“You're fucking important to me!” Caleb retorted.
“You can catch a later flight, after your session today. You said you guys were working on something important.”
Caleb stood there in disbelief. “You're really suggesting you're going to go without me.”
Leo turned away from where he was packing his suitcase. His eyes were a cold, steely blue. “You said you needed to do this. You told me how important it was. I believed you—I believe you. So do it.”
Nothing is more important to me than you. Don't you know that?
It suddenly occurred to Caleb that maybe Leo didn't. Or maybe, even worse, that he did, and he didn't care. That this, along with the semi-constant reminders of this house and that house, of what the realtor had told Leo this week, was Leo's line in the sand. Or maybe, worst of all, it wasn't a line, but a door, and Leo was shutting him out.
Fear coalesced inside Caleb. Leo wasn't leaving him, was he? Had he finally gotten sick of Caleb's shit? Had he decided, after all, that Caleb wasn't worth all the pain of forgiveness? That he was better off without him?
“Okay,” Caleb said, and didn't even recognize his own voice. He sank down to the edge of the mattress. He'd never thought he'd feel this way again—unmoored and like the strings tying him to everything important had been unceremoniously slashed. He'd been cut off, again, and the only thing he could think was, it's a fucking miracle that this didn't happen sooner.
———
Leo kissed him goodbye perfunctorily and Caleb nearly reached for him, pulling him back, kissing him the way he desperately wanted to. He couldn't quite make his mind or his heart believe it was really the end, but if it was, at least he could have one last kiss, one last moment to hold him, but Leo pulled away with an excuse about not keeping the jet waiting, and Caleb lost the heart to make an issue of it.
Then he was gone, leaving in the very early morning light, sun glinting on his dark hair, his short stride determined as he and the luggage porter made their way down the intertwined dock system to where the car sat waiting.
Despite what Leo had told him to do, he didn't go to Brad's studio. Maybe he should have. Leo had wanted him to, that was the whole reason he'd left him behind. But the last thing Caleb felt like doing was fighting Brad on things he couldn't laugh over with Leo later. He'd never had a chance to tell him about the lipstick, and even though it was the smallest, stupidest little detail, there was a part of him that desperately wanted to run down the path and stop him. Tell him. But Laurel was waiting and Leo needed to get to her as soon as possible.
Caleb watched until Leo got in the car, watched until the sleek black vehicle disappeared from sight.
And then he was alone. Again.
Since they'd reunited, Caleb didn't think he'd been alone for more than an hour or two. He'd never explicitly considered it, but maybe that was on purpose. Maybe without his constant presence, Leo was afraid that Caleb would bolt again. His phone sat heavy in his pocket as he stood in the doorway, unsure whether to go or to stay. Should he call his travel agent and try to get on the commercial flight? Try to get a car and chase Leo down?
He could go to the studio, and he could give Brad the song that he'd been holding back. The one he'd poured every single bit of love and adoration and hope into. The one he'd probably never be able to sing live, because he never failed to break down halfway through, when he thought of how desperately lonely and miserable he'd been without the people he loved. How terribly guilty he'd felt, when he'd realized that not only had he ruined his own life, he'd ruined theirs too.
There'd only been one person who'd ever loved him unconditionally, and Caleb had repaid that by abandoning him. But the song proved he'd never ever, not once, given up the desperate hope that they'd find their way back to each other.
And Caleb knew then, he could never, not even under the most desperate circumstances, give that song to Brad Maxwell.
He'd known it before, but the thought felt inviolate now.
When he'd first come back to LA, Leo had been so angry, so wretched, so bitter, a shell filled up with so much resentment, Caleb hadn’t been sure anything else could even fit. He'd still hoped, anyway. He'd pull the song out and tweak it. He'd wondered, more than once, if he ever played it for Leo, if it might change his mind, or if it would only make everything worse. But then, Leo had slowly come back to life. The music had helped. Having a purpose had helped. Having the rest of their friends around couldn't have hurt. Caleb had even wondered, as they made their first tentative steps towards each other, as he'd yearned and prayed and longed that they might both find peace, if maybe the end of their story hadn’t already been written. He'd never been able to let go of that deep, closely held hope that Leo could ever love him again, could ever trust him again, but he'd pushed it away. He thought about it all the time, but it was always in the back of his mind. It only ever came to the forefront when he got desperate—and that was always when he listened to the rough demo he'd made of the song.
He might have given Leo a chance to recover, to forgive, to love again, and himself a chance to trust that this was the right path to take again, but he'd always fought. For himself. For Leo. For them together. He'd never ever just given up and watched Leo drive away. He'd always run to catch him.
If he'd just given up, he'd have died in a pool of his own alcohol-laced vomit—but the teasing thought he could have happiness and friendship and love again had kept him going. And it needs to keep you fighting now, Caleb thought, you started to take this incredible gift for granted. You got a second chance, you'd better not fucking waste it.
He pulled the phone from his pocket. Sent one text. And then dialed another number. “Yes,” he said, “it's Caleb Chance. I need a plane. A plane ticket. Something. I need to get back to LA.”
———
The flight was a nightmare. He was restless and nervous and incredibly apprehensive. He couldn't figure out what he could say—what he should say. The words had always come to him before, but this time, he needed to be sure that Leo understood. He was here. He wasn't going anywhere. Maybe their lives together weren't as picture perfect as he'd wanted to believe they were. Maybe he needed to believe more in himself. Trust himself. But more than anything, he would fight hard enough that Leo would never believe that Caleb would just let him walk away.
Finally, he shoved his headphones in and pulled out his phone. It was probably a mistake to listen to the song now, but he was essentially alone in the small charter. If he started sobbing hysterically, there'd be nobody except the pilot and the attendant—who'd retired to the front of the plane—to see.
As the first rough chords began to play, Caleb knew that if he could ever get Leo to forgive him for this—and for everything else—then the one person who should produce this song was the person this song was about. The person he'd written this song for.
He'd made a mistake with Brad Maxwell, that much was obvious. Truthfully, it had been obvious from the first session, but he'd not wanted to admit it. He'd wanted to be the kind of multi-platinum artist who could compromise who he was without a second thought, but that wasn't him. He'd fought too long and too hard to reclaim Caleb. He wasn't ready to give himself away, to anyone else, ever again.