Chapter Eighteen #3
“Thought it’d be Aly,” Cal said. He knew he should release the sink, straighten, pretend he was okay, but he couldn’t manage. “She’s usually the go-to Cal whisperer, isn’t she? I won’t chew Aly’s head off. Send her my way.”
Landon leaned against the door jamb, studying Cal with critical eyes. “I drew the short stick.”
He was joking. Cal knew he was joking. He didn’t appreciate it.
“You don’t look well, Cal.”
“Stunning observation, Landon.”
“What is it?”
Cal laughed. Bitterly. “What is what?”
“Like are you sick? Did you remember something? What is this?”
Cal let out a slow breath. His stomach still roiled. His head was starting to pound. He felt sick, and he remembered nothing. “Look, I’m just as fed up with my own bullshit as you guys are. I don’t need … whatever this is.”
“We’re not fed up, Cal. We’re all concerned.”
“Same thing.”
“It isn’t. I’d tell you if it was.”
Cal glanced up at Landon. He believed that. Landon might have unclenched a little since he’d finally gotten together with Aly, but he wasn’t one to blow smoke up Cal’s ass, even these days, that was for sure.
Landon looked like Dad in this light, except never really like Dad, because despite all Landon’s uptight, asshole nature, there was humanity somewhere in Landon.
In his eyes, the same color as Dad’s. In his hands, the same shape and size as Dad’s.
Maybe it was Mom’s blood, beating in there somewhere, saving them both from their Bennet fates.
They’d been bitter rivals most of their lives. They had never once understood each other. And Cal had mostly felt … superior all those years. Better than Landon and his choice to chain himself to this fucking hellhole. Better. Smarter. More successful.
But Landon got everything, just like always. The ranch was still his and he still wanted it to be. He had Aly, the one and only woman he’d ever pined over. He had every fucking thing.
And Cal was the one with his life in shambles, a sniveling mess of mental issues.
Cal didn’t like the pity parties in his own head. It was the kind of thing alcohol could usually smooth over, and even that had been taken from him because now he heard Dr. Michaels’s voice talking about addiction any time he considered a drink and fuck that.
“What’s wrong with thinking Glenda might be trying to protect this Bo Lake guy?” Landon asked gently. Not accusing.
What world was this? Cal gripped the sink tighter.
“I don’t know, Landon. I don’t fucking know.
I just know that Sam said it, and I felt like everything inside me was crumbling.
Just like remembering … Mom. Only this time there’s nothing on the other side.
Just a pit of fucking darkness and terror. ”
Which was the glaring truth he’d been trying to dance around. He glanced over at Landon again. “That what you want to hear?”
Landon’s dark gaze held his. He didn’t panic or get that angry look about him. If there was anything there that Cal recognized, he supposed it was a bit of discomfort. But Landon didn’t retreat.
Like he usually did.
“I don’t particularly want to hear anything,” Landon said slowly, as if weighing every word he used. “I want to find a way that this … doesn’t hurt you so much.”
“Yeah, join the fucking club,” Cal said bitterly, but not because what Landon said didn’t … mean something. Just because there was, at the heart of this, one thing he hadn’t told anyone.
He wasn’t planning on telling anyone, but something about being trapped in this bathroom with Landon had the words tumbling out.
“There are things … I think there are things I don’t remember still,” he said out loud for the first time.
“And I’m afraid they won’t be the kind of neat little bow things like Dad killing Mom. ”
“Yeah, that was a real neat bow.”
Cal huffed out something he couldn’t call a laugh, but the sarcasm from Landon felt like some tiny wave of relief. Until the reality of it all just dug in, twice as hard.
“What if there’s more, Landon? What the hell am I supposed to do with more?” Cal couldn’t stand under the weight of it. So he plopped down, right on the floor, leaning back against the wall.
Cal couldn’t hide his surprise when Landon did the same, sitting next to him so they were shoulder to shoulder. Their long legs stretched out, taking up most of the small half bath. Too big for this room. Too old for this shit.
“I think you’re supposed to let us help you bear it,” Landon said.
Cal closed his eyes. It wasn’t a new sentiment. It was what Aly had said. Nate, in his own way. Hell, his therapist.
But Cal didn’t know how.
Still, the words held more weight because it was Landon. Aly always wanted to make everything all right. Nate … well, Cal still wasn’t sure what Nate wanted. In some ways, Cal thought he and Nate were just a little bit too much alike to fully understand each other.
But Landon? They’d been at odds for so long.
Now they weren’t. And only they understood the weight of that.
“Listen, Cal,” Landon said, not in that heavy-handed I know best way, but in a quiet, gentle voice Cal wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from Landon. Except maybe geared toward Aly.
“We were taught to look away, to run away. To hide and cower and pretend that wasn’t what we were doing at all.
Pretend that was actually strength. All our lives, we were …
what’s that word they use with cults and shit?
Programmed? By Dad. And I like to think, because of Mom, because of maybe us, it didn’t fully work.
But it worked well enough, because here we are.
And every last one of our natural inclinations is to withdraw—different kinds of withdrawals, but they’re all the same at the heart.
My suggestion is the opposite of that, because I think that’s what we need. ”
“Maybe you’re right, Landon. Maybe I can actually get to agreeing with you on that. But if Glenda has some connection to Bo Lake, and she wants him far away from here, putting them in the same room isn’t the answer.”
“Maybe not. But why don’t we give her the choice? She can say no. She can impress upon you to get him away from here again. But let’s stop getting pinballed around. Let’s move toward it. We have that choice, and she has hers.”
A choice.
Did any of them really have a choice?
Except every moment was a choice. Every step forward. The weight of the choices was unbearable, but they were still all he had. He leaned his head back against the wall, breathed through another wave of nausea.
If he was going to agree with Landon’s plan, he couldn’t withdraw. Couldn’t let Landon—or Aly—take the lead. It had to be him.
“I want to do it. Tell Glenda about what Sam and Nate said. Invite her to dinner. Aly doesn’t need to use Jill as a buffer. I want to handle this.”
“Then you’ll handle it.”
Cal wanted to laugh, but it stuck in his throat. He didn’t know how to handle anything anymore, so of course that was the time Landon would trust him to. But it seemed … imperative he do this.
For whatever reason, Glenda communicated with him in ways she didn’t anyone else. So, he felt somehow honor bound to make sure this didn’t blow up in her face.
He hoped that didn’t blow up in his.