Chapter 27 Caleb
CALEB
On the weekend, I picked up Nyah and Lucas, and we walked into Audrey’s Restaurant together. I had planned a surprise breakfast with Elle, Donna, and their families. I thought maybe keeping Nyah surrounded—keeping things light—might help.
I knew she wasn’t fine.
No matter how calmly she said it, no matter how carefully she held herself together, I could feel it in the space between us.
Something was wrong, and it had been wrong for a while.
What was she not telling me? Why could she never open up about herself—about her past, her emotions… about anything that truly mattered?
The nightmare she’d had wrecked me.
Watching her come apart like that, hearing the terror in her voice, feeling her cling to me—it stayed with me long after the night was over. I was worried about her in a way that went deeper than concern. It felt instinctive. Protective.
I wanted her walls to come down. I wanted her to let her guard drop, even just a little. I wanted her to trust me. I wanted to know everything—her joy, her sorrow, her pain, her fears. All of it. I didn’t want the edited version of her life.
I wanted the truth.
Even if it was ugly. Even if it hurt.
I needed to find out.
If she couldn’t tell me herself, then I would start where I could. I spoke to Elle and Donna, hoping they might have noticed something—some hint of what she had been carrying so quietly—but they had no answers. Or maybe they had simply decided it wasn’t their story to tell.
Now, when the food arrived, I revealed the second part of my surprise.
“Guys,” I said, glancing around the table, “I was wondering if all of you would like to celebrate New Year’s at my parents’ party this year?”
Everyone paused mid-bite, forks hovering, expressions unreadable.
“My family throws a party every year,” I continued, suddenly aware of the silence. “I thought maybe this year we could all celebrate together. It’s usually black-tie, but you don’t have to dress up if you don’t want to. What do you think?”
For a moment, I wondered if I’d made a mistake. They looked at me, then at Nyah, then back at me. Slowly, smiles spread around the table. Excitement followed—except for Nyah. She looked distracted and almost troubled.
On the drive back to her apartment, I casually said, “By the way, I was wondering if you and Lucas would like to spend Christmas with my family and me this year.”
The shock on her face was immediate. She opened her mouth to answer, clearly scrambling for words, but Lucas beat her to it.
“Yes!” he yelled. “We will! We will!”
I laughed, but I didn’t miss the way her brow creased.
“Does your family know you’ve invited us?” she asked, biting her lip.
She should not have done that. God. I had to physically restrain the thought that followed—the urge to lean in, to bite that same lip and see how she would react.
I shut it down instantly, forcing my mind back into line.
Get it together, Caleb. She’s just your friend.
That’s all she wants to be. I looked away before she caught anything in my expression.
Her question lingered, pulling me back into safer territory. I replayed the conversation with my parents in my head, every word still clear, and focused on how to answer her instead of everything I shouldn’t be thinking at all.
“That’s a wonderful idea, son,” my father had said, his smile wide and genuine.
My mother hadn’t shared the same enthusiasm. Her posture had stiffened, her expression tight.
“Yes,” I told Nyah carefully. “They know, and they’re absolutely fine with it.”
I meant it. Or at least, I believed it would be true.
As I dropped her and Lucas off at their apartment, a quiet certainty harboured inside me: once my mother met Nyah, she would love her. Just like Dad did. Just like I already did.
Keeping silent about how I felt for her hadn’t made those feelings fade. If anything, they had grown stronger—deeper, more stubborn.
I had tried dating other women after she shut me down, convincing myself that moving on was the sensible thing to do.
It hadn’t worked.
Every road somehow led back to her. I caught myself measuring every woman I met against her without even meaning to, and none of them ever came close. There was no comparison. There never had been.
She had asked for friendship, and she had been clear about it. I respected that. The last thing I wanted was to pressure her into something she wasn’t ready for.
And yet, despite wanting so much more, simply being near her had somehow become enough—standing beside her, helping her when she needed it, holding her when she let me.
Even if that was all I was ever allowed to be.
But holding her at Harper’s wedding, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, how naturally she fit in my arms, had made every restraint feel like a battle. For a moment, I had wanted to forget caution, forget patience, and ignite everything I felt, letting it burn between us.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
Maybe—just maybe—the magic of the holidays would change everything.
“Caleb?” Nyah asked, frowning. “What are you doing here?”
“Lucas asked me to come over and help with the tree,” I said, stepping inside. “I thought you knew?”
Before she could respond, Lucas appeared. I went after him immediately, chasing him around the living room until he was shrieking with laughter. When I finally caught him, I tickled him until he could barely breathe. “So,” I said, grinning down at him, “you didn’t tell your mom, huh?”
He only laughed harder.
I straightened and looked at Nyah.
She was watching us quietly, something guarded flickering behind her eyes. I felt that pull toward her, the one I kept pretending wasn’t there.
“I’d like to help with the tree,” I said. “Is it okay if I stay?”
She nodded.
With Christmas carols playing softly in the background, we decorated the tree together. I lifted Lucas so he could reach the higher branches, steadying him while he carefully placed ornaments, moving them again and again until he was satisfied.
The whole thing felt… domestic. Natural. Like something I wasn’t supposed to want as badly as I did.
Later, we went to the mall to buy gifts. For everyone. Including my family.
At the register, I handed over my credit card before Nyah could pull hers out. “We’ll just say they’re from both of us.”
The words slipped out easily, but the second I saw her reaction, I knew I’d crossed an invisible line. Her expression tensed, unease flashing across her face.
“Can I please pay for half of it?” she asked.
“Honestly,” I said, shaking my head, “I got it for both of us. It’s not a problem.”
“I know,” she replied, “but I’d feel much better if I covered half.”
I studied her for a moment. This was one of those boundaries she guarded fiercely. I stepped back and let her have it.
The cashier swiped both our cards, and I forced myself not to dwell on how much it had felt like we were stepping into something more.
Back at her place that evening, I was standing nearby when she suddenly swayed in the kitchen. My body reacted before my mind did. I caught her instantly.
“Nyah! Nyah,” I said. “Are you okay?”
She steadied herself too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just a bit tired from the whole day. That’s all.”
“Really?” I asked. “Is that what happened this morning as well?” I hesitated, then added, “Lucas is worried about you. He called me. Can we go to the doctor and get you checked out?”
“No,” she said immediately. “Honestly, I’m fine. Just the stress of work and planning everything. I am totally fine. If it happens again, I promise I’ll go to the doctor. I just need to rest.”
I searched her face, the way I had learned to do when she said one thing and meant another. “You promise?”
She nodded.
Every instinct in me said something wasn’t right, and the feeling only deepened the longer I looked at her. I was about to ask again if she was really okay when she shifted the conversation before I could press further.
“How are the flying lessons going?”
I hesitated for a moment. I knew exactly what she was doing—changing the subject, neatly sidestepping the question I hadn’t finished asking.
Part of me wanted to push anyway. Her health mattered more to me than polite conversation.
But another part of me knew that if she wasn’t ready to talk, forcing it would only make her retreat further behind those carefully built walls.
So I let it go.
For now.
I had mentioned my dream of learning to fly during one of our late-night conversations, and she had been the one who helped me find instructors.
“I’m loving it,” I said. “It’s exhilarating—lifting off and watching the ground fall away beneath you.” I glanced at her. “One day I’ll take you up… once I’m a little more confident, of course.”
“Of course,” she said. “That would definitely make me feel a lot better.”
I laughed with her, rinsed the mugs, and kept the conversation light for Lucas’s sake.
When it was time to leave, she walked me to the door.
“Text me when you get home,” she said.
“I will.”
I stepped into the hallway and waited until the door closed before exhaling.
Driving away, I replayed the evening in fragments—the way she had leaned against the counter, the sudden loss of colour in her face, the deliberate way she had changed the subject.
None of it felt accidental.
None of it felt small.
But for now, I chose patience.
Whatever she was carrying, she wasn’t ready to set it down. And until she was, I would stay exactly where she had placed me—close enough to matter, far enough not to frighten her.