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Tonight it’s just the four of us, because the girls are out stargazing, and I’ve been avoiding this all day like a man who knows he has to get in cold water eventually.

Eli’s on the porch step with a beer, and when I come out, he doesn’t say anything, just moves over to make room.

Luca and Harrison drift out after a minute—Luca with the bag of gas-station snacks he insists on, and Harrison with a beer. I decide if I don’t do it now, I’m going to keep not doing it forever.

“I need to say something,” I say. “And I need you to let me get through it without making it a thing. So just… let me.”

Luca opens his mouth. Closes it. Sets the bag down.

“Cascade,” I say.

Nobody moves.

“I walked off, and I went dark for a week, and I came into that conference room and gave you nothing. I told Eli I was just an asshole; I was an asshole. I let all four of you think I’d decided you weren’t worth an explanation.” I make myself keep my eyes up. “That’s the part I’m actually sorry for…”

“Cal—” Harrison starts.

“There was a reason,” I say. “I’d made a promise to someone, and I told myself the promise meant I couldn’t tell anyone, and that was true, but it was also convenient, because not telling people things is something I’m best at in the world.” I breathe. “My aunt Mabel—I think I’ve mentioned her before—she was the one who got me guitar lessons. I owe her everything. Especially my music. She’s sick. She’s been sick over a year. She had a fall the night of Cascade, and her neighbor texted me right before I went on, and I couldn’t— I physically could not stand on a stage and sing while I had no idea if she was okay or not. So I left. And then I couldn’t tell you why, because she didn’t want anyone to know, and I’d rather you all think I was a selfish prick than break that.”

The fire’s not lit. Nobody’s lit it. We’re just sitting in the dark.

“She still doesn’t want the whole world knowing.” I take a deep breath. “But I need you guys to know,” I say. “So I’m telling you. I know you won’t go telling people. I’m sorry it took me this long.”

For a second, nobody says anything, and I think maybe I’ve done it wrong. Fuck. I’m not good at this.

Then Eli says, quietly, “Is she okay?”

“She’s—it’s complicated,” I say. “But she’s okay right now. She’s good right now.”

“Then good,” Eli says.

Harrison scrubs a hand over his face. “You absolute idiot,” he says, but it’s wet. “A year. You sat on that for a year. You let me think—” He stops. Shakes his head. “You could’ve just told us, Cal. We’re your band. Your brothers. If you ask us to keep quiet, we will.”

“I know.”

Luca’s been silent the whole time, which never happens, and when I look at him, he’s looking at me with an expression I’ve maybe seen twice in eight years.

“The whole time.” He gestures, a small helpless gesture. “And you let us give you shit anyway. You let us think the worst of you so you could protect her.” He shakes his head slowly. “That’s the most fucked up thing you’ve ever done, dude, and I’ve watched you do a lot of fucked up things. That one’s almost noble. I’m furious about it, but it’s almost noble.”

“You’ve gone soft, man,” Harrison adds, and everyone cracks up.

I wait for it to bother me. “I think I have, yeah,” I admit. “It’s all good though. Turns out it’s—I don’t know. It’s better over here. Come to the soft side my man”

Luca stares at me. “He’s agreeing,” Luca says, delighted. “He’s not even fighting it. Eli. Who is this man? What has the education done to him? What has the Bea done to him⁠—”

“Light the fire, Luca.” I roll my eyes, trying to move everyone to the backyard.

“—She’s reprogrammed him, she’s a witch, and I, for one⁠—”

“Light the fire.”

He’s already up, already getting the matches, already moving, and Harrison’s laughing now, the wet gone out of it, and Eli’s shaking his head with the small smile, and the thing that was tight in my chest all day has gone, just gone, the way it does when you finally put something down.

Eli leans over while Luca’s swearing at the kindling.

“Twenty bucks says he sets his sleeve on fire,” he says, low.

“I’m not betting against that. That’s a certainty.”