of the candles tipped over onto a stack of cardboard boxes. I swear I’ve never sobered up so fast in my life. Sam was trying to stomp it out while I was flinging wine on the flames, yelling that it was probably fine because it was red wine and not flammable.”
Cal’s laugh erupted then, bright and loud. “Oh my God, Wade! You tried to put out a fire with boujee red wine?”
I laughed, the memory playing in my mind like it was yesterday. “Once we got the fire out,” I continued, grinning, “we were a mess. Sam’s shirt was singed, we both reeked of wine and smoke, and we were still tipsy enough to think it was all hilarious. We stumbled back to the house, laughing like idiots… only to walk straight into my mom in the kitchen.”
Cal’s eyes widened, a mix of horror and delight dancing across his face. “What did she do?”
“She froze, stared us down, and then asked why we smelled like we’d been rolling around in a vineyard fire,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck at the memory. “Before I could even attempt to come up with a believable excuse, Sam—God bless him—stepped in. He told her, ‘We wanted to toast to the farm, ma’am. Thought it’d bring good luck before we left.”
Cal burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. “He didn’t!”
“He did,” I said, chuckling along with him. “And the worst part? It worked. My mom gave us this look, somewhere between exasperated and sentimental, and then told us to wash up before bed. I thought for sure she was going to chew us out, but no. She just shook her head and muttered something about ‘boys being boys.’”
Cal grinned, his head shaking in disbelief. “So, you got away with almost burning down the wine cellar?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted, smirking. “The next morning, Sam and I were hungover as hell, and my mom handed us scrub brushes and a bucket of soapy water. She said, “If you’re old enough to drink my wine, you’re old enough to clean up after yourselves.”
Cal’s laughter was infectious, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I bet Sam made that morning just as entertaining.”
“Oh, he did,” I said, warmth flooding my chest at the memory. “He kept cracking jokes, even while we scrubbed wine stains off the cellar floor. Said it was good practice for dodging landmines. I couldn’t even be mad at him.”
Cal leaned his head against my shoulder, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm. “It sounds like you two had something special.”
“We did,” I said softly, my voice tinged with both fondness and loss. “Sam had a way of making even the worst situations feel like an adventure. He could turn a disaster into a memory worth keeping.”
Cal looked up at me, his honey-brown eyes warm, steady, and full of something I wasn’t sure I deserved.
“Sounds familiar,” he said softly, his voice carrying the kind of gentleness that sneaks up on you. “You’ve got that same gift, Wade. You make people feel like they’re part of something… like they’re home.”
The words settled over me, heavier than they should have been. I pressed a kiss to his temple, my lips lingering there as if they could hold the moment in place. For the longest time, I thought home was a man with hazel eyes and a reckless grin, someone who could light up a room just as easily as he could tear it apart. When he left, home became something quieter—a space I built between four walls, more survival than sentiment. I never imagined it could exist in the same breath as another man.
But as my breath fanned against Cal’s blond hair, and my hand tangled with his while he laughed about staining the carpet of a rental with his mom’s old makeup, I could feel it shift. The idea of home wasn’t a place or a memory—it was him. And for the first time, the sentence came clear as a promise I didn’t need to say aloud: you are my home.
“Oh my God, Wade,” Mom burst through the cabin door like a force of nature, her heels clicking with purpose. Cal and I jolted upright on the couch where we’d been dozing. Her eyes blazed with righteous fury, and the words poured out of her in a rush. “The staff told me everything. I cannot believe that woman is your mother.” She turned to Cal, her hands fluttering, exasperation clear in every movement. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I gave her my two cents, and the party has been cancelled halfway through. She didn’t even get to cut the cake. And she is not getting a refund.”
Cal, who had been leaning back against me sat bolt upright, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You did what ?” he croaked, his voice hoarse from earlier tears.
“Of course I did,” my mum replied, her voice firm, unwavering. “No one treats family that way. No one rejects a son. Not on my watch.” She crossed her arms and looked between us both, her expression fierce. “And I made sure the entire country club is well aware of her behavior. If she thinks she can write you off like you don’t exist and expect the rest of us to just accept it, she has another thing coming.”
Cal opened his mouth to respond, but Mum wasn’t done. “Doesn’t matter how good her daughter is at figure skating, or how much sway her husband has on that damn council. This is my estate, and on my estate, we don’t accept that kind of behavior. You hear me, Cal? You’re one of us now, and we take care of our own.”
Cal just stared at her, blinking rapidly as though trying to process her words. I glanced at him, noticing the way his hands trembled in his lap, and I reached out, covering them with mine.
“Mom,” I said softly, but she waved me off.
“No, Wade,” she said sharply. “He needs to hear this. Cal, you are loved. You are worthy. And anyone who can’t see that is not worth a second of your energy.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Cal’s lips trembled, and he looked down at our joined hands, his lashes wet but his gaze softer than I’d seen it all night.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t... I don’t even know what to say.”
Mum softened then, her flurry of righteous indignation giving way to tenderness. She crouched beside him, cupping his face in her hands. “You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart. Just know you’re safe here. And we’ve got your back, always.” I felt the ache in my chest ease. Mom, with her flair for dramatics and her unrelenting loyalty, had said exactly what Cal needed to hear.
After Mom finally left, satisfied that Cal was firmly wrapped in the arms of our family, we found ourselves surrounded by what felt like endless trays of canapés. The catering for the cancelled party had been redirected to us, and I wasn’t complaining. Cal and I sat sprawled on the couch, watching one of his favorite drama shows while grazing on an absurd amount of appetizers. If the sheer volume of puff pastries and miniature quiches didn’t do us in, the decadent desserts certainly would.
But it wasn’t the food that held my attention. It was Cal, the way his face lit up as he nibbled on some artful little creation and sipped his wine like it was the elixir of life. His cheeks had regained their color, and the sparkle in his honey-brown eyes was back.
“I can’t imagine the look on her face when the party was cancelled halfway through,” he mused, a devilish grin spreading across his lips.
I chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Man, I wish I could’ve been there to see it. Honestly, I’d pay good money for a front-row seat to that disaster.”
Cal laughed, a sound so genuine it warmed me down to my toes. He popped another canapé into his mouth and leaned back with his glass of wine, looking every bit like he belonged in that moment. Gone was the man who once fretted over every calorie, who buried himself under layers of expectations and self-doubt. This was Cal. Fully present, fully alive, fully himself.
As the show rolled on and the wine flowed, a song began to play over the credits— ‘ My Love Mine All Mine' by Mitski made Cal’s eyes light up. Without hesitation, he stood, his hand outstretched toward me.
“Dance with me,” he said, a playful challenge in his tone.
I raised a brow, glancing at his outstretched hand. “You know I’ve got two left feet, right?”
He smirked, that wicked, sassy smirk that made it impossible to resist him. “Well, I’ve got a limp, so we’ll balance each other out.”
How could I argue with that? I took his hand, and in one smooth motion, I scooped him up, careful to take the weight off his leg. He let out a delighted squeal as I spun him around the room, his laughter mingling with the music.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said between giggles, but his arms wrapped tightly around my neck, and his forehead pressed to mine.
“And yet, here you are,” I teased, swaying us in a slow circle.
He sang along to the song, his voice soft and sweet, filling the room like magic. I watched him, utterly captivated. In that moment, with his lips moving to the lyrics, his hair falling messily over his forehead, and his smile so wide it could light up the whole estate, I knew.
I loved him.
I’d loved him for weeks, maybe months. But now, watching him let go of all the pain, all the doubts, I realized it was time. He deserved to know.
As the next song played in the credits we continued to sway, neither of us felt the need to fill the silence. But then his voice, quieter now, broke through.
“Do you think he’d want to know me?”
I froze mid-step, my hands instinctively tightening around his waist. “Who?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. His honey-brown eyes, so full of life moments ago, Now carried a raw honesty that left me utterly undone.
“My father.”
The words hung between us. I kept swaying us gently, trying to buy time while I gathered my thoughts.
“I mean,” he continued, his voice laced with nervous energy, “I never even thought about it before. I just assumed he didn’t care, you know? But what if he didn’t know? What if…” He trailed off, biting his lip.
I stopped moving, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “Cal,” I said softly, “it’s not crazy to wonder. After everything your mom said...it sounds like he fought for you. That has to mean something, right?”
His eyes searched mine, uncertainty flickering there. “But what if he didn’t? What if she was right, and I’m just another mistake he wanted to forget?”
I tightened my hold on him, steadying him as much as myself. “If he wanted to forget, he wouldn’t have fought her, Cal. He wouldn’t have been willing to give up everything for you. That doesn’t sound like a man who didn’t care.”
He exhaled shakily, the weight of my words sinking in. “But where would I even start? I don’t know his name, or where he is, or…anything.”
“We can figure it out,” I said firmly, my hands brushing up and down his back. “It’s not like we don’t know people who know people. And your mom dropped enough hints—skating, inheritance, ultimatums. It’s a trail, and trails lead somewhere.”
He nodded slowly, his brow furrowing as he considered it. “What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if I’m just digging up something he’s worked hard to bury?”
I cupped his cheek, my thumb brushing against his skin. “Then we’ll deal with that. But Cal, if there’s even a chance that he’s out there and he cares—don’t you deserve to know? Don’t you deserve to find out for yourself?”
He hesitated, his lips pressing together as if holding back the turmoil churning within him.
Finally, he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think I do.”
I smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “Then we’ll do this together. No matter what we find, you won’t be alone.”
He let out a shaky laugh, leaning back into me. “God, you’re going to turn me into a sappy mess.”
I chuckled, swaying us gently again. “Pretty sure you’re already there, Pretty Boy.”