Chapter 27
Hadley
The flight back to LAX felt longer than the one to the Bahamas.
Maybe because leaving paradise always stretches time. Maybe because reality waits like a bill you forgot to pay.
Eli slept the entire way, curled toward the window, noise-canceling headphones hugging his ears while his tablet balanced perfectly across his lap. Even asleep, his fingers occasionally twitched like he was still building redstone circuits in dreams.
Cal sat beside me, quiet. Not scrolling his phone. Not drinking. Not fidgeting like he usually did during flights.
Just… present.
His hand rested lightly over my bump the entire time. Not gripping. Not claiming. Just there. Warm. Protective in a way that felt instinctual rather than performative.
Every time the baby shifted or kicked, his thumb brushed small circles across the same spot like he was learning the language of movement beneath my skin.
He never said anything about it.
Neither did I.
But I noticed he never once moved his hand away, even when the flight attendant asked him to lift the armrest for landing. He kept one finger hooked against my stomach like letting go would mean something fragile might break.
We landed at dusk.
Los Angeles stretched beneath us in orange haze and glittering headlights. The moment the plane doors opened, the humid salt air from the Bahamas disappeared, replaced by dry California smog and familiarity that pressed heavier than the heat ever had.
The Beverly Hills mansion looked the same when we pulled into the driveway.
Too white.
Too polished.
Too perfect in a way that felt sterile instead of comforting.
But when we stepped inside, something subtle had shifted. Maybe it was leftover sunlight warming the marble floors. Maybe it was the way Cal dropped his keys into the bowl and immediately grabbed our luggage without being asked.
Maybe it was the way Eli didn’t hesitate before walking in like it was home instead of temporary shelter.
Cal carried every bag upstairs in one trip, refusing help. Eli went straight to his room, already listing unpacking priorities under his breath, Lego set first, cables second, clothes sorted by texture and sleeve length.
I wandered toward the nursery almost without thinking.
It was still half-finished.
Boxes stacked in corners. The crib assembled but missing its mattress. Changing table empty except for a folded instruction manual Cal never threw away. A soft rug still rolled halfway open like it was waiting for permission to belong there.
Cal stood in the doorway that first evening back, sleeves rolled up, eyes scanning the room with an intensity he usually reserved for songwriting sessions.
He leaned his shoulder against the frame, studying the chaos like it was a puzzle he genuinely wanted to solve.
“Neutral colors?” he asked.
I nodded. “Grays. Beiges. Nothing gendered.”
He opened the first box, sheets. Soft gray with tiny white stars.
“These are good,” he said. “But what if we do a soft blue accent? Not baby blue. Slate. For the boy.”
I raised a brow. “Still on that?”
He smirked. “Admit it. The kicks are boy kicks.”
“They’re strong kicks. Could be a girl who’s already tired of your nonsense.”
He laughed, quiet, real,and started unfolding the fitted sheet. We worked side by side. Him stretching the corners, me smoothing the top. Our fingers brushed. He didn’t pull away.
“These curtains,” he said, holding up the linen panels. “Too sheer?”
“Perfect for light but not blinding.”
He climbed onto a chair to hang them, muttering under his breath when he struggled with the rod brackets. I leaned against the dresser, watching him work, realizing this was the first domestic thing I’d ever seen him willingly invest himself in.
He stepped down and studied the room again.
"Looks… like a room someone lives in.”
I touched the crib rail. “It does.”
He stepped behind me. Arms sliding around my waist carefully, mindful of my stomach. His chin rested against my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. “We did this.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “We did.
......
The band came over two days later.
Unannounced. Like weather.
Jake carried beer like it was part of his personality. Holland balanced three pizza boxes against his chest. Kei followed last, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, nodding once when he stepped inside.
They sprawled across the living room like muscle memory, shoes kicked off, voices filling the house with familiar noise that bounced off marble and glass.
Jake whistled low when he noticed the nursery door open.
“Damn. Nursery’s coming along. You two playing house for real now?”
Cal shrugged from the couch beside me, his arm draped loosely across the backrest behind my shoulders, not touching me, but close enough that I felt it.
“Trying.”
Holland grinned around a slice. “I’m just glad to see you not hungover for once.”
Cal flipped him off without looking up from the TV.
Kei stayed quiet longer than usual.
He watched.
Not obviously. Not in a way anyone else would clock. But I felt his gaze settle and linger in brief intervals, when Cal passed me a glass of water without asking, when I laughed at something Jake said and leaned into Cal’s side, when Cal’s fingers brushed my knee absentmindedly while he talked.
When Jake and Holland eventually raided the fridge, leaving grease fingerprints on every cabinet, Kei leaned forward slightly.
“Hadley,” he said low. “Can we talk?”
I gave him a small nod, looking back at Cal then following Kei out.
We stepped onto the terrace. Night air cool. City lights below.
The night air wrapped cool around my skin, carrying faint city noise and distant sirens that reminded me paradise vacations don’t exist in real life.
Kei leaned against the railing, arms folded loosely, staring out over Beverly Hills lights stretching like a constellation flipped upside down.
He didn’t speak immediately.
When he did, his voice stayed low.
"I love Cal like a brother. He’s the oldest friend I’ve got. But I’ve seen him careless his whole life. No boundaries. No off switch. I’m happy for you two, really. But keep your walls up. Be ready for anything.”
I crossed my arms. “You think he’ll hurt me.”
“I think he doesn’t know how not to. Yet.” Kei exhaled. “I’m rooting for him. For you. Just… don’t bet everything until he proves it.”
I nodded. “I won’t.”
He squeezed my shoulder once. “Good.”
Back inside, Cal caught my eye. Waited until everyone left.
Later, in bed, he pulled me close. “What’d Kei say?”
I hesitated. “To keep my walls up.”
Cal tensed. “Because of me.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretched.
Then he spoke. Voice rough. “I get jealous. When you talk to him. When you confide in him instead of me. It drives me fucking crazy.”
I turned in his arms. “It’s not my fault, Cal. You brought that on yourself. For months. Years. I needed someone safe. Kei was that.”
He swallowed. “I know.”
“I’m not stopping being friends with him because you’re insecure.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“But if it makes you better, if it helps you show up, I’ll only talk to him when you’re there. Or when it’s about Eli. That’s it.”
He searched my face. “You’d do that?”
“For us? Yeah.”
He kissed me. Hard. Grateful. “Thank you.”
...
Cal’s birthday was three days later. He turned twenty-six.
He told me the night before, quiet, almost embarrassed. “I don’t want a party. Just you. Dinner here. Maybe Eli picks the movie.”
I smiled. “Done.”
But Sydney had other plans.
The doorbell rang at seven. I answered, thinking delivery.
Sydney stood there. Red dress. Makeup perfect. Holding a cake box.
“Surprise,” she said sweetly. “I threw Cal a little party. Invited everyone. Including you.”
My stomach dropped.
Behind her: Jake, Holland, a handful of industry people I recognized from photos. Music playing from someone’s phone. Balloons. The whole thing staged.
Cal appeared behind me. Face blank. “Syd. What the fuck.”
She smiled wider. “You said you didn’t want anything big. So I made it small. Intimate. For old times’ sake.”
I felt the trap snap shut.
People pushed inside. Laughter. Clinking bottles. Cal’s jaw clenched so hard I thought it would crack.
I grabbed his arm. “We don’t have to..."
But Sydney was already handing him a drink. “Come on. One toast. For the birthday boy.”
He took it. Didn’t drink.
The living room filled fast. Music louder. Someone turned on the pool lights outside.
I stayed near the kitchen island. Watching. Waiting for the moment it turned messy.
It didn’t take long.
Sydney cornered Cal near the stairs. Hand on his chest. Laughing too loud at something he didn’t say. Leaning in. Whispering.
I saw red.
I crossed the room. Fast.
“Get your hand off him.”
She turned. Smirked. “Jealous, Hadley?”
I didn’t think. Just swung.
My palm connected with her cheek. Sharp crack.
The room went quiet.
Sydney’s hand flew to her face. Eyes wide.
“Never step foot in my house again,” I said. Voice shaking but clear. “This is our home. Mine. Cal’s. Eli’s. The baby’s. You’re not welcome.”
Jake stepped forward. “Hadley...”
“No.” I looked at him. At Holland. At the others. “You let her do this. Every time. You watched him spiral and did nothing. Not tonight.”
Holland looked down. Jake rubbed his neck. No one defended her.
Sydney laughed...high, brittle. “You think you won?”
“I think you lost,” I said. “Get out.”
She looked at Cal.
He stepped beside me. Voice low. Cold. “Leave, Syd.”
She stared. Then turned. Walked out. Door slammed.
Silence.
Cal looked at me. Eyes wide. Something new in them.
I exhaled. Shaky.
He took my hand. Led me upstairs. Past the curious stares.
In our room he locked the door. Pulled me into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said against my hair. “I should’ve stopped it sooner.”
“You did,” I whispered. “Eventually.”
He pulled back. Looked at me.
“I blocked her. Before the trip. But she must’ve used someone else’s phone. I didn’t know.”
I nodded. “I believe you.”
He cupped my face. “I’m done letting her in. Done letting anyone come between us.”
I searched his eyes. Saw something shift. Not perfection. Not fixed. But… intent.
“I want to be better,” he said. “Not just for the baby. For you. I’m going to therapy. Starting next week. Meetings too. I’m not promising I won’t fuck up. But I’m promising I’ll fight it.”
My throat closed.
He kissed me. Soft. Slow.
When he pulled back. I blurted out the words that has been on top of my tongue for years.
“I love you Cal.”
The words hung. Real. Heavy.
He didn't say them back. Not yet.
But I let him hold me.
Hoping this doesn't blow up in my first.
Downstairs the party died fast. People left quietly.
Later, after Eli was in bed, Cal and I sat on the terrace. City lights below.
He pulled me into his lap. Hand on my bump.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Tonight. You stood up.”
“I had to.”
He nodded. “I know.”
We stayed like that. Quiet.
The baby kicked.
He smiled against my neck. “See? Even he’s proud.”
I laughed. Soft.
Hope didn’t feel like sunburn anymore.
It felt like dawn.
Fragile.
Possible.
And maybe, just maybe, real.