“Cal,” I say. “I’m trying to help.”
“She’s my mom,” he says, looking irritated, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve got it handled.”
I feel something in me bristle. “Do you?”
He looks at me like that question cuts. “Yeah. I do.”
We walk back toward the bar, sand sticking to our shoes. I can feel the argument building between us. He’s mad at me. Whatever was growing while I was gone feels even bigger now. And I want to fix this, whatever it is between us.
“You know you built this safe life for your mom,” I say finally. “And then you show up for Jonah. You do so much for them. You stay here because you think they need you.”
“They do need me.”
“I’m not saying they don’t,” I reply, stopping in front of him. “But what about you, Cal? What do you want?”
He stares at me as if I had asked him something in a foreign language.
“I just want them to be safe,” he says. “I want my mom to be okay.”
“That’s not what I asked.” My voice softens. “What do you want for your life?”
He exhales hard. “Why does it have to be bigger than this?”
“It doesn’t have to be bigger,” I say. “But it has to be yours. Not just you cleaning up everyone else’s mess.”
His eyes flash. “And what about you? You’re going back to your skyscraper and your board meetings and your billion-dollar company. Why do you care about us Coconut Beach peasants?”
“Cal,” I say, my spine straightening. “That’s not true.”
We stand there, a new level of emotion between us and not emotions I like. I’m mad. I’ve never treated anyone here poorly. I am kind to everyone.
“You really think that?” I ask, tearfully.
He shakes his head and looks away. “We want different things, Silvie.”
“I want to be a CEO,” I say, and my voice does not shake. “I want to run Montclair Holdings. I want to build something that’s mine. I also want to have a life, Cal. I want both love and ambition. But right now, I have to focus on my job. The board is circling. My birthday is coming. I can’t pretend this is just a vacation anymore.”
His face changes at that. Something shatters between us.
“So just go,” he says quietly. “I’ll keep playing along back here. That’s what we agreed on, right?”
“Don’t do that,” I whisper. “Don’t do this.”
“And don’t string my mom around,” he adds, his voice rough. “She doesn’t deserve to have her heart broken again.”
Anger flares hot in my chest. “I would never,” I say sharply. “Don’t you dare imply that. I love her. I would never do that.”
“Then what are you doing?” he asks. “Trying to get her to go to New York? Not everything is about you, Silvie.”
“I never said that,” I say tearfully, “but I’m not a villain in your small-town tragedy. Whatever happened to you and your mom is not my fault.”
He rubs his face with both hands. “I just need space.”
The words hang between us. I see the boy he must have been, the one who never knew his father and decided he would never be the one who left. I see the man he is now, terrified of wanting something that might not stay. And the one who builds a life for everyone but himself. As if he’s not allowed.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice softer now. “I’m asking you to think about what you want instead of what everyone else needs.”
He shakes his head. “You think you know me, Silvie. But you don’t.”
