“Of course I did,” I snapped, and the words came out too sharp because I was tired and my voice was going and I had been holding in my conversation with Lydia all evening and it now refused to stay contained.
His jaw tightened slightly. “Then why are we fighting?”
We weren’t supposed to be. We had chosen honesty. The fact that it still hurt to be questioned made me feel childish and unfair and exactly like the version of myself I hated most.
“Because,” I said, then swallowed, throat burning. “Because you asked Lydia about social media and monetizing your music, and you didn’t tell me.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
“Lydia told you.” Caleb sighed.
“Yes,” I said, my voice quieter now, the anger thinning into something more honest. “Lydia assumed I already knew. I didn’t. And I know it’s not a crime. I know you’re allowed to talk to people. But it felt like—”
I stopped, because the rest of that sentence was the kind that made me sound pathetic if I said it out loud.
Caleb’s expression shifted, guilt and understanding mixing. “I wasn’t hiding it.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, and hated how small the question sounded.
He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to bring it up until I had something concrete. I didn’t want to get excited and then have it fall apart.”
I stared at him, breath shallow. “You got excited with Lydia.”
“It was a practical conversation,” he replied.
I felt the old thing rise again, the familiar ache of being the sister who left out while other people got invited into the interesting conversations.
I“I know you didn’t mean it,” I said, voice cracking on the last word. “I know this is me being slightly irrational. But it still hurts.”
Caleb’s shoulders lowered, his tone gentler. “I’m sorry.”
I tried to respond, but my throat seized and nothing came out except a thin rasp. I swallowed again, then tried to force the words.
Caleb’s gaze sharpened. “Stop.”
I glared at him.
“No,” he said firmly, moving around the counter. “You’re done. You can be angry later. Right now you need to rest.”
I opened my mouth and coughed, the sound harsh enough that it made my eyes water. When I finally looked up, I was furious at the world for making me fragile on the night I needed to feel strong.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“You can,” he said quietly. “You just don’t want to.”
That was the worst part. He was right and right now I didn’t want him to be.
Caleb softened then, his hand hovering near my shoulder before he let it settle lightly, careful not to crowd me. “We’ll finish this conversation, but not tonight. Not while you’re hurting.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to insist I was fine. I wanted to prove I was still capable of holding everything together. Instead, I shook my head, small and helpless, and felt my eyes sting again.
Caleb’s thumb brushed the edge of my sleeve, grounding. “Go upstairs. Have some tea with honey and sleep. If you wake up and you’re still mad, I’ll be available for you to whisper-yellat.”
I tried to smile. It came out crooked. “Let me lock up.”
He stepped back, giving me space, which somehow made it easier to breathe. “Goodnight, Kitty.”
I watched him leave before locking the door and flipping our sign toclosed. It was a little early, but I was mentally andemotionally exhausted. As I climbed the stairs, my throat aching and my chest tight, I hated that we had ended the night like this.
