Page 60 of Fall Wherever They May

I’m in his face. “Do I mean anything to you?” I glare at him. My heart pounds in my ears as I wait for an answer.

He doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, stunned. Tears immediately well in my eyes, and the pain radiating in my chest is crushing. I nod in acceptance of his silence and release a deep sigh. It hurts like hell. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I can’t believe I came over here. What the fuck did I expect? I begin to walk away. He grabs my wrist, pulling me inside, wrapping me up into a bone-crushing hug while kicking the door closed.

“Stop it!” I yell with my face squished against his chest, trying to push him away, but he only holds me tighter. “What is it about me that makes me so damn unlovable, Cal? Please, just tell me so I can fix it,” I beg in desperation.

He kisses the top of my head, squeezing me tight. He cradles my head, his fingers weaving into my hair as he takes his other hand and gently tilts my head to look at him. “Is that what you think?” He pulls back, staring at me with glossy eyes. “You think you’re unlovable?” He dusts his soft lips across mine in a featherlike kiss. “There’s nothing about you that needs fixing. It’s me.” He pats his chest. “I’m the one who has deep-seated issues. I’m the one who’s fucked up. Not you—never you, Angel. You’re fucking perfect. You’re a ray of sun peeking through the clouds right after a rainstorm, promising a better day. You’re a guiding light in the darkest tunnel. There’s not a single thing that I don’t love about you.”

“So we’re doing the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me thing’?” I swipe a tear.

“Can you come sit down so we can talk?”

I’m reluctant, but with a sigh, I hang my coat on the coat stand beside the door, then follow him through the entryway and into his massive living room. He sits down on the couch. I’m surprised when he pulls me into his lap to straddle him. One hand resting on my hip while the other holds my hand.

“I’m going to lay it all out there, so bear with me.” I nod in response as tears begin to pool in his eyes. He wipes themaway. “I’m so damn tired of crying, but I know it’s supposed to be healing, and I want to finally heal.” He gives a self-deprecating laugh before he becomes somber.

I take in his expression and find vulnerability staring straight back at me. I frown in confusion, but now I’m also worried. I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to collect his thoughts.

Cal takes a deep breath, then exhales and looks me directly in the eyes. “I’ve been absent in my own life for years, and I haven’t wanted to connect with anyone—until you. You make me feel alive. I’ve spent years coasting through life without feeling anything but pain, anger, and more recently . . . guilt. For the past few months, you made me live, but the guilt has been eating away at me for feeling the way I do about you and Tuck. My past and future were colliding, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish. You’ve been giving me all of you, and I’ve been taking, and taking, and taking.

‘You’re like a dopamine hit; it feels so damn good to be around you, but I haven’t been fair; I haven’t given you anything in return. I’m sorry for that.” He finishes on a whisper, then presses his lips to my temple before continuing. “I haven’t been open with anyone about all the details, but I trust you. I want you to know . . . I’m about to dump a lot on you, and what I’m about to tell you isn’t pretty, so I want you to be prepared, okay?” He caresses the back of my hand with his thumb, as if he is trying to comfort me. I hold his gaze and let him speak.

He releases a sigh. “My wife died, Aspen.” My eyes blow wide, and a gasp of shock leaves my parted lips. “Every day that I’m with you, I feel things I’ve never felt before. The guilt from that eats me alive. I loved her so much; she was my wife. But with you it’s . . . different. I didn’t know what to do with that. When I’m around you, I forget about being sad. I get so lost in you that I forget about missing her. But when I’m away fromyou, the guilt for what I feel for you fucking tears me apart. Like I’m not supposed to or allowed to feel this way for you.”

I sniff and wipe my face. Empathy for what he’s been going through washes over me. This sweet man has been living in literal hell, and here I was pissed off because he didn’t give me the attention I wanted. I cup his cheek, staring into his red-rimmed eyes. He wraps his arms around me and continues.

“I’ve always wanted a family,” he whispers, then he clears his throat. His focus shifts to his lap like he’s ashamed. “I already told you a little bit about my upbringing, but I never went into too much detail. When I was young, my mom wasn’t in the best position to care for me. I spent the majority of my childhood homeless, bouncing from park benches to whatever shelter had room for us. I did that until my mom died of an overdose. I was Tuck’s age.”

“W—What?” My brows furrow.

“I had a rough childhood until Seattle’s head hockey coach, Jeffery Miles, adopted me. I knew when I became a dad, I was going to provide an extraordinary life for my child, like Jeff did for me. I wanted to be the best dad and give my kid everything I never had. I wanted to be like my dad, Jeff.”

“Do you still speak to your dad? You never mention him.”

“Sometimes, but not often. I became really good at shutting people out over the past few years. Honestly, I’ve been scared to talk to him. I feel terrible about how I’ve skirted around and completely avoided him. He provided a loving and stable environment to grow up in. He’s the best dad. I wanted to be the same for my child. So, when Paisley became pregnant, I was so excited—completely beside myself.”

His eyes well with more tears. “Midway through Paisley’s pregnancy there were complications, and our son didn’t make it to full term; he was born sixteen weeks early.”

I’m stunned. “Oh my gosh, Cal.”

I can’t even fathom what he’s been going through all these years; my heart shatters for him.

He wipes my tears away, then attempts to erase his own, but they flow freely. He takes a ragged breath. “After the delivery of my son, Paisley decided she didn’t want to . . . she couldn’t handle it . . . she, um . . . she was diagnosed with postpartum psychosis.” He struggles to get through; his jaw ticks as he tries to keep it together.

“She went back and forth from being in a catatonic state to being in a state of hysteria and mania; sometimes she was just downright delusional. She refused to name our son, refused to go to his funeral, refused to acknowledge the loss, and the weight of everything bore down on my shoulders to deal with alone. Dad tried to help as much as he could, but he lives in Seattle. Her parents are pretty much useless, so I was completely alone.”

He takes another shaky breath. “I had to do everything on my own.” His voice cracks.

I try to bring him comfort. I rub his back as he collects himself. I just can’t imagine this nightmare. Like, how does he even function? If I lost Tucker—no. I can’t even imagine the thought.

“I took care of everything. I made funeral preparations. I named him.”

“What did you name him?”

He looks at me, then looks away. He takes a deep breath, and on a sob, he speaks again. “Xander.” He begins to sob again. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs. “I haven’t been able to say his name since the funeral because the loss is so painful. I didn’t want to revisit it. I lost him too, you know?” His face scrunches up in pain, tears barreling down his face, as he weeps. His inhales become shorter as if he can’t catch his breath. I can tell that he has been holding on to this like a ticking time bomb ready toexplode, so I stay silent and let him fall apart. Holding this in as long as he has, and doing so alone, isn’t healthy.

After a few minutes, he finally collects himself. “No one really thinks about the fathers when there’s a miscarriage or a preterm loss. I had to deal with the loss of our baby without any real support because everyone was concentrating on Paisley, and I was okay with that at the time. I mean, my teammates were there for me, but most of them didn’t know what to say or do. I watched my wife lose her mind while simultaneously trying to take care of her, the funeral arrangements, and the obligations I had with the team.”

“The Colorado executives were as supportive as they could be, but I was under contract, and my time for bereavement ran out. I had just signed a three-year contract. Paisley and I were going to counseling, but it was during the busiest time in hockey season, so I could only attend a few; I was forced to be away a lot. We found a great doctor who prescribed her medication. I thought, eventually, we could make it through the loss, our broken hearts would somewhat heal, and then we could try again. After a few months of medication, she started to feel more like herself, but that’s when she took a turn for the worse. She took it upon herself to stop therapy and eventually got off her medication, against her doctor’s advice. I had no idea. If I had known, I would’ve broken that damn contract.” He trails off, shaking his head.

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