Chapter 20
Cal
I finally broke.
Mom’s texts had turned into daily voicemails. At first, they were soft. Careful. The way she always approached me like I was a bomb she didn’t want to trigger.
By day five, the hurt had crept in under her voice. Quiet. Controlled. The kind that crawled under your skin.
“Calvin… just one dinner. Please. For me.”
I deleted three messages before I finally texted back.
Fine. Saturday. Hadley’s coming.
Her reply came instantly.
Thank you.
Two words. Too polite. Too relieved.
The whole drive over, my stomach sat in a tight knot that wouldn’t loosen no matter how hard I gripped the steering wheel.
Hadley sat beside me, posture straight, chin lifted like she was walking into a courtroom instead of my parents’ house. The dark green dress hugged the curve of her stomach ... a curve she’d stopped trying to hide weeks ago.
Her hand rested over the bump like a quiet claim.
Like armor.
She’d barely spoken since we left the apartment. Just stared out the window while the city blurred past us.
Halfway there, she finally said, “I’m not shrinking tonight.”
I glanced at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m done hiding. From them. From you. From anyone.”
Her eyes stayed forward. Calm. Steady.
I believed her.
And part of me was proud.
The other part was terrified of what that meant inside that house.
Mom opened the door before I even finished knocking.
She pulled Hadley into a hug immediately .... not stiff, not polite. Real. Lingering. I blinked in surprise watching Hadley soften slightly under it.
Mom stepped back, hands still on Hadley’s arms, eyes shining as she looked at her properly.
“Hadley… you’re beautiful. Look at you.”
Hadley gave a small smile. Genuine. “Thank you for inviting us, Anna. It means a lot.”
“Oh, honey, I’ve been dying to meet you properly,” Mom said, squeezing her hands. “Come in, come in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Mom ushered us inside like she was afraid we might disappear if she didn’t move fast enough.
Dad was already seated at the dining table, wine glass in hand, posture rigid as ever, tie perfectly knotted despite it being a Saturday night at home.
His eyes flicked up when we entered.
A curt nod. “Hadley.”
“Mr. Parker,” she replied smoothly.
No tremor.
No hesitation.
Mom had gone all out. Candles glowed along the center of the table. The expensive china she saved for holidays gleamed under the soft light. The smell of rosemary lamb and roasted potatoes filled the room, warm and heavy and nostalgic enough to make my chest tighten.
We sat.
Dad at the head.
Mom opposite him.
Hadley beside me, close enough that her knee brushed mine under the table. I felt the contact like a quiet reminder not to spiral.
Dinner started almost… normal.
Mom asked about the apartment. “Is the space working out for you both? I know Cal’s tours make things chaotic sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” Hadley said. “We’re making it home.”
About the pregnancy. “How are you feeling? Any morning sickness still?”
“Less now,” Hadley replied. “Mostly just tired. And craving weird things.”
Mom laughed. “Like what?”
“Burnt toast,” Hadley admitted with a small grin. “I cried over it two nights ago when I ruined a batch.”
Mom’s eyes softened further. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s normal. I craved pickles and ice cream with Cal. Drove Richard crazy running to the store at midnight.”
Dad sipped his wine. Silent.
I almost relaxed.
Then Dad set his fork down.
The sound cut through the room like a blade.
“So,” he said calmly, looking directly at Hadley, “what exactly is it you plan to do… after the baby arrives?”
The room tightened.
Hadley dabbed her mouth with her napkin before setting it beside her plate. Her voice stayed calm, but I felt the tension slide through her shoulders.
“I plan to raise my child,” she said.
Dad leaned back slightly. “And financially?”
I clenched my jaw. “Dad...”
“No,” he said sharply. “It’s a valid question.”
His gaze returned to her. Evaluating. Measuring.
“You left school, correct?”
Hadley didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“And you don’t currently work.”
“No.”
The blunt honesty hit the table like glass.
Dad gave a small, humorless smile. “Interesting. So my son is supporting a household alone while chasing his… musical fantasy.”
“It’s not a fantasy,” I snapped.
He ignored me.
“Tell me, Hadley,” he continued, “do you understand how unstable the music industry is? Tour income fluctuates. Streaming revenue is inconsistent. Band careers collapse overnight.”
My fingers curled into fists under the table.
Hadley inhaled slowly before answering. “I understand Cal works extremely hard. Rehearsals, writing, shows. It’s not easy.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He’s building something,” she said, voice gaining steel. “And I’m building a family with him.”
Dad scoffed. “Family requires stability. Planning. Discipline. Not late nights in clubs and headlines about bar fights and drunken performances.”
“You read tabloids now?” I muttered.
“I read facts.”
Mom reached across the table slightly. “Richard, maybe we can...”
“No,” he said again. “Someone needs to speak honestly before this entire situation collapses.”
He turned to me fully now.
“You had an executive internship lined up at Parker & Lowe. A guaranteed career path. Security. Respect. Instead, you threw it away to play guitar in dive bars.”
“It’s not dive bars,” I shot back. “We sell out venues. We have a label deal.”
“And what happens when you don’t?” he countered instantly. “What happens when the label drops you? When the band breaks? What supports this family then?”
“I will,” I growled.
“With what?” he pressed. “Passion doesn’t pay mortgages, Calvin.”
The old anger crawled up my spine like fire ants.
“I’m not you,” I snapped. “I don’t want your life. Your suits. Your boardrooms. Your fake dinners where nobody actually talks.”
“My life built this family,” he shot back. “It gave you every opportunity you now waste.”
“Waste?” I slammed my palm on the table. The silverware rattled. Mom gasped softly. “I’m doing what I love. I’m building something that’s mine.”
“You’re running from responsibility,” he said coldly. “And now you’ve dragged a child into it with a girl who has no education, no career, and no plan.”
Silence detonated.
Hadley stood.
Slow. Controlled. Her hand rested protectively over her stomach.
“Don’t talk about my child like it’s a mistake,” she said quietly.
Dad’s eyes flashed. “I’m discussing facts.”
“And don’t talk about my husband like he’s worthless,” she continued.
Dad blinked. “Husband. Right...So the media wasn't fibbing or rumours”
She lifted her chin. “We’re married. Courthouse. Few months ago.”
“Yeah,” I said flatly. “It’s true.”
“And you didn’t tell us?” Dad’s voice rose. “You got married without even a word to your family?”
“It wasn’t about you,” Hadley said firmly. “It was about us. About committing to this baby.”
Dad’s face flushed deep red.
“You barely know him,” he snapped.
“I know him enough to choose him,” she lies. “And I know he’s trying. More than you give him credit for.”
I grabbed her hand. “We’re leaving.”
Mom stood quickly. “Calvin, please.... let’s talk this through. We can sit down and....”
“No,” I said, already guiding Hadley toward the hallway. “I’m done being dissected at your table.”
Instead of the front door, I pulled her toward the back stairs.
The old narrow staircase creaked under our weight as we climbed. Past the hallway lined with family photos. Past the landing where sixteen-year-old me used to sneak cigarettes out the window and pretend I hated everything.
I stopped in front of the navy door at the end.
My room.
I pushed it open and locked it behind us.
The smell hit instantly. Dust. Old fabric. Ghosts of teenage rebellion.
Posters still peeled at the corners. The same navy comforter stretched across the bed. The desk still scarred from years of carving band names into the wood when I should’ve been studying economics.
Hadley stood in the middle of the room, looking around quietly.
Waiting.
I slid down the door until I hit the floor, head falling back against the wood.
“He’s not wrong,” I muttered.
She didn’t answer. Just lowered herself beside me slowly, careful with her stomach.
“He’s right about some of it,” I continued. “I burned every safe bridge he built for me. I drink when everything gets too loud. I walk into rooms and feel like I’m one bad show away from losing everything.”
My chest tightened.
“And now there’s a baby… and I’m terrified I’m going to screw this up the same way I screw up everything else.”
The words tasted like rust.
Hadley reached for my hand. Pressed my palm against her belly.
A sharp kick answered.
I froze.
“Holy… shit,” I whispered.
Her lips curved faintly. “Your kid’s already got attitude.”
Emotion slammed into me so fast it stole my breath. Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them.
“I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely. “For every night I came home drunk. For every morning, I pretended you weren’t there because I didn’t know how to be good enough for you.”
She brushed her thumb across my cheek. “Why do you do that, Cal? Pretend I’m not there?”
“Because it’s easier,” I admitted. “Easier than admitting I’m scared shitless.”
She nodded slowly. “You need real help, Cal. Not just guilt. Not just promises.”
My body tensed automatically.
“Meetings. Therapy. Something,” she continued. “Because I’m scared sometimes. And I don’t want to be scared raising our baby.”
The word scared hit deeper than anything my father had said downstairs.
I stood abruptly, running a hand through my hair. “You think it’s that simple? You think I can just walk into a room and say ‘Hi, I’m Cal and I drink too much’ and suddenly everything fixes itself?”
“I think it’s harder than that,” she said quietly. “But I think you’re strong enough to try. Aren’t you?”
Frustration flared, sharp and defensive. “You don’t know how bad it gets. The cravings. The noise. You don’t know what it’s like to need it just to function.”
“No,” she admitted. “But I know how bad it feels watching someone you love disappear inside it. And I won’t watch that with our child.”
She turned toward the door.
Panic surged instantly. I grabbed her wrist .... gently, but desperate.
“Wait,” I said. “Please. Don’t go.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around immediately. “Why should I stay, Cal? Give me a reason that’s not just words.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t snap at you when you’re trying to help. You just… you make me feel like I should be better already. And I hate that I’m not. You’re so… pure. Innocent. It makes me angry sometimes because I see what I’m missing.”
She turned slowly then, eyes glossy but steady. “I’m not pure. I’m just trying to survive this. With you.”
“Words aren’t enough, Cal,” she added softly.
“I know,” I said. “But stay. Just tonight. Stay with me without fighting. Without expectations. Just… us.”
She studied me for a long moment.
Then she stepped closer and kissed me.
The kiss wasn’t frantic. It was tired. Emotional. Heavy with everything we weren’t saying out loud.
I guided her gently toward the bed, careful of her stomach, breaking the kiss only long enough to help her sit. My hands traced her arms, her shoulders, memorizing warmth like I was afraid it might disappear.
“Cal,” she murmured. “We shouldn’t… not here.”
“Yes, here,” I whispered back. “Let me make this right. Even if it’s just for now.”
She hesitated, then nodded. Pulled me back down to her.
The world narrowed to breathing, skin, and the fragile reassurance of being wanted despite everything broken between us.
I pushed her dress up her thighs, slow, exposing soft skin.
Hooked my fingers in her underwear and slid them down, tossing them aside.
She was already wet. I spread her legs wider, knelt between them.
Leaned in. Tongue flat against her clit, licking slow circles at first, then faster.
Sucked gently. Slid two fingers inside her, curling them up to hit that spot.
She gasped. “Cal....fuck…”
Her hips bucked. Fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. I kept the rhythm steady, tongue flicking quick, fingers pumping until she clenched hard around me.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed. “Right there....”
She came shaking, thighs clamping my head, a quiet cry escaping her lips.
I climbed up, kissed her mouth while she panted. Tasted herself on my tongue. She reached down, fumbled my belt open, shoved my jeans and boxers down my thighs.
I kicked them off. Settled between her legs. Rubbed the head of my cock through her slickness, teasing her entrance.
“Inside,” she whispered. “Now.”
I pushed in slow.... inch by inch.... until I was buried deep. We both groaned. Hot. Tight. Perfect.
“Move,” she said, voice rough. Nails digging into my shoulders.
I did. Long, deep thrusts at first. Then faster. Harder. The bed creaked under us, headboard tapping the wall in rhythm.
“Harder,” she demanded. “Like you mean it.”
I gave it to her. Skin slapping skin. Sweat slicking our bodies. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper.
“Right there...don’t stop...” she gasped.
I angled up, hit that spot again and again. She clenched hard, came around me.... walls pulsing, crying out my name.
I followed seconds later. Groaned low into her neck. Spilled deep inside her, hips jerking until I was spent.
Time blurred. Emotions tangled with touch. Apologies were spoken between kisses instead of words.
Afterward, we lay tangled in my childhood bed, sheets twisted around us, her head resting against my chest while my hand rested protectively over her stomach.
“You’re everything I should want to be better for,” I murmured into her hair.
She tilted her face up slightly. “Then be better. Not for me. Not even for the baby. For yourself first.”
I nodded slowly.
The craving still hummed under my skin. Quiet. Patient. Familiar as breathing.
But her warmth grounded me.
The steady weight of her and the small life growing between us felt terrifying and fragile and real in a way alcohol never was.
I didn’t know if I could keep her.
I didn’t know if I deserved to.
But that night…
I didn’t reach for the bottle.