“I’m sure there were signs I missed?—”
“You don’t think Helen was checking those things, too?”
But even as I say it, I understand. This is what Caleb does. This is how he loves people.
He counts. He checks. He monitors. He tracks.
It’s not about control. Not really. It’s about caring so much it manifests as numbers and patterns and perfect alignment.
It’s about loving someone so desperately you’ll count every breath if it means keeping them safe.
Still, I have to keep trying, keeping my voice gentle, reasonable. “She’s a grown woman, Caleb. She knows her body better than you do. And I overheard her telling Silas she only started feeling weak the last week before the scan was scheduled. She thought it was just a cold. There’s literally nothing you could have done.”
“There’s always something I can do.” The words are desperate. Raw.
“Why?” I challenge softly. “Because you think you’re actually Superman? Because you think if you just try hard enough, control enough variables, you can keep bad things from happening?”
“Because she’s my mother!”
The words come out broken.
He takes a breath. I can hear it shudder through him.
“She’s the best person I’ll ever know.” His voice is getting strangled now, thick with tears he’s trying not to shed. “The best person in this whole fucked-up world. And she can’t?—”
The words cut off, but then come out agonized.
“She can’t die.”
It’s not a statement. It’s a plea.
And something in my chest just... shatters.
I throw my arms around him and crawl into the bed, pulling him against me. His body is rigid at first, all sharp angles and tension.
“I don’t want to have sex,” he says quickly, defensively.
And even in the middle of this, even with my heart breaking for him, I almost laugh.
“I just want to hold you, you idiot.”
The words come out softer than I mean them to. More tender.
Some of the tension bleeds out of his body. His rigid spine softens. His shoulders drop.
And then a little hiccup shakes through him—once, twice.
And then Caleb Graham—perfect, controlled, not-a-crack-in-the-armor Caleb Graham—finally allows himself to cry.
Big, shuddering, silent sobs that wrack his whole body.
He buries his face in my chest and just... breaks.
And I hold him.
I hold his head against my chest and run my fingers through his hair, whispering nonsense soothing words I don’t even remember later. Words about how it’s okay, how I’ve got him, how he doesn’t have to be strong right now.
His tears soak through my T-shirt. His hands fist in the fabric at my sides, holding on like I’m the only thing keeping him from drowning.