44. CAL
CAL
The Truth Between Us
T he five-and-a-half-hour flight to Edmonton gave me too much time to think—something I wasn’t in the mood for but couldn’t escape. My heart was still raw, scraped and bleeding from everything that had happened, every sharp word, every gutting look. I hadn’t just left Wade behind; I’d left the safety of something I’d started to believe in. And that was the hardest part.
When the plane landed, I made my way through the airport, my leg aching with every step. The overhead lights were too bright, the noise too loud. Everything grated on me, but I pushed forward, clutching my bag like it was the only thing tethering me to this world.
I’d swapped my phone for a new one during my layover, transferring my data to make sure I didn’t lose anything important. Well, except for everyone’s numbers—Wade, his family, my friends. It was safer this way. I couldn’t let them find me. I didn’t need another confrontation. I just needed to be alone. To figure this out.
I found a corner in the bustling airport, opened my laptop, and stared at the files I’d gathered. Research, photos, articles—all of it painstakingly pieced together over the years in stolen moments when my mother wasn’t watching. I’d always known there was more to her story, more to my story, but digging too deep always led to slammed doors and icy silences.
It was years ago, back when I still had the energy to hope for answers. I’d found an old shoebox tucked away in the back of a closet during one of her rare out-of-town trips. Inside were faded photographs and newspaper clippings, snippets of a life she never spoke about.
One photo caught my eye—a young man with a dazzling smile, standing beside her in a glittering skating costume. His name was scrawled on the back in shaky handwriting: Jeremiah Breecher.
When she returned, I couldn’t help myself. I showed her the photo, eager for her reaction.
“Who’s this?” I’d asked, holding it out to her.
Her face went pale, and her hand trembled as she snatched it from me. “Where did you find this?” she demanded, her voice sharp, panicked.
“In the closet,” I said, my confusion growing. “Why is it such a big deal?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she tore the photo in half, the sound cutting through the silence like a blade. “You had no right to go through my things,” she hissed, her eyes blazing. “Stay out of it, Callum. Some things aren’t meant to be dug up.”
“But he looks like me,” I said, my voice breaking. “Is he my—”
“Enough!” she shouted, slamming the torn pieces onto the counter. “Stop asking questions that don’t matter. He’s nothing. Forget you ever saw him.”
Her words gutted me, but it was the look in her eyes—the fear, the anger, the regret—that stayed with me. It told me everything I needed to know.
Now, sitting in Edmonton’s airport, I opened that file again, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through the images I’d managed to salvage. Jeremiah Breecher was my mother’s skating partner, but it wasn’t him I was looking for.
It was his older brother, Kaine.
The photo that looked back at me on the laptop screen was Kaine Breecher drafted to the Miners, his arm wrapped around my mom.
Kaine Breecher. Two-time Stanley Cup winner. Edmonton Miners legend. A man with sharp cheekbones and brown eyes so much like mine it hurt to look at his picture. He’d been young in those photos, cocky and carefree. But now, he was a retired commentator, still living in Edmonton, his career neatly cataloged in every article I’d read.
The pieces didn’t fit perfectly, but they fit enough. My mother had told me she changed her name to escape a life she didn’t want when she was pregnant with me. And she’d run from this city— his city—when everything fell apart.
I closed the laptop and leaned back in the hard airport chair, my head spinning. Was Kaine Breecher my father? Did he know I existed? Did he want me?
My chest tightened at the thought. A man who could’ve given me everything—love, belonging, a family—but never got the chance because my mother ripped me away before he could even try. The idea burned, a mix of anger and desperate longing fueling me. I didn’t let myself think back to Wade’s moms declaration, of the family I ran without a goodbye…
I stood, grabbing my bag and making my way toward the taxi stand. The Vancouver Voyagers were playing the Miners tomorrow night. If he was still in the city, he’d be at the game.
And so would I.
Because I had to know. Even if the answer broke me, I had to know if he wanted me. If anyone ever had.
I got out my phone and dialed the number, my hands trembling slightly as I waited for the line to connect.
“Hello? Jordan speaking,” came the familiar voice, smooth and teasing as ever.
“Jords, it’s Cal,” I managed, my voice already betraying the storm inside me.
“Well, isn’t it my favorite ice pirouette princess,” he said with a laugh. “Good to hear your voice. Other than the constant reels we send, I’ve missed you. Tell me, why the new number, and how’s the sexy-as-hell lumberjack?”
The mention of Jack hit me like a punch to the gut, my chest collapsing in on itself as a sob broke free despite my best efforts to hold it in.
“Oh, Cal,” Jordan’s voice softened immediately. “What’s happened? Please don’t tell me he’s in love with his best friend?”
A laugh-sob burst out of me before I could stop it, ragged and messy. “Fuck, I shouldn’t laugh, Jordan. I hated that you got hurt—you know that.”
“I know, Cap,” he said, the nickname a comforting tether to our shared history. “I knew what I was getting into. He made it clear who his first and only love was. He was a perfect, brilliant distraction—but I got friends like you, and that’s what counts. So, Mr. Tornado, what happened?”
“I…” My breath hitched, and I struggled to find the words. “I caught him with his ex.”
“Damn,” Jordan said, his tone sharp now, protective. “Okay, where are you? I leave tomorrow morning with the team for Edmonton, but I’m free now. Tell me what you need.”
“Actually,” I started, my voice faltering as I tried to explain. “That’s why I’m calling…”
The words spilled out of me in a flood. I told him about my mother, the twisted history she’d hidden from me, and the details I’d uncovered about my potential father. By the time I finished, the silence on the other end felt heavy, loaded.
“Fuck,” Jordan said finally. “Cal, you’ve been going through all this and didn’t tell me? I would’ve been over in a heartbeat.”
“I know,” I said, guilt lacing my words. “I just… I didn’t want you to see Shane and be upset.”
“Oh, sweet ice dancer,” Jordan sighed, his voice warm but exasperated. “Shane and I are fine. We’ve talked it out, and we’re good. But you and I? We’re friends, and I would’ve been there for you, like you were there for me.”
His words made my chest ache in a different way, and I bit my lip hard to keep from crying again. “Well… could you be here now?” I asked, my voice tentative. “I need a ticket. And a way to access the media booth… or wherever I can confront Kaine.”
“I’m onto it,” Jordan said immediately, his tone shifting to business. “I’ll call admin and get it all sorted for you. But Cal?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t do anything stupid to make me lose my job, okay?”
I huffed a laugh, grateful for his humor despite the chaos in my head. “I’ll try. But no promises.”
“Fair,” he said, a grin evident in his voice. “Sit tight, Cap. I’ll make sure you get what you need. We’ll figure this out.”
As the call ended, a small measure of relief settled over me. I could do it, find my father… rejection be damned.
The crowd was electric, a tidal wave of noise crashing over the arena as the announcer welcomed the players to the ice. I was in the front row, just behind the media box, where the man who might be my father spoke animatedly into the cameras. It was surreal watching him—Kaine Breecher—command the rink with his deep, steady voice, his excitement palpable as he gestured to the roaring crowd, explaining the stakes of the game. Edmonton versus Vancouver. The Stanley Cup on the line.
But it wasn’t his commentary that held me captive. It was him. His honey-brown eyes gleamed under the harsh lights, lit up with passion for the game. His jawline was sharp, clean-shaven, but carried the same shape as mine. The streaks of silver in his thick, dirty blonde hair gave him a distinguished edge, but what really struck me was how much he looked like… me.
I clenched my hands together, trying to ignore the sweat slicking my palms. He was just feet away, yet he didn’t see me. His gaze swept past me, through me, as if I were another nameless face in the sea of hockey fans. I raised my hand instinctively, a small, awkward wave, but his attention was already pulled back to the earpiece feeding him questions. He blinked once, his eyes grazing over me briefly before he turned back to the camera, his focus shifting back to his job, back to everything else but me.
My stomach twisted. It was stupid to feel disappointed; he didn’t even know I existed. Not yet.
The announcer boomed again, introducing Vancouver’s lineup. The roar of cheers and boos that followed made my chest swell with pride. When Tyler’s name came up, I jumped to my feet, cheering like a man possessed, letting my voice rise above the din. Tyler spotted me almost instantly, his eyes narrowing as if to confirm I was actually there. He tipped his stick toward me, his face twisted in confusion, and Hunter followed suit.
The exchange wasn’t subtle, and Kaine turned toward the commotion, his brow furrowing as he glanced at me again. This time, his eyes lingered a little longer, sweeping me up and down like he was trying to place me. I offered another awkward not-quite wave, my hand faltering halfway up. He blinked, clearly puzzled, before someone spoke into his earpiece again, and he turned back to his camera.
And just like that, I was forgotten again.
I tried to focus on the game. It wasn’t hard; it was the kind of showdown hockey fans dream about—fast, brutal, and thrilling. I found myself screaming and cheering for every Vancouver goal, cursing under my breath when Edmonton’s players scored. But through it all, I felt Kaine’s occasional glances from the media box. Each time, my heart gave a little kick, hope flickering to life. Maybe he was wondering about me too. Maybe, just maybe, he was putting the pieces together.
When the final buzzer sounded and Vancouver took the win, the crowd erupted. Edmonton’s players skated off with slumped shoulders, while Vancouver’s bench emptied onto the ice, the team piling together in celebration. I was on my feet, clapping wildly and hooting like an unhinged barn owl, pure joy coursing through me as Tyler and Hunter celebrated their victory.
But my attention wasn’t on the ice for long. Kaine signed off from his segment, removing his earpiece and standing to shake hands with a few colleagues. That was my chance. My window.
I bolted up the stairs toward the media booth, clutching the pass Jordan had secured for me. My heart pounded in my chest—not from exertion, but from the mix of nerves and adrenaline surging through me. Every interval, I’d debated doing this, terrified I’d disrupt him or make a fool of myself. But now? Now it was all or nothing.
The security guard barely glanced at my pass before waving me through. I smoothed down Eli’s Tom Ford suit, grateful I’d thrown it into my bag in a last-minute fit of anxiety about making a good impression. If this was going to be my chance to confront Kaine Breecher, I wasn’t about to do it in a crumpled hoodie and jeans. I’d never been one to shy away from a dramatic entrance, and if there was one thing I’d learned from years on the ice, it was that first impressions mattered.
I stepped inside the media box, my gaze darting around the room. And then I saw him.
Kaine Breecher stood near the corner, a drink in hand, laughing with a group of people. My breath caught in my throat. He looked so at ease, so natural, so… unreachable. I froze, my feet rooted to the spot as panic clawed its way up my spine. What if he didn’t want to know me? What if he dismissed me the same way my mother had?
He turned slightly, and for a split second, his eyes landed on mine. My heart thundered in my chest as the world seemed to slow. This was it. This was my moment.
But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I just stood there, staring at the man who might be my father, my pulse roaring in my ears.
It was a standoff between us, two sets of honey-brown eyes locked in an unspoken exchange. His gaze didn’t falter, steady and searching, while my heart raced like I was skating toward a gold medal, my chest tight with every breath. Questions hung in the air between us, silent but deafening.
He put his hand up, stopping mid-conversation with the person next to him. From a distance, I could see him mumble an apology, his expression polite but distracted. He shook their hand, nodding once, and then he started walking toward me.
Each step he took felt like it echoed, amplifying the pounding of my heart. My skin prickled, my throat tightened, and suddenly I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to reach me—or if I wanted to turn and bolt.
“Sorry,” he began, his tone professional but curious, “but if I’m not mistaken, you were the loud body behind my media station earlier.” He raised a brow, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk. “So, don’t mind me wondering… what exactly are you doing in the staff-only media booth?”
I gulped, my words catching in my throat. “I—uh…” I paused, feeling the weight of his gaze. “I needed to see you.”
He tilted his head slightly, puzzled. “Me?”
I nodded, shifting awkwardly on my feet. My palms were sweaty, my nerves on fire, and I felt like every professional in the room was staring, waiting for me to say something coherent. “Yeah. See, I’m looking for someone,” I stammered, my voice quieter now. “And I think… I think that someone might be you. Do you, uh, have any more work to do?”
His brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flicking over me as if trying to piece together a puzzle. What I would have given to know what he was thinking at that very moment.
“Give me a couple of minutes,” he said finally, his tone softening, though his curiosity remained sharp. He gestured back to the group he’d just left. “I’ll wrap things up here, okay—?” He hesitated, his sentence trailing off like a question.
And then it hit me. Of course, he didn’t know my name. Why would he?
“It’s Cal,” I offered quickly, the sound of my name hanging awkwardly in the air between us.
“Cal,” he repeated, his voice lingering on the syllable like he was testing it out. Then he nodded, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place crossing his face. “Alright, Cal. Give me a minute.”
As he turned back to finish his conversation, I exhaled a shaky breath, my hands gripping the fabric of my jacket to stop them from trembling. I’d made it this far. Now all I had to do was wait.
From what felt like hours, though it was only minutes, I watched Kaine finish his rounds, shaking hands, exchanging a few last words with his colleagues. Finally, he grabbed a bag slung over a chair and headed toward me. His hand outstretched, a silent invitation, and I followed his lead. Neither of us said a word as he guided me through the staff corridors at the back of the rink, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing above us, until we emerged into the cold expanse of the parking garage.
He gestured to a blacked-out Range Rover parked neatly in the corner. I hesitated, my eyes darting between him and the vehicle. I didn’t know the man. He didn’t know me. And there I was, about to get into a car with tinted windows dark enough to give any murder podcast host a field day. But then his gaze caught mine—steady, kind, with a sadness that mirrored my own—and it unraveled the knot of hesitation in my chest.
I nodded, swallowing my nerves, and climbed into the passenger seat. The cabin was silent, the air thick with tension as Kaine got in, buckled his seatbelt, and started the engine. He gave a casual wave to the parking attendant as we rolled out, like this wasn’t the most surreal moment of my life.
“So, uh… where are we going?” I ventured, my voice cracking slightly.
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes revealed something fragile, something splintered. The look sent a sharp twist through my chest.
“My house,” he said simply, his voice low and even. “I’m a very noticeable man, and working in media has taught me how to keep my personal life private.”
His words sent a spike of panic through me. Worry gnawed at my gut as I sat up straighter. “Uh… I think there’s been some mistake. I wasn’t looking for you for that ! I mean, I have a boyfriend—or, well, I did up until, like, twenty-four hours ago. And not that I’m against someone a bit older, but…” I trailed off, the realization of what I was saying hitting me too late.
Kaine’s lips twitched, and then a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. He shook his head, the laughter softening his features. “Your father?” he finished for me, one eyebrow arching in amusement.
I choked on my saliva, whipping my head toward the window, desperate for an escape from his knowing gaze. When I finally glanced back, he was watching me intently, his eyes still holding that trace of humor.
“Don’t worry, Cal,” he said, his voice lighter now but still firm. “I’m not taking you to my house for that. I’m taking you there so we can talk. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
I nodded, tongue-tied, the words slipping away from me.
The car ride was mercifully short, his apartment only a few blocks from the rink. It was a sleek high-rise, and the private elevator opened directly into his condo. The space was large and modern, the kind of place that screamed luxury, but there was something undeniably lonely about it. The electric fireplace flickered to life as the lights came on, casting a warm glow over the dark wood floors and clean lines. Despite the condo’s modern bones, it had touches of rustic charm—wood beams, leather furniture, and a cozy throw draped over the couch.
As I took in the space, my eyes landed on the mantle above the fireplace. A few photos were scattered there, though surprisingly sparse for someone who had lived such a public life. The centerpiece was a photo of Kaine holding the Stanley Cup, his face triumphant, his teammates surrounding him. But beyond that, there were no family photos, no mementos of a life outside the rink. Just the one snapshot of glory.
The sound of claws clicking against the floor broke my thoughts, and a massive Bernese mountain dog bounded around the corner. The dog greeted Kaine first, tail wagging furiously, before trotting over to me. He sniffed my hand, his big brown eyes searching for approval, and when he decided I was acceptable, he pressed his head against my leg, demanding pats.
“Would you like a drink?” Kaine asked, already moving toward the bar cart.
I nodded, settling onto the couch as the dog sprawled at my feet. I felt his eyes on me as he reached for a bottle of wine, holding it up for my confirmation. My heart skipped when I recognized the label—it was my favorite. I bit my lip and nodded again, the familiarity of it a sharp contrast to the unfamiliarity of everything else.
As Kaine poured the wine, my thoughts drifted to the place I’d called home. The cozy kitchen at Rossler Flats. The smell of cedar and soap that clung to Wade. The way he held me when the world got too heavy. And now… now I was here, with a stranger who might be my father, trying to patch together the pieces of a life that had shattered in the span of twenty-four hours.
Kaine handed me the glass, his gaze soft but cautious. I wrapped my hands around it, the warmth of the wine seeping into my palms as I stared at the swirling liquid.
“So,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “Let’s talk.”
I nodded, my hand drifting to the dog’s head for comfort. The gentle weight of his big, warm head grounded me, but the words were still tangled in my throat, knotted tight with emotions I wasn’t ready to unpack. I took a sip of the wine, letting the familiar taste settle on my tongue. It was rich, warm, and painfully reminiscent of another life, of moments where I felt safe—when I wasn’t bracing myself for rejection. The memories hit me, unbidden, and my eyes welled despite my best effort to keep them dry.
I stared down at the wine, swirling it absently as if the motion would somehow conjure the courage I needed. Finally, I drew in a deep breath, my voice trembling as I broke the silence.
“My mother goes by many names, it seems,” I started, each word a struggle to push past the lump in my throat. “For most of my life, I thought my father didn’t want me. I thought he abandoned me. And I could only presume that because the woman who raised me refused to sit with the topic long enough for me to know anything else.”
Kaine’s expression shifted, softening. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t push me to keep going. He just waited, his stillness giving me the space I needed to untangle my thoughts.
“Last week,” I continued, my voice cracking, “I discovered who she really was. And what she really did. She left the man who chose her—who chose me—over his family and his career, because she was chasing someone who could fund her tastes.”
I paused, my grip tightening around the glass as the memories came rushing back—the arguments, the deflections, the moments I’d convinced myself not to ask questions because I couldn’t bear the answers.
“She told me she needed a better life,” I said bitterly, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “And the man who would’ve been my father? The one who would’ve raised me, who would’ve given me love instead of lies? He wasn’t good enough for her.”
I looked up then, meeting Kaine’s gaze for the first time. His honey-brown eyes mirrored mine in a way that made my chest ache, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something there—understanding, maybe even recognition.
“But he might’ve been good enough for me,” I added, my voice barely above a whisper. “And now, I don’t even know if it’s too late to find him. To know him.”
Kaine set his own glass down, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He studied me intently, his face unreadable but his eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady.
“What was your mum’s name back when she was pregnant?” he asked softly, like he already knew the answer but needed me to confirm it.
“Melanie Isika,” I replied, my own voice shaky as I watched the realization hit him. His honey-brown eyes—the same ones staring back at me in the mirror every day—welled with unshed tears. He looked away, covering his mouth with his hand, struggling to regain control.
When he finally spoke, his voice cracked under the weight of his words.
“It’s funny,” he began, his eyes shimmering as he glanced back at me, “how they say you’ll know your own son the moment you see him. Do you know how long I’ve looked for you?”
My breath hitched, the weight of his confession pressing down on my chest.
“I stayed with hockey after she left,” he continued, his words deliberate, raw, “but that didn’t mean I gave up on finding my son. I was there for all your scans up until the gender scan at twenty weeks, Cal. I heard your heartbeat, and it wasn’t even a millisecond before I knew I wanted you. I was ready to build a life with her, even if it meant giving up everything I thought I wanted, as long as it meant I could be with my son.”
He paused, rubbing a hand over his face as he let out a shaky exhale.
“But your mother… she was a mistake. A mistake I’d have lived with if it meant being your dad. She knew how to reel in a cocky young boy like I was back then, but the second things got too real, she ran. She left me a note—just a fucking note—to say she didn’t want any part of me if I couldn’t afford to raise you or look after her.” His voice broke on the last word, and he looked away again, as though the memory still cut as deep as the day it happened.
“I’ve never felt a loss like that before,” he said quietly, his gaze distant now, staring at something only he could see. “Every year, on what I guessed was your birthday—based on that first scan—I lit a candle. I wished you a happy birthday. Not a single year went by that I didn’t think about you, about how much I was missing. But it seems she kept you so hidden, so buried in lies, I didn’t even know where to start.”
Kaine turned back to me then, his expression a mixture of grief, disbelief, and something else—hope.
“The moment I saw you behind me today,” he said, his voice soft, trembling, “I tried not to get hopeful. There have been so many times over the years when I thought I was close, only to be let down again. But this time…” His voice faltered, and he blinked rapidly, his tears finally spilling over. “This time, I’m sure. You’re him. You’re my son.”
My breath caught in my throat, the room suddenly feeling too small, too charged. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to process the man sitting across from me, the man who looked like me, spoke with a quiet determination that resonated in my chest, and had clearly been searching for something—someone—for most of his life. For me.
“I…” My voice cracked, and I struggled to find the words. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Kaine leaned forward then, his eyes locking onto mine with a fierce intensity. “You don’t have to say anything, Cal. You’ve already given me everything I’ve ever wanted just by being here.”
I sobbed aloud, the sound raw and unfiltered, as I buried my face in my hands to hide the tears. It was only moments before Kaine was there, pulling me to my feet and wrapping me in a firm embrace. His strong arms held me like an anchor, his hand rubbing slow circles between my shoulder blades.
"You don’t understand," I choked out, my voice muffled against his chest. "She dumped me in boarding school when I was fourteen. I’ve been alone for so long. Everyone I thought loved me… they always leave. And Wade—" My breath hitched as his name fell from my lips. "He was my hope. And then all this happened, and I just… I needed to know if I could be loved. By someone. By my father. If what she said was true, you know?"
The words tumbled out in a rush, my emotions bursting free like a dam breaking under pressure.
Kaine’s grip on me tightened as he soothed me with quiet murmurs. “You’re not alone now,” he said, his voice steady and full of conviction. “If you think I’m not going to make up for lost time, you’re kidding yourself. We’ve found each other, Cal. And we’ve got time—time to be the family we should’ve been all along.”
I pulled back slightly to look at him, his honey-brown eyes so much like mine, filled with a warmth I didn’t know I craved until now.
“Now,” he said gently, guiding me to sit on the couch beside him, “tell me everything. About your life, about this Wade—who I’m assuming is the boyfriend from 24 hours ago? Man, once your uncles find out they have a gay nephew, you’re going to be spoiled for every year they missed.”
The mention of his brother and partner—family I hadn’t even known existed—brought a flicker of a smile to my lips. I thought of my mother’s old skating partner and how I’d always assumed that side of my life was just… gone.
Settling into the couch, I began to tell him everything—about my years of skating, the injury that nearly broke me, the endless string of douchebags who left their scars, and the found family I’d built in their absence. I left Wade out, though. It was too raw, too painful to share yet.
Kaine listened with a focus so intense it made my chest ache. His attention never wavered, not even as the hours ticked by. In between, he told me about his life—the family he didn’t lose, my grandparents who had passed but left behind stories that shaped him, and my uncle.
“My brother,” he said, his voice softening. “He’s married to a man—two adopted kids. They’re the light of our family. I dote on those kids, but every time I look at them, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like to raise you.”
My throat tightened at his words. I nodded, unable to speak, as he gestured to the hallway. “Their pictures are in my bedroom. I keep them close, but I always left space for you, too.”
Eventually, after popping open another bottle of wine, Kaine leaned back and studied me with those sharp, honeyed eyes.
“Okay,” he said, setting his glass down. “Now tell me about this boyfriend-not-boyfriend. What happened?”
I sighed heavily. Still, I found myself telling him—everything. Well, minus the explicit details. I told him about Wade, about the moments that felt too good to be real, about the way Danton had swooped in and shattered everything in seconds. Kaine listened with an intentness, his quiet focus so different from my mother’s dismissiveness.
This—this was what I’d always wanted. A parent who would listen, who cared about my highs and lows, who made me feel like my experiences mattered.
When I finished, I looked at Kaine, expecting judgment or a lecture. Instead, his face was thoughtful, his eyes soft but serious.
“You need to talk to him,” he said firmly.
I bristled, shaking my head. “But he—"
“Did you get answers?” Kaine interrupted, his voice low but steady. “Or did you just see what Danton wanted you to see? From what you’ve told me, that man isn’t exactly trustworthy. But Wade—he’s proven himself to you time and time again, hasn’t he? Sometimes, our past blinds us to the truth in front of us. I think your past is doing that now, son.”
The word son hit me like a blow, and my breath caught.
“I know how much it hurts to have someone run without giving you a chance,” Kaine continued, his voice softening. “I’ve lived with that pain for twenty-two years, Cal. Don’t do to Wade what she did to us.”
His words hit hard, and I bowed my head, my hands twisting in my lap. He was right. I was running—just like my mother had, over and over again.
Kaine leaned forward, his hand resting on my knee. “How about this,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Get some sleep in the guest room. Think it over. And tomorrow? Start fresh.”
The exhaustion hit me like a wave at the mention of sleep, and I nodded, too drained to argue. I let him guide me to the guest room, his hand steady on my back. As I crawled into the bed, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, I’d finally found the parent I’d been searching for all along.