Chapter 22
Cal
Rehearsal dragged. The studio in the east wing of the mansion smelled like stale coffee and amp cables.
..same as always. Holland pounded the drums like he was working out a grudge.
Jake tuned his bass endlessly. Kei strummed quiet riffs, head down, focused.
Syd lounged on the ratty couch by the soundboard, legs tucked under her, scrolling her phone like she owned the place.
We ran through the new bridge for “Fracture” three times before Holland called a break. I wiped sweat from my forehead, set my guitar down, grabbed a water from the mini-fridge.
Syd looked up. Casual. “You guys sounded tight. That last take was fire.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
She tilted her head. “Kei killed those harmonies. He’s on point lately. Focused.”
Kei glanced over from where he was adjusting his strap. “Trying to be.”
Syd smiled.... small, knowing. “Yeah. I noticed. You’ve been over here a lot more. Helping with… stuff.”
I felt the shift in the air. Holland paused mid-stretch. Jake pretended to check his strings.
Kei shrugged. “Just helping out where I can.”
Syd nodded slowly. “That’s sweet. You’ve always had that hero complex, though. Remember sophomore year? You fixed my bike chain in the rain because I cried about it.”
Kei chuckled low. “Yeah. And you still owe me for that flat tire.”
She laughed. Light. But her eyes flicked to me. “Seriously, though. It’s good you’re stepping up. Cal’s got a lot on his plate with the baby coming. Hadley probably appreciates the extra hands.”
I capped the water bottle harder than needed. “She’s fine.”
Syd raised a brow. “Oh, I know. Just saying. Kei spends a lot of time at your place lately. It’s like he’s part of the furniture now.”
Holland snorted. “Leave it, Syd.”
“What? I’m being nice.” She leaned forward, voice dropping like concern. “I mean, pregnancy’s tough. And Cal, you’re out here grinding. It makes sense she’d lean on someone who’s… available.”
The word hung. Available.
Kei shot me a look, quick, neutral. “We’re good, man.”
“Yeah,” I said. Voice flat. “We’re good.”
But the seed was planted. Burrowing deep.
That night I came home and found Hadley in the kitchen, massive island covered in takeout containers, her picking at pad thai with a fork. Eli was upstairs in his room, probably gaming.
I set my keys down. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She looked up. Tired but not angry.
“I cleared tomorrow. The appointment. I’ll go.”
She paused mid-bite. “Really?”
“Yeah. 10 a.m., right? The one with the glucose test?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. You don’t have to...”
“I want to.” Lie. Or half-lie. I needed to. After Syd’s words gnawed at me all afternoon.
“Okay.” She set the fork down. “Thanks.”
The next morning, we drove to the OB’s office in silence. Traffic on Sunset was a crawl. Hadley fiddled with the radio until she landed on some soft indie station.
In the waiting room I flipped through a magazine without reading. When they called her name, I followed. Sat in the corner chair while the nurse drew blood for the test.
The doctor came in, smiled at us both. “Dad’s here today. Good to see.”
I nodded. Didn’t speak.
They did the ultrasound. Gel on her stomach. Wand pressing. The heartbeat filled the room, fast, steady.
“Everything looks great,” the doctor said. “Baby’s measuring right on track. Active little one.”
Hadley smiled. Real. “Yeah. Kicks like a mule.”
I watched the screen. The blur of limbs. Head. Spine.
On the way home I stopped at a bookstore. Came out with a bag.
Hadley eyed it. “What’s that?”
“Books.”
“Books?”
“Yeah.” I handed her the bag when we got inside the mansion. The foyer echoed our steps, too big, too empty.
She pulled one out. “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.”
“Figured I should know what’s coming.”
She traced the cover. “You’re reading this?”
“Trying to.”
That afternoon I sat in the living room, massive sectional swallowing me, flipping pages. Sections on trimesters. Nutrition. Labor signs.
Hadley walked by with laundry. Stopped. “Find anything interesting?”
“Yeah. Says the baby can taste what you eat through the amniotic fluid. So no more spicy Thai?”
She laughed. Soft. “I’ll try.”
I set the book down. Looked at her. Really looked. “What was your childhood like?”
She froze. Basket on her hip. “What?”
“Your childhood. Before Eli. Before Vegas.”
She set the basket down slowly. Sat across from me on the ottoman. “Why?”
“Because I don’t know. And I should.”
She studied me. Long. “It was… chaotic. Foster homes mostly. Some good. Most not. I learned early to keep my head down. Take care of myself.”
“Anyone stick?”
“One couple. For two years. They had a garden. Taught me to plant tomatoes. But they moved states. Couldn’t take me.”
I nodded. “Sounds hard.”
“Yeah.” She waited. “What about yours? Besides the dinner we saw.”
“Structured. Dad’s rules. Mom’s quiet fixes. Band in high school was my escape.”
She reached over. Squeezed my knee. “Thanks for asking.”
“Yeah.”
But the words felt wooden in my mouth. Actions I could do. Vulnerability? That stayed locked.
She appreciated it, I saw it in her eyes. But the loneliness lingered there too. Like she was waiting for more.
Two days later Syd showed up unannounced. I was in the home studio tweaking lyrics. Heard voices from the family room, Hadley’s laugh, Kei’s low rumble.
I walked in. Kei was on the floor assembling a rocker glider, tools spread on the rug. Hadley sat on the couch, handing him screws.
Syd stood in the doorway. Arms crossed. “Am I interrupting family time?”
Kei looked up. “Hey, Syd.”
Hadley’s smile faded. “Hi.”
Syd stepped in. Eyed the glider. “Cute. You’re basically playing house with her now, Kei. Assembling furniture. Next you’ll be picking out curtains.”
Kei sighed. “It’s just a chair, Syd.”
“Is it?” She turned to me. “Cal, you cool with this? Your bandmate turning into the live-in nanny?”
Hadley stood. Slow. Hand on her back. “He’s helping. Because he offered. Unlike some people who just show up to stir shit.”
Syd’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Hadley said. Voice steady. “Kei’s a friend. He’s here because he cares. What’s your excuse?”
Syd laughed, sharp. “My excuse? I’ve been part of this family longer than you’ve been alive, sweetheart. Cal and I go back. Way back.”
Hadley didn’t flinch. “And yet here you are, making everything about you. I'm his wife not you”
Syd looked at me. “You are only temporary. You gonna let her talk to me like that?”
I stepped between them. “Syd, chill. She’s pregnant. Stressed.”
Hadley’s eyes flashed to me. Hurt. “Don’t defend her. She came in here attacking.”
“She’s not attacking,” I said. “She’s just… Syd.”
Kei stood. Wiped his hands. “Maybe we take a breath.”
“No,” Hadley snapped. “I’m done with breaths. She waltzes in like she owns the place, throws shade, and you defend her?”
Syd smirked. “See? Drama.”
“Out,” Hadley said. Pointed at the door. “Now.”
Syd looked at me. Waiting.
I rubbed my face. “Syd, maybe head out. We’ll talk later.”
She huffed. Grabbed her bag. “Fine. Call me when you remember who’s actually on your side.”
The door slammed.
Hadley turned to me. Tears in her eyes. “You always choose her.”
“I didn’t choose...”
“You did.” She walked out. Up the stairs. Door clicked shut.
Kei packed his tools. Quiet.
I followed him to the driveway. Gated. Palm trees swaying in the breeze.
“Wait.”
He stopped by his truck. “What?”
“You replacing me?”
He leaned against the door. Sighed. “No, man. I’m not.”
“Then what?”
“You’re not being replaced. You’re just not showing up the way she needs.”
The words gutted me. Clean slice.
I swallowed hard. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” He opened the door. “But trying isn’t being there. Every time. Without the walls.”
He drove off.
I stood there. Sun beating down. Mansion looming behind me.
That night I watched Hadley sleep. Curled on her side in our bed, king-sized, sheets tangled around her legs. Moonlight from the French doors cut across her face.
I slid my hand over the bump. Felt a soft nudge.
Whispered, “I’m trying. I don’t know if it’s enough.”
The baby kicked again.
I closed my eyes.
Fear tasted like metal.