36. Cal
CAL
I ’m sitting on the edge of the couch in my apartment in L.A.—hands steepled, elbows on my knees, eyes locked on the letter from Scoop lying on the coffee table like it might explode.
The logo mocks me.
A week ago, my legal team stepped in. Two days after that, Scoop folded under pressure. They’ve issued a public apology, pulled every photo and article from the internet, and even promised to suspend the marketing team responsible for the leak.
Too little. Too late.
None of that fixes what they broke.
I stare at the letter, but my thoughts are stuck somewhere else. On her porch. On her voice breaking when she told me to leave. On how she let us go without a fight.
The memory cuts deeper than it should.
I was ready to fight for her. Ready to explain, to stay, to be vulnerable—I was so ready. And she looked me in the face like I was a stranger who’d stolen something from her.
Maybe I did.
Maybe that’s what hurts the most.
I let out a slow breath and drag a hand through my hair, restless. My chest feels too full, like something’s lodged behind my ribs and won’t budge. I haven’t touched a thing in this apartment since I got back. Not the fridge. Not the gym. Not even my bed.
All I do is pace. Sit. Stare.
Break a little more every day.
I thought time would dull it. I thought once the firestorm settled and the world moved on, I could too. But the silence left in the aftermath? It’s worse.
It’s where I feel her absence the loudest.
I need an outlet. Something—anything—to keep me from losing my mind.
Deep down, I know this isn’t Scoop ’s fault. I should have been honest with Margot, but I need to take my frustrations out on someone, and they’re the scapegoat.
My hand moves on its own, reaching for the phone lying beside me. I unlock it, and before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up her name.
Margot.
There it is. A whole thread of blue bubbles with no replies. Missed calls. Voice notes left unread.
I scroll, even though I’ve already memorized the silence. I miss her. Not just her laugh or the way she looks at me when I surprise her. I miss being with her. I miss who I was in that town—who she made me want to be.
Now she’s gone. Because I didn’t tell her the truth when it mattered most.
I stare at her name on my screen like it might light up. Like she might change her mind and finally pick up.
But she doesn’t.
She hasn’t.
Instead, I call Sam. I haven’t spoken to him since I left Everfield, thinking he won’t want to speak to me after I hurt his daughter. But I’m desperate now, and I’ll take anything I’m handed.
I don’t expect him to pick up. Honestly, I almost hang up after the first ring, thinking he’ll ignore it—thinking I deserve that. But then I hear his voice.
“Cal.”
I clear my throat. “Hi, Sam. I know this is probably the last call you want to get, but?—”
“Why do you think so?”
I pause. “I hurt your daughter. I lied.” The silence hangs heavy. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I told her too soon, it’d ruin whatever we were building. But it turns out waiting too long did the same thing.”
Another pause.
Then a sigh. “You still in L.A.?”
“Yeah. I’ve been here the whole time. Handling the press, lawyers, everything. I’ve also dealt with the pictures. I’ve tried reaching out to her, Sam. She won’t take my calls.”
“Can you blame her?”
“No,” I say quietly. “No, I can’t.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while. Then I hear the clink of something—maybe a mug on a coaster. And his voice softens, just a little.
“I like you, Cal. I liked the man who showed up and fixed everything with me, who ate Jo’s mystery casseroles without complaint. That guy fits in here. Money or no money. But you hurt her. That’s not easy to overlook. Now the question is… How do you want to handle it?”
I lean forward, rubbing my hands together like the friction will somehow help me think. I thought I had it all figured out. But now? Now that he’s asking?
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly. “I want her, Sam. I want Margot. But how do I get her back?”
There’s a beat of silence before I push the words out. “Would it be okay if I came back?”
“You kidding?” he says, voice warming. “It’s your home, son. You’re welcome anytime.”
I close my eyes, breathing that in.
“But I don’t belong there,” I say after a moment, the words surprising me even as I speak them.
Sam chuckles. “You do if you want to. Everfield isn’t about blood or birthrights. It’s about heart. And you’ve already got one foot in.”
I nod slowly, already making up my mind.
“Then I’m coming back,” I tell him. “And I’m staying for as long as it takes her to take me back.”
He laughs. “Just a warning—Margot’s stubborn as heck.”
“So am I,” I say. “More stubborn than she is.”
“Well, then,” Sam says, the smile in his voice unmistakable. “Let’s see who wins.”
Over the next few days, I prepare to travel to Everfield. I book my ticket. I pack light. And I call Jo and Aunt Edie.
Each time I hear their voices, it nearly breaks me.
Their warmth, their care—it’s the kind of thing that creeps into your bones and stays there. They could’ve chosen not to speak to me. They could’ve shut me out the way I probably deserve. But instead, they give me a chance.
And I don’t take that lightly.
Jo talks my ear off about the heatwave and how her tomato jam isn’t setting right, and Edie, in her usual calm, measured voice, tells me she’s keeping the attic apartment ready for me. Just in case. No pressure. Just in case.
I hang up both calls with my throat tight.
Everfield is still there. Just like I left it.
Waiting for me with open arms. Except for Margot.
But I already have the support of her family, and I’m ready to fight for as long as it takes to win her over.
I don’t want to dwell on my worry or fear that she will not listen to me.
I focus only on my resolve, strong and unshakable.
I will not leave Everfield until Margot forgives me.