Chapter 22
Cal
"I just got fired!" Meghan's voice is so high-pitched I have to pull the phone away from my ear, missing whatever else she says next.
I sit on the porch steps, comparing the muddy slush of melted snow in the driveway to the vast clear blue sky above. It's like comparing Meghan's coldness to Elle's warmth. Two contrasts that couldn’t be more different.
"Meghan," I say calmly, "please slow down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying."
"I got fired!" she repeats. "What about 'I got fired' don't you understand?! Dani Hartman, that little b—"
I set the phone down, refusing to listen to the rest of her tirade.
After a few seconds, I return it to my ear.
"Did you hear me?!"
"You're still yelling," I say, keeping my tone even.
"She came into our board meeting and stood there like she owned the place," she seethes. "She got me fired over something that happened years ago!"
"So you're not denying it," I point out.
"Who the hell cares about what happened that long ago?!"
“Well,” I say, “sorry to point this out, but she cares. Her sister cares. And so does my family.”
There’s a pause. When she speaks again, her tone shifts—colder, more calculated.
“You sound like you have a stake in this,” she says, and I can practically see her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Need I remind you,” I say evenly, “that we already had this conversation? Or did you forget?”
“Whose side are you on?!”
“I’m on the side of reaping what you sow.”
"Need I remind you," she spits, "that I'm the mother of your child?"
"That's something I have to keep reminding you of."
"You should have my back."
"You're Hannah’s mother, but you’re not my wife. I don’t owe you anything."
"I hate you," she says coldly.
"Yeah, well, get in line. Now, what is it exactly that you want?"
“Didn’t you hear me?” she snaps, voice sharp with anger. “You know, that’s part of the reason I divorced you. You never listen.”
“No,” I say calmly, “you divorced me because you couldn’t control me. Because I didn’t meet your expectations. I wasn’t ambitious enough, remember?”
“Well,” she bites back, “you can go ahead and add this to the list. I lost my job. How am I supposed to make ends meet now? How am I going to provide for Hannah?”
“First of all,” I say, keeping my tone even, “you were a trust fund baby when I met you. You could support yourself and Hannah full-time on the interest your bank account earns each month. Losing your job doesn’t hurt anything but your ego.
You worked because it gave you control over the lives of kids who couldn’t do anything to fight back. Until Dani.”
“Thanks for reminding me once again why I left you.”
“And second,” I continue, not missing a beat, “you don’t see Hannah enough to say you support her. And third—”
Click.
She’s hung up.
I lean back, smiling to myself. These days, getting the last word with Meghan feels like its own kind of justice.
The phone rings again, and I pick it up on the first ring, thinking it’s Meghan coming back for round two.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Daddy!” Hannah’s excited hello makes me smile, easing the temper flare-up from my talk with Meghan.
"Hi, Angel," I reply, expecting her to ask when I’ll be home.
"Can I spend the night at Grandma and Grandpa’s tonight?"
"They just left, baby, and you have school tomorrow."
"They’re here, Daddy. Can I, please?"
I glance up and see that Dad's car and Nate's truck are both still in my driveway.
"Grandma said she’ll take me to school in the morning."
"Let me talk to her," I say, already knowing I’m going to give in, but wanting to confirm it’s okay with my folks.
***
I end the call with mom and put the phone back in my pocket before knocking gently on the door.
"Come in," Elle says, her voice quiet.
She’s still sitting on the couch, exactly where she said she’d wait. When I step inside, she looks up at me with those eyes—wide, uncertain, a little too full of guilt for my liking.
“How’s Meghan doing?” she asks, her voice low, almost hesitant.
Her beautiful face is set with concern, but it’s not the kind Meghan deserves.
I shake my head. “Meghan is fine,” I say flatly. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for her.”
Her gaze drops to her hands. "She lost her job because of me," she says.
I walk over and sit beside her. “Ever heard of Fletcher Enterprises?"
Her eyes widen slightly. "Wait," she says. "Is she related to Vincent Fletcher?"
“Yep. That’s her father.” I nod. “Private equity partner.
Started out flipping small companies, then moved into buying out struggling businesses and turning them for profit.
He's ruthless, smart, and disgustingly rich. Meghan grew up with everything—boarding schools, summer homes, the works. Trust fund that could buy this whole town twice over.”
Elle’s quiet for a long beat. Then, “I’ve seen that name on donation plaques. On buildings. I never made the connection.”
“Meghan never had to work a day in her life. That job at the group home? It wasn’t about income. It was about control. She liked holding power over people who had none. Her father must have taught her that’s what success looks like.”
Elle leans forward. “So she’ll be fine.”
“Better than fine,” I say. “She’ll lick her wounds at some private resort and be back at one of her father's charity dinners next month pretending she still runs the world. But make no mistake; today, you hit her where it hurts.”
“Why did you marry her?” she asks, without a hint of judgment.
I exhale through my nose. “I honestly don’t know.”
The silence stretches, but she waits.
“Meghan is calculating," I continue, "shallow, self-centered… cold. But she can also be incredibly charming. And when she wants something, she’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
“And she wanted you,” she says.
I nod once. “And she wanted me.”
A pause.
“I thought she loved me,” I admit. “But I was wrong.”
She meets my gaze and offers a soft smile. “She doesn’t know about us, does she?”
“She has no idea,” I say. “The day she picked up Hannah, she met Tina and jumped to her own conclusions. I never corrected her.”
Elle raises her eyebrows. “Doesn’t she talk to Hannah about it? I mean… I’d imagine she’d be asking a million questions.”
“She doesn’t talk to Hannah enough to have a meaningful conversation,” I say, the truth of it settling heavy in my chest. “And honestly? I don’t think she cares enough to want to know who I’m dating.”
"It’s only a matter of time before she finds out," she says, her voice low. Then she bites her lower lip. A quick, subconscious move she doesn’t even realize she’s making, completely unaware of how it affects me.
I stare at her, and we’re so in sync with each other that I can feel her shift as clearly as my own. I expect her to look away, but instead, she holds my gaze with equal intensity.
The stillness stretches between us, quiet and charged. Neither of us speaks, unwilling to break the spark building in the air.
We’re at an impasse, both waiting to see who’ll make the first move.
I don't have to wait long. Elle reaches up, her fingers sliding around the back of my neck with a quiet urgency that sends a pulse of heat straight through me. She pulls me down with her, and we sink into the couch, the world around us fading to the background.
Our lips meet, softly, hesitantly at first. Just a brush. A question. Then, as if we both find the answer at once, the kiss deepens. Her fingers tangle in my hair, and I wrap my arms around her, anchoring her to me like I’ve wanted to for longer than I’m willing to admit.
She tastes like peppermint and something sweet I can’t name, and the quiet sigh that escapes her lips nearly undoes me. There’s nothing rushed in the way we move, just a slow ache that’s been building between us for far too long.
By the time we part, my heart is pounding like I’ve run five miles, and the truth begins to sink in. Elle loves me too.
She clears her throat, a soft pink blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I got carried away."
I smile, our lips so close I have to fight the urge to kiss her again.
"I’m not complaining," I murmur, unable to hide just how much I love her. How much I need her.
"Nate must be waiting for you to relieve him of his babysitting duties," she says, straightening up on the couch and tugging at the hem of her skirt.
"Hannah is spending the night at my parents, and Nate went home."
Her eyes widen slightly as the realization sinks in—we have all the time in the world.
She studies me for a beat, as if debating whether to bolt from the couch like she did the day she found out who I am, or if she’s finally ready to tell me how she feels.
"I love you, Cal," she says, her voice a soft confession that has the power to change everything.
I lean in, my voice low, whispering against her ear, "I know. But are you going to let me love you, Elle? Or are you going to keep pushing me away, trapped by the past? I need to know. For me, for Hannah, and for you. Are you ready to let me love you?"
She smiles, but doesn't shy away this time. "We have all the time in the world," she whispers back. "I'm ready."
When I cup her neck and kiss her this time, there’s no hesitation.
Her lips are soft and inviting against mine, like they’ve always belonged to me.
There’s no rush, no need to hurry—just a slow, tender sweetness unfolding between us.
I feel her body relax into mine, the tension melting away as she surrenders to the kiss, to me.
As our lips move together, I come to realize that everything that came before this moment doesn’t matter anymore.
The love we share now is stronger than the pain she’s carried for all these years.
We’re not bound by the past anymore; we’re bound by the love we’ve found in each other—strong, enduring, and something that will last a lifetime.