Chapter 10: Breaking Point (Caleb POV)

I’m up before the sun, eyes burning from no sleep. Ryan’s still downstairs, probably crashed out after counting last night’s take. The fundraiser’s a bust—Jake’s rumors killed it, and we’re nowhere near fifty grand. My head’s a mess—Leah’s quiet exit, Ryan’s tight face, the cash not adding up. I can’t sit still. My boots are by the door, and I grab them, pull them on quick. I need air, need to think.

The truck’s cold when I climb in, engine rumbling loud in the quiet. I don’t know where I’m going at first—just drive, streets wet and gray. Then it hits me. Everett. Mom. Diane. Her offer’s been gnawing at me since she threw it out—fifty grand to ditch Ryan, save myself. I laughed it off then, but now? We’re drowning, and that money’s a lifeline. I hate it, but I can’t shake it.

The drive’s a blur—rain streaks the windshield, wipers slapping. My hands grip the wheel tight, knuckles white. I pull up to her house just as the sky’s turning pink—too early, but I don’t care. The place looks the same—clean, stiff, like it’s judging me. I sit there a minute, truck idling, staring at the front door. My stomach’s in knots. I don’t want to do this, but we’re out of moves.

I kill the engine, step out. The air’s cold, biting my face as I walk up. I knock hard—three bangs—and wait. She’s up—I see the kitchen light flick on, hear her moving. The door swings open, and there she is, Diane, in a robe, hair pulled back tight. Her eyes narrow when she sees me. “Caleb,” she says, voice flat. “What’re you doing here?”

“Need to talk,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Now.”

She steps aside, lets me in. The house smells like coffee and bleach—sharp, too clean. No Seth this time—just her, and that makes it worse. He’s a jerk, but he’d break the tension. She shuts the door, turns to me, arms crossed. “Well?” she says. “Spit it out.”

I take a breath, let it out slow. “The bar’s done. Loan’s due Friday, and we’ve got nothing. I’m here about your offer.”

Her face doesn’t change—no surprise, no softness. She nods, like she knew I’d cave. “The offer still stands,” she says, all business. “Fifty grand. Walk away from that bar, from him, and it’s yours. Today.”

I swallow hard. Fifty grand. Right there. I picture it—handing it to Ryan, watching his shoulders drop, the bar safe. No more late nights counting pennies, no more Jake or Miles or any of it. My chest aches thinking about it—his grin, the relief. But it’s her money, her rules. I know what it means.

“Where’s Seth?” I ask, stalling. The kitchen’s too quiet without him mouthing off.

“Work,” she says, sharp. “This isn’t about him. It’s about you. You gonna take it or not?”

She’s pushing now, harder than last time. Her eyes are cold, locked on me like I’m a kid who screwed up again. “You’re out of time, Caleb,” she says. “That place is a hole. He’s a hole. You’re throwing your life away for nothing.”

“Stop,” I say, voice low. My hands clench in my pockets. “He’s not nothing.”

She steps closer, voice dropping. “He’s dragging you down. You think I don’t see it? Broke, stressed, running a dump that’s falling apart. You’re better than this. Take the money, get out. Start over.”

I almost crack. I see Ryan’s face again—tired, steady, pouring shots last night. The bar’s his heart, and he’s mine. Fifty grand could fix it—pay the loan, keep The Static alive. My hands shake, picturing it—walking in, dropping the cash on the bar, saving us. For a second, I want it so bad it hurts. I could do it. Take her deal, lie to him, say I found a way.

But then she keeps going. “He’s just like your father,” she says, voice cutting. “Dreams too big, no sense to back ‘em up. Look where that got us. You wanna end up like him? Broke and gone?”

That’s it. Something snaps. “Don’t,” I say, loud, stepping back. “Don’t you dare.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Truth hurts,” she says. “Take the money, Caleb. Last chance.” She turns, grabs an envelope off the counter—thick, heavy with cash. She slaps it on the table between us. “Fifty grand. Right here. Walk away.”

I stare at it. Green edges peek out, crisp and real. My heart’s pounding, head screaming—take it, don’t take it, save him, lose him. I see Ryan again—not the relief, but the hurt. Me walking out, leaving him for her cash. He’d never forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me.

“No,” I say, quiet at first. My voice shakes, but I mean it.

“What?” she snaps, eyes narrowing. “You’re not serious.”

“I said no,” I say, louder. “He’s not dragging me down. You don’t get it—you never did. He’s my life. The bar’s my life. Not this.”

She laughs, short and mean. “You’re a fool. You’ll lose everything.”

“Then I’ll lose it with him,” I say, voice hard now. I step up, grab the envelope—fifty grand, right in my hands. It’s heavy, tempting, but I don’t want it. I slam it off the table, hard—bills scatter, hitting the floor like leaves. “I’d rather lose everything than take a damn cent from you.”

She stares, mouth tight, eyes wide. The money’s spread out—tens, twenties, all over her clean floor. I don’t wait for her to say anything. I turn, storm out, slam the door behind me. My boots hit the porch, then the gravel, and I’m in the truck before she can follow. My hands shake on the wheel, but I feel lighter—like I dropped something heavier than that cash.