“Sometimes people get hurt.” She shrugs, trying to get one last spoonful into PJ’s mouth. “You can’t prevent every bump and bruise. I don’t think it’s particularly helpful to try. How else can we learn to be resilient? He can’t help that those particular words remind him of something upsetting, and maybe it’s unfair to expect him to. But it’s also unfair to expect other people to dodge the hurts we can barely anticipate ourselves. You know now and you won’t do it again. That’s enough, Cal. Don’t beat yourself up.”
When she’s given up on getting PJ to accept that last mouthful, she finds Cal staring at her. “What?”
“You’re very wise.”
“For a former model?” she asks lightly, hoping he’ll think she’s teasing. She knows it surprises people that she’s not a complete idiot. She has theories about that—relating to the way beautiful women are often turned into objects, and the way intelligence tends to undermine the convenience of that—but she doesn’t want to go into it here. Cal didn’t mean it that way. That he’s stumbled onto one of her own private tender spots isn’t his fault. She’d be a hypocrite of the first order to make him pay for it.
Cal smiles. “For anyone. I think you’re probably smarter than me and Zac combined.”
“Yes.” She smiles back, because Cal’s smile is a handsome smile, a warm one, and it’s hard not to smile back at him. And then, even when their smiles have faltered, she still looks back. Even with the stretch of the kitchen table between them, the air feels suddenly very close.
Zac clears his throat, and she startles, glancing over to find him in the doorway, juggling his keys in one hand, watching them.
“Hi,” she says, reminding herself that being irritated with him for being unavailable earlier—particularly when it all worked out—is silly. He had his own drama to deal with.
“Hey.” He takes her hand, pulling her to her feet and hugging her. His grip is a bit tighter than it would normally be. If she knew him less well, she’d assume it was jealousy. Instead, she thinks it’s the last remnants of upset needing to be soothed from his fight with Cal earlier. She squeezes him hard, and feels him exhale, long and slow, his body unlocking against hers.
After a moment, one hand drops to pat her on the bottom. It’s an affectionate touch, not more than a tap on the cheek, but she jumps anyway, something complicated and flustered swimming through her. She wouldn’t be embarrassed if he did it in front of her father, for crying out loud, but a part of her feels scandalized at the idea that Cal must’ve seen it. He must’ve—he might’ve been looking at her ass. Unexpected heat curls in her belly at the idea, and she drags herself from Zac’s arms. He gives her a questioning glance and she shakes her head.
“Hi.” Cal’s vanished once more behind that hard-to-read expression. He watches as Zac kisses PJ hello too.
“Hey,” Zac replies, equally careful as he slumps into one of the chairs, long legs sprawling.
They all sit there in silence, until Anya sets the jar of baby food down on the table with a clunk, capturing the attention of both men. To her son, in a baby talk voice, she says, “Won’t it be nice when you’re older and you can use your words? Won’t it be nice? And then you can handle conflict like a grown man and not a baby. That’ll be so much better, huh?”
She can see the men glance at each other ruefully in her peripheral vision, and then Zac pulls a face. “It’s fine. We’re fine. It went fine.”
“I am sorry,” Cal says.
“I know. Me too. I just...” Zac rubs a hand over his stubble. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. We’re good. I tried to do what you asked. We recorded a bunch of versions. You can pick any of them. If they’re not good enough, we’ll have to go with the best one, because I can’t do better. What you want might be outside of my capabilities.”
“It’s not,” Cal says instantly. “I know what you can do.”
“Do you know what I can do night in and night out on a forty-show tour across the world without losing my voice?” Zac’s tone is weird, torn between being mollified and feeling pressured, Anya guesses.
“The only time you’re quiet is when you’re resting your voice,” Cal retorts. “So yes, I can tell when you need to rest. I know your limits. Maybe better than you do.”
“If you bring up my vowels again, I’m going to lose my shit. This is ridiculous. There’s only so much I can—”
Cal interrupts, sharper than Anya’s ever heard him. “When did you forget that you’re a singer? Not a showman, not a front man. A singer. A talented singer. The first time I heard your voice, I thought you had one of the clearest, purest baritones I’ve ever heard. And that was before you worked so damn hard on it. I don’t know when you started to doubt what you’re capable of, when you started thinking I was the only talent here, but it didn’t come from me. Stop doubting yourself and give me everything you have, and it’s going to be brilliant. You’ll be brilliant.”
Cal’s leaning forward, his gaze hard as diamonds. Zac’s face is tipped down toward the table, but she can see his confused brow and soft, unhappy mouth.
When a full minute has gone by without Zac saying anything, Cal adds, “Did I make it worse?”
“No.” It comes out hoarse. “It’s fine.”
Anya should probably get up and leave them to it, but she’s not that polite. Instead, she watches avidly as Cal reaches across the table and puts a hand on Zac’s shoulder. Zac shudders under the touch, sucking in a deep breath. He still doesn’t look at Cal, but he leans into Cal’s hand.
Quietly, Zac asks, “You really think I can do it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a hard riff—”
“You can do it. Even night in, night out, over forty cities. If you’re worried about it, we’ll call Alan, get him to help you figure out the easiest route with the vowels—hey, look, come on, you know you’re doing it the hard way—” Cal sounds impatient “—but even doing it the hard way, you can make it work.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Cal sits back. The air gets a bit easier.
“You can listen to the stuff in the morning,” Zac says. “If you’re still unhappy with it, we’ll figure it out. Give me a couple of days, though. I’m starting to feel the strain a bit.”
“No rush.” There’s a beat of quiet before Cal adds, “I should get out of your hair.”
“Stay for dinner,” Anya offers. “I have roast in the fridge.”