Chapter 37
Cal
The hospital discharged Hadley and Asher three days after the birth. I wasn’t there for the paperwork, mom handled most of it while I sat in the hallway like a ghost, waiting for permission to carry the car seat.
When Hadley finally walked out, Asher bundled against her chest, Zariah pushing the wheelchair with the diaper bag, I felt like I was watching my entire future walk away.
I followed them to the parking lot. Zariah loaded the bags into her SUV. Hadley buckled Asher in the back, every movement careful, deliberate. I hovered uselessly.
“Hadley,” I said quietly. “Can I talk to Zariah for a second?”
She glanced at Zariah, then nodded once. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Zariah crossed her arms, eyes guarded. “What do you want, Cal?”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight with the weight of everything I’d fucked up. “I know you’re planning to fly back to Vegas soon. I get it. But… stay. In LA. For her. For him. For Eli, too.”
She raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of skepticism and barely contained anger. “And why the hell would I do that? You think I’m just gonna drop my life because you feel guilty?”
“I’m not asking for me,” I said, voice low and desperate.
“I’m asking for her. She needs you. She won’t admit it, she’s too damn strong for that, but she does.
And I....” I paused, the words catching like shards in my chest. “I’m checking into rehab tomorrow.
Thirty days. I won’t be around. She’ll be alone with a newborn and a teenager.
I can’t be there, but you can. You’re her rock, Zariah. You’ve always been.”
She studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching my face like she was looking for the lie. “You’re really going? Not just talking about it?”
“I’m terrified,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “But yeah. I signed the papers last night. I have to do this. For Asher. For her. For all of us.”
Zariah glanced back at the SUV, where Hadley was adjusting Asher’s blanket through the open door. Her shoulders softened just a fraction. “What are you offering? A pity job? Some handout?”
“No. A real one.” I pulled out my phone, opened the notes app where I’d typed this out the night before, my hands shaking as I handed it to her.
“Personal assistant for the family. Flexible hours. Good pay, six figures. Benefits. You can work remotely half the time if you want. Help with Asher when Hadley needs a break. Drive Eli to robotics. Whatever she needs. I’ll cover your rent, relocation, everything. Just… stay close to her. Please.”
She read it slowly, her brows furrowing. “This is serious money. Benefits? You’re not bullshitting me?”
“I swear,” I said, meeting her eyes. “It’s legit. The label’s on board, they need someone reliable for our charity stuff anyway. But this is for Hadley. You’d be helping her build something stable without me dragging her down.”
Zariah folded her arms again, but there was a flicker in her eyes, hesitation, maybe even consideration. “You know I could just say yes and then bail when you fuck up again.”
“I know,” I said, my voice raw. “But I’m begging you not to. She trusts you. She needs someone who won’t leave when it gets hard. And I’m going to get better. I have to.”
She was quiet for what felt like an eternity, the parking lot wind whipping around us. Then she sighed, long and heavy. “Fine. I’ll stay. But this job is for Hadley and the kids. Not for you. And if you fuck up again, even once, I’m gone, and I’m taking her with me. Understand?”
Relief crashed through me so hard my knees almost buckled, a sob catching in my throat. “Thank you. Jesus, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, her tone sharp but not unkind. “Earn it. And don’t think this makes us friends. You’ve got a lot to prove.”
I nodded, wiping at my eyes quickly. “I will. I promise.”
She turned back toward the car, pausing once. “For what it’s worth… I’m glad you’re going to rehab. Don’t waste it.”
I left the hospital that night after the divorce with Hadley and went straight to Calabasas.
The apartment I’d found was four bedrooms, two stories, gated community with twenty-four-hour security. Walking distance to a park, good schools nearby for Eli. I paid six months upfront, signed in Hadley’s name only.
Then I spent the next twelve hours there.
I had the nursery redecorated, soft gray walls, white crib with navy accents, rocking chair by the window.
I hung the mobile we’d picked out together, the one with little stars and guitars.
I stocked the closet with the clothes from the baby shower.
I even set up a small recording nook in one corner, nothing fancy, just a keyboard and headphones, so if I ever got to come over and sing to him, I could.
When it was done, I stood in the middle of the room and cried again.
I stocked the fridge with her favorite snacks, pickles, ice cream, those weird protein bars she craved. I left a note on the kitchen counter:
This is yours. No strings. Just a safe place.
I love you both.
—Cal
Then I drove to rehab.
Thirty days felt like thirty years.
The facility was quiet, rolling hills, group circles, one-on-one sessions that ripped me open every day. I cried more than I’d cried in my entire life, gut-wrenching sobs in therapy, quiet tears in bed at night. I talked about Mexico.
About the kidnapping. About the drugs that followed. About how I’d used them to stay numb so I never had to feel the abandonment again. About how I’d pushed Hadley away because letting her in meant risking losing her, and then I lost her anyway.
Every evening at 7 p.m., they let us make one supervised video call.
I called Hadley every single night.
The first week, she barely spoke. Just held the phone up so I could see Asher’s face, his tiny features filling the screen, his little breaths and gurgles breaking me every time.
“Hey, buddy,” I’d whisper, my voice thick with emotion, tears streaming down my face as I stared at the pixelated image. “It’s Dad. I miss you so much it hurts. I’m trying so hard to get better for you. For Mom. I love you.”
Hadley would watch from the background, her eyes tired but not angry. “He’s okay,” she’d say softly. “Growing fast.”
By week two, she started opening up a little, her face on the screen softening as we talked.
“How’s he sleeping?” I asked one night, wiping my eyes after a particularly rough therapy session.
“Better,” she said, propping the phone so I could see Asher in his bassinet. “Still wakes up every three hours, but he’s gaining weight. The doctor’s happy.”
“And Eli?”
“Adjusting. He loves the new apartment. The constellations in the nursery, you did that?”
“Yeah,” I said, my heart aching. “For you. He told me about the stars.”
She paused, eyes glistening. “Thank you. It means a lot.”
“How are you?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Really?”
A long pause. “Tired. Overwhelmed. But… okay. One day at a time.”
By week three, she shared moments that made me laugh through the tears.
“He smiled today,” she said, holding up a video on her screen. “Full, gummy smile. Zariah caught it.”
I watched it on loop during the call, my chest tight with joy and regret. “God, that’s beautiful. Send it to me? Please?”
“I will,” she promised. “He’s got your dimples.”
I choked on a sob. “I miss him. Miss you both so much.”
“We miss you too,” she whispered, and it felt like a lifeline.
Week four: “He rolled over today,” she said, her face lighting up on the screen. “Scared the hell out of me, I turned around for two seconds.”
I laughed, wiping fresh tears. “I wish I could’ve seen it. He’s getting so big already.”
“You will,” she said softly, her eyes meeting mine through the camera.
“When you’re out. Keep going, Cal. You’re doing good.”
Day twenty-eight: “One more week.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“I’m scared to see you. Scared you’ll look at me and still see the guy who hurt you.”
“I’m scared too,” she admitted. “But… we’ll figure it out. For Asher.”
I hung up crying, quiet, grateful tears.
The day I got out, I stood at the curb in sweatpants and a hoodie, duffel at my feet, heart hammering like it might burst from my chest.
A black SUV pulled up.
Hadley was driving. Asher’s car seat was in the back.
My eyes immediately glazed over.