Chapter 39
Kei
I’d spent the last few weeks telling myself the feelings would fade.
They didn’t.
Every time I saw Hadley, dropping off Eli’s robotics kit at the new apartment, bringing groceries when Zariah was sick, holding Asher while she answered the door with tired eyes and that quiet strength that always hit me like a punch, I felt it deeper.
The way she laughed at Eli’s blunt observations. The way she rocked Asher with one hand while texting me updates about Cal’s rehab progress. The way she looked at me sometimes, like she trusted me, like I was safe, and it twisted something inside my chest because I knew I wasn’t safe at all.
Not anymore.
Cal was out of rehab now. Sober. Trying. They were co-parenting, awkwardly, carefully, like two people learning to walk again after a car crash. Divorce papers were filed but not finalized. There was space. Hope, maybe.
For them.
But I was still here, wanting what I had no right to want.
I showed up at the Calabasas apartment on a Thursday afternoon with coffee and a bag of those sourdough bagels she liked.
Asher was down for his afternoon nap. Two and a half months old and already running her entire life on a feeding-and-sleep roulette.
Eli was at school. Zariah had stepped out for a meeting.
Hadley opened the door in leggings and one of Cal’s old band hoodies, too big, sleeves rolled up. Her hair was in a messy bun. She looked exhausted and beautiful and completely unaware of how much it wrecked me.
“Hey,” she said, stepping aside. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“I was in the area,” I lied. “Figured you could use caffeine that isn’t hospital-grade.”
She smiled, small, real, and took the tray. “You’re a lifesaver. Come in.”
We ended up in the living room. Asher’s bouncer sat in the corner; toys scattered like colorful landmines. She sank onto the couch, curling her legs under her.
“How’s he doing?” I asked, nodding toward the nursery door.
“Regression phase,” she said tiredly. “Apparently two and a half months is when babies decide sleep is optional torture.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Sounds about right.”
She glanced toward the hallway, maternal instinct permanently switched on now. “He’s worth it though. Even when he screams like a tiny dictator.”
“And you?” I asked gently.
She shrugged. “Surviving. Zariah’s been a godsend. Eli’s obsessed with being the big uncle. Cal’s… trying. Really trying.”
The mention of Cal still stung, but I forced myself to stay steady.
I nodded. Took a breath.
“Hadley… can we talk?”
Her posture stiffened slightly. Not fear. Recognition. Like she already knew where this was going.
“Okay.”
I set my coffee down, palms suddenly damp.
“I know I already told you how I felt,” I said quietly. “Before… everything exploded. Before Asher. Before rehab. Before the divorce filings.”
She stayed silent, listening.
“I’m not here to repeat it,” I continued. “I’m here because things have changed. You and Cal are separating. You’re rebuilding your life. And I needed to ask… if anything changed for you. If there’s even a possibility now. Or someday.”
Hadley’s gaze dropped to her hands. Then toward the nursery door again, like Asher was her anchor.
When she finally looked back at me, her expression was soft but resolved.
“I do see you, Kei. I’ve always seen you. You’ve been kind to me when no one else was. You listened. You checked in. You defended me when you could. I appreciate that more than I can explain.”
My chest tightened anyway. “But.”
“But I still can’t,” she said gently. “Not with you. Not with any of you.”
I swallowed. “What does that mean… exactly?”
She exhaled slowly, choosing her words with care.
“You, Cal, Jake, Holland… even Sydney, though she’s gone now. You’re all toxic. Not individually evil. Not monsters. But together? You enabled each other for years.”
The words landed like stones. Expected. Still heavy.
“You covered for Sydney when she manipulated him,” she continued.
“You stayed silent when she weaponized your shared trauma to hurt me. You watched Cal spiral and didn’t force him into help until it was almost too late.
You let the group dynamic excuse bad behavior because ‘we survived Mexico together.’ But survival doesn’t give you a free pass to hurt people. ”
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. She wasn’t wrong.
“I kissed you,” I said hoarsely. “That part was me. Not the group.”
“And I pushed you away,” she said gently. “But you still crossed that line knowing how fragile everything was. Knowing I was pregnant. Emotional. Lonely. You might not have meant to take advantage… but you were standing in a moment that was never yours to take.”
My hands shook in my lap. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But intent doesn’t erase impact. And right now, I need distance from all of that. From the band. From the trauma-bonding. From the way you all orbit each other and leave everyone else collateral damage.”
I nodded slowly, throat burning. “So… there’s no chance? Even down the line?”
“Not right now,” she said. “And I can’t promise an ‘ever.’ I’m focusing on Asher. On Eli. On myself. I’m in therapy now, real therapy, not just co-parenting sessions. And I need people in my life who aren’t tied to that past.”
I wiped my face quickly, embarrassed by the sting in my eyes. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’re not a bad person, Kei. You’re just part of something that’s been broken for a long time.”
I stood, legs unsteady.
“I’ll go.”
She walked me to the door. At the threshold, she touched my arm, light, brief.
"Not hurt you or anything but I'm still very in love with Cal" she says sadly
“Thank you for being honest,” she said. “And for being kind when you could be.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really am. You deserve someone who can love you without all this baggage. And I deserve the same.”
I nodded slowly. “I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracked. “I do.”
She reached over, squeezed my hand once, brief, kind, final.
“You’ll always be Eli’s cool uncle. Asher’s too, if you want. But that’s where it has to stay.”
I swallowed. “I’d like that.”
I walked to the door. Paused. “Take care of yourself, Hadley.”
“You too, Kei.”
I left.
....
The drive back to my place was a blur. I ended up at Sydney’s condo instead, old habit, muscle memory. She opened the door in sweats, hair in a messy ponytail, eyes red and glassy.
“What do you want?” she asked, voice flat.
“To check on you.”
She laughed, bitter, hollow. “Now you care? After you all told me to fuck off?”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t stop them.”
I stepped inside. The place was a mess, bottles on the coffee table, takeout containers, her guitar untouched in the corner.
“You’re spiraling,” I said quietly.
“No shit.” She sank onto the couch. “They’re done with me. Cal blocked me. Holland won’t answer. Jake sent one text: ‘Get help.’ Like I’m the problem.”
“You are part of the problem,” I said. “But so are we.”
She looked up, eyes narrowing. “Don’t start with the therapy bullshit. I don’t need it.”
“You do. We all do.”
She laughed again... sharper. “This is about her, isn’t it? Hadley. Little Miss Perfect. She waltzes in, gets pregnant, and suddenly I’m the villain. She ruined everything.”
“She didn’t ruin anything,” I said. “We did. We let you weaponize Mexico for years. We let guilt keep us tied to you. We let it excuse behavior that hurt people. Including you.”
Sydney stared at me. Tears welled. “I loved him. I still do.”
“I know.”
“And she gets to keep him. Keep the baby. Keep the life.”
“She’s not keeping him,” I said quietly. “They’re divorcing. But she’s keeping her dignity. And she should.”
Sydney wiped her face. “You’re in love with her.”
I didn’t deny it. “I was. I told her. She turned me down. Politely. Told me we’re all toxic. That we need to fix ourselves before we fix anything else.”
Sydney snorted. “She’s not wrong.”
“No,” I said. “She’s not.”
Silence settled between us, heavy, familiar.
“I miss you guys,” she whispered. “I miss us.”
“I miss us too,” I admitted. “But the version of us that existed before we started hurting each other isn’t coming back. We have to build something new. Or let it go.”
She looked at me, really looked. “You’re leaving too, aren’t you?”
“I need space. From all of it. From you. From them. From her.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
I stood. “Get help, Syd. Please. Not for us. For you.”
She didn’t answer. Just stared at the floor.
I left.
....
Cal’s new place was a penthouse in West Hollywood, nothing flashy, just six bedrooms with good light and a view of the hills. He opened the door in a T-shirt and sweats, hair messy, eyes clearer than I’d seen in years.
“Hey,” he said, surprised. “Come in.”
I stepped inside. The place smelled like coffee and fresh laundry. A framed photo of Asher sat on the counter, taken last week, the baby smiling gummy at the camera.
“Nice,” I said, nodding at it.
Cal smiled, small, real. “Yeah. Hadley sent it.”
We sat on the couch. He handed me a water.
“What’s up?” he asked.
I took a breath. “I told Hadley how I feel.”
He froze. “When?”
“Today. After you left the apartment.”
Cal looked down at his hands. “And?”
“She turned me down. Said we’re all toxic, you, me, her, Syd. That the four of us enabled each other’s worst shit for too long. That even without Syd in the picture, we still carried her poison. That we all need therapy. Real therapy.”
Cal exhaled slowly. “She’s right.”
“I know.”
He looked at me, pain in his eyes, but no anger. “You love her.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I do. Did. Do. But she’s right. I can’t be what she needs. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
Cal nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t make me feel this way. I did that myself.”
Silence stretched.
Then I spoke again. “She still loves you, Cal.”
He looked up sharply. “What?”
“Her walls are sky-high. She’s protecting herself. Protecting Asher. But the way she talks about you, the way her face softens when she says your name, she still loves you. She’s just terrified you’ll break her again.”
Cal’s eyes filled. “I already did.”
“Yeah. But you’re trying to fix it. Keep trying. Don’t give up on her. Don’t give up on yourself.”
He swallowed hard. “I won’t.”
I stood. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“Check on Syd.”
Cal blinked. “Fuck no men. Why?”
“Because despite everything, despite the manipulation, the hurt, she was our oldest friend. We survived Mexico together. We carried that trauma together. She’s spiraling.
She blames Hadley, but she’s hurting. She needs someone to tell her to get help.
Not to forgive her. Just… to care enough to say it. ”
Cal stared at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded. “Okay. But I'll have to tell Hadley first”
I walked to the door. Paused.
“I’m stepping back,” I said. “From her. From you guys for a while. I need to figure out who I am without the band. Without the guilt. Without her.”
Cal stood. Crossed the room. Hugged me, brief, fierce.
“I love you, man,” he said. “Thank you for being honest.”
I hugged him back. “Love you too.”
Then I left.
....
The bar was half-empty, dim lights, low music, the kind of place where no one asked questions. I slid onto a stool, ordered a club soda with lime.
The bartender slid it over. “Rough night?”
I stared at the glass. “Rough life.”
He nodded like he’d heard it before.
I sipped slowly. Watched the ice melt.
Thought about Hadley’s quiet voice saying we’re toxic.
Thought about Asher’s tiny hand.
Thought about Cal’s clear eyes.
Thought about Sydney alone in her condo.
Thought about me, still carrying the same weight I’d carried since Mexico.
I set the glass down.
Pulled out my phone.
Opened a search for therapists in LA.
Typed: trauma-informed.
Hit enter.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was running.
I felt like I was finally starting to walk