Chapter 8
LIV
Ihave tonight off, and I’m piping white frosting onto lemon cookies at the dining room table with Hailey and Tessa sitting across from me.
It’s been a peaceful day and there’s an air of celebration in the apartment tonight because Tessa has just decided that she’s moving in too.
As of next weekend, the new apartment will officially be full, and my two best friends and I will be seeing a lot more of each other.
“So, how often do you bake like this?” Tessa asks, sneaking another cookie.
“She bakes constantly,” Hailey answers for me. “Sometimes she doesn’t even post it.”
“I like to post when I have something new to talk about,” I say. “And sometimes I just feel like making cookies for my friends without having to set up a camera.”
“Mmm,” Tessa hums approvingly over her cookie. I think it’s her fifth and I honestly don’t know where she puts them.
Tessa is tiny, maybe five-two in shoes, and slender as a dancer. She’s a physical therapist, and she’s working for the Stallions this year, as well as a short roster of private clients. When I try to picture her pushing those big players around, I have to smile.
But from what Hailey says, they all respect her, even Van, who could probably lift her over his head with one hand.
I don’t blame them. Tessa may be physically small, but she has a big heart and no one could be more fiercely loyal.
“Should we have a little get-together?” Tessa asks us. “To celebrate our new home?”
“Like a housewarming?” Hailey asks. “That’s such a cute idea. What do you think, Liv?”
“Sure,” I say, keeping my eyes on the cookie I’m holding. “I can make a cake if you want.”
The two of them have lots of other friends. But the only people in the world who I spend time with besides my family are sitting right at this table.
Maybe it’s because of high school, but I don’t trust people easily. I tend to be polite and friendly, and keep people at arm’s length.
Hailey is in my life because she plowed her way in like a tornado ripping up cows and houses in her path. And Tessa tagged along with her so gamely that I couldn’t resist.
I know in my heart that whoever they invite here will be great. And a party actually sounds kind of nice.
I place the last cookie down on the tray. They look really good. I’m glad I went with white frosting instead of yellow.
“I’m just going to run a plate of these downstairs,” I say, hopping up to grab a small plate from the cupboard.
“Why would you do that?” Tessa asks.
“Daisy likes treats,” I say, piling cookies onto the plate without looking at her.
“Isn’t it bad enough that he’s living here?” Tessa pushes. “Why would you want to have more contact?”
“It’s… complicated,” I admit. It’s kind of become my default answer. And I know it’s not really an answer at all, but the truth is that I’m not really sure why I’m so drawn to Daisy and Caleb.
“He’s so into her,” Hailey says. “Like I told you.”
Hailey keeps insisting that Caleb likes me. She says that the way he looked at me at the cookout the other weekend was romantic. I hate the way it puts butterflies in my chest every time she brings it up.
“And she’s really into his kid,” Hailey continues. “It’s like some kind of weird love triangle.”
“Has he apologized yet, Liv?” Tessa asks me. “Does he know how much he and his friends hurt you?”
I’ve been through it with Hailey already, but Tessa doesn’t have the whole story, so I give her the short version.
“He doesn’t know it’s me,” I admit. “I don’t think he recognizes me from school.”
Tessa just blinks at me.
“How wild is that?” Hailey says, like it’s the juiciest gossip ever. “He doesn’t even recognize her.”
“What does your therapist think about all this, Liv?” Tessa asks gently.
I shrug, feeling my stomach twist.
“She doesn’t go to therapy,” Hailey answers for me. “She never has.”
“Liv,” Tessa says sharply.
“It’s expensive,” I tell her quickly. “And I’m doing just fine. I have my job and my friends and my baking. I’m happy. This is just cookies for a neighbor—no big deal. I’ll be right back.”
I hurry out the door before Tessa can stop me. But I can’t help hearing what she says quietly to Hailey as I’m closing the door behind me.
“What she went through in high school was not normal,” she says worriedly. “She needs to talk to someone about it.”
I head for the stairs, trying not to overthink that statement.
On the one hand, I know she’s right. It probably wouldn’t hurt to chat with someone.
On the other, it doesn’t help me to dwell on getting pushed around in high school. I’ve moved on. I have friends, a job, an apartment. I’m fine. I don’t want to live my life leaning on the crutch of having been bullied in school.
Besides, Caleb didn’t do the bullying himself.
He didn’t stop her, a little voice whispers in the back of my head. He just stood there like he was made of ice.
If I ever want a real friendship with Caleb, I know I’ll have to tell him who I really am. And his reaction to that will tell me everything I need to know.
I knock before I can lose my nerve, and remind myself that I’m here for Daisy, not Caleb.
The door opens before I’m ready, revealing a sight I might never be ready for.
Caleb stands in the doorway wearing nothing but a towel, droplets of water sliding down his chest.
“You’re early—oh,” he says. “Sorry. I was expecting a food delivery.”
“I just brought some cookies for Daisy,” I tell him, trying to look anywhere but his chest.
I can’t help noticing an angry scar on his right arm.
“Come on in,” he says, striding back toward the bathroom. “She’s not here, but you can put those in the fridge. I’ll be right back.”
Suddenly, I’m standing alone in the doorway again. I can retreat back upstairs and pretend this never happened. But my feet are already carrying me to the kitchen.
I open the fridge and leave the plate on the top shelf, noticing while I’m in there that its contents haven’t changed all that much since it was my fridge.
I guess it makes sense that a professional athlete eats pretty healthy and wants his daughter to do the same.
The shelves are mostly filled with colorful fruits and veggies.
I close it again and head for the door. I’ll just pop back upstairs. I don’t need to stick around to be thanked.
But there are already footsteps in the hallway.
“Hey,” Caleb calls out. “Sorry about that. I’m having some food delivered, but they aren’t supposed to be here for a few more minutes. Did you bring more treats?”
He steps into the kitchen and I almost faint.
Caleb is dressed now, but somehow this only makes things worse. He’s got on a white t-shirt that clings to his chest and gray sweatpants, pretty much your textbook cute boy uniform.
Except that the muscles on Caleb are anything but boyish. He’s all man. And he smells like soap and some kind of spicy aftershave.
“Sorry if I’m messing up your healthy eating with all these treats,” I manage.
“Not at all,” he says, grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge. “Everyone needs a treat sometimes, and homemade is much healthier than the ultra-processed stuff in the shops.”
“Agreed,” I say, taking the bottle of water he’s holding out.
“I found your channel,” he says casually, heading out of the kitchen and leaving me no choice but to trail after him.
“Oh,” I say, surprised. I don’t post under my name, and not a lot of people in town know about my hobby.
“It came up as a follow suggestion,” he says. “I guess maybe because we’re local?”
You don’t get any more local than we are.
“Anyway,” he says, heading onto the balcony. “It’s amazing. When did you start doing it?”
“I guess I really got into it a year or two ago,” I tell him.
“But I’ve always loved baking. My mom mentioned a cooking influencer she was following and I thought it would be fun to post some of my baking stuff.
I never really thought anyone would follow.
I figured it would be almost like a video journal of what I was making. ”
“You have a ton of followers,” he says, sounding impressed.
“I guess,” I say. “It’s just for fun though.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Caleb says with a grin. “I watched half a dozen of them. You made me feel like I could bake something myself.”
“You could,” I tell him.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to one of the chairs.
I do as I’m told and find myself looking out at my old view.
“I love that tree,” I tell him. “I have a view of it upstairs too.”
“It’s beautiful,” he agrees. “I sit out here a lot.”
I think about him sitting out here by himself. But of course that’s not what he does. He has Daisy with him. Some of her artwork is on a small plastic table out here, along with the scooter.
“Where is Daisy?” I ask him.
“Oh, she’s with my mom,” he tells me. “I got invited out with the other guys and by the time I got there to pick her up, she was sleeping in the guest room, so I got sent home alone.”
He seems sort of down about it, which charms me.
“Do you go out with the guys a lot?” I ask.
“This was the first time,” he says with a faint smile. “Hopefully, I didn’t mess it up.”
I’m so thunderstruck I don’t know what to say. Shouldn’t the other guys be falling all over themselves to befriend him?
He absent-mindedly rubs a hand over his right arm.
“You have a scar,” I say out loud before I realize that might not be very polite.
“Yeah,” he says. “I had a bad fall and collision, and I kind of got cut up. Coach wouldn’t let me go to the hospital until after practice, and it was a double practice day, so it healed kinda funny.”
“Why didn’t you just walk out?” I ask him, horrified. “You could have driven yourself to the hospital.”
“I was seven,” he says with a wry smile. “And my coach was my dad.”
“Oh.” I’m not really sure what else to say.
“Yeah,” Caleb says. “He’s not exactly a warm and fuzzy guy.”
“Is that why you’re always mad?” I blurt out without meaning to.
My mouth is really working overtime tonight.
“Maybe,” he says. “He was strict with me, and I didn’t always love it. All the other kids got to go to birthday parties and join clubs or go to the movies. They got to have free time. But playing hockey was my dream. Dad did what had to be done to make it happen for me.”
I have my own opinion about whose dream it was. According to his own story, Caleb was training hard at the age of seven. What seven-year-old has their own dreams that aren’t just handed to them by their parents? But I guess it’s not my place to say anything.
“Anyway, I’ve always had a pretty short fuse,” he continues. “But since Daisy was born, it’s been a lot harder to hold it together.”
I press my lips together, determined not to speak without thinking again.
“I’m not mad that she has Down syndrome,” he says quickly. “To me, she’s perfect. I’m just mad that the world won’t give her that life I wanted either.”
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
“What if kids make fun of her at school?” he asks quietly.
I bite back everything I want to say to him. I’m sure he already knows he’s a hypocrite for worrying about a kid getting teased at school. High school might have been a long time ago, but I’ll bet he thinks about it more often these days, now that he’s a dad.
“What if Daisy never gets to go to a birthday party?” he continues. “She won’t have hockey like I did. She won’t have choices. A lot of people will take one look at her and assume she can’t do anything.”
His voice is soft and sad, but there’s a thread of rage just below the surface.
I never had the struggles Daisy might have, but I know a little bit about what it’s like to be judged on my appearance.
I’m not ready to have it out with Caleb just yet, but his fury on behalf of his daughter softens my heart enough for me to tell him one truth tonight.
“You’re right, it won’t be the same for her, Caleb,” I tell him. “It will be better, because she’ll have you. You’ll make sure she has places she likes to go, and people she likes spending time with, and things she likes to do.”
His gaze slides back to mine, and I can see pain and hope written in his eyes.
There’s a knock on the front door before either of us can say another word, and I scramble to my feet.
“Stay,” he says. “Have something to eat with me.”
“I can’t,” I tell him. “My friends are upstairs. I really just came to drop off cookies. Tell Daisy I said hi.”
I head to the front door and he follows, opening it and handing some cash to a lady holding a paper bag from the sushi place as I scoot around her and head up the stairs as fast as I can.
He’s still Caleb Stone, I remind myself when I reach the landing between floors. He stood by and watched the worst moments of my life.
But it’s harder and harder to believe that the beautiful man with the sad eyes could really be the emotionless ice prince from all those years ago.