Chapter 2: Family Static (Caleb’s POV)

Rain’s still smashing down when I wake up, this ugly gray mess smearing the window above The Static. Ryan’s already gone, probably downstairs, glaring at those damn loan papers like they’ll fix themselves. My head’s all fuzzy, no sleep, just last night stuck on repeat. Fifty grand by Friday. Feels like someone dropped a brick on my chest and walked away laughing. I roll outta bed, grab my phone off the floor, three missed calls from Mom. Diane. Ugh, her name on the screen twists my stomach into a pretzel. I know what she’s after. Same crap every time: ditch this “mess,” come crawling back to Everett. Like I’m some kid she can still boss around.

I don’t call her back. Not yet. Can’t deal with that voice today. But by noon, she’s texting me these short, pissed-off jabs: Come home. We need to talk. No “hey, how you doing,” just orders. I groan, yank my boots on—laces are frayed, gotta fix that someday and head out. Ryan’s at the bar when I pass through, wiping the counter with this tired, slow drag. He looks up, eyes all sunken. “Where you headed?”

“Mom’s,” I mutter, kicking at the floor. “She’s on my case again.”

He nods, doesn’t dig. “Be careful out there.”

“Always am,” I say, and I mean it, kinda. He gives me this little half-smile, and I hang onto it as I step into the rain. It’s cold, soaking me stupid fast.

Drive to Everett’s a damn blur, rain’s pounding, wipers are squeaking, my hands are locked tight on the wheel. Mom’s house is creepy clean when I get there, like a museum or something, white walls, shiny floors. She’s in the kitchen, arms crossed, mouth all tight like she’s sucking a lemon. Seth’s there too, my jackass brother, leaning on the counter with a beer, looking smug. He’s got Dad’s jawline, but none of the good stuff Dad had inside.

“About damn time,” Mom snaps, voice cutting like glass. “Sit.”

I don’t. I slouch against the doorframe, arms crossed right back at her. “What’s this about? Spill it.”

She doesn’t even blink. “Your life, Caleb. That bar. That man.” She says “man” like it’s a curse word, all bitter. “It’s a dead end, and you’re too stubborn to see it.”

I clench my jaw, feel my teeth grind. “It’s my life, not yours. Back off.”

Seth snorts, takes a big gulp of his beer. “Yeah, real big shot. Messing with sound in a dump that’s falling apart. Dad’d be so proud, huh?”

“Shut up, Seth,” I snap, glaring at him. He smirks, but I catch that little flinch, he hates when I bite back, always has.

Mom steps up, voice dropping low, sharp like she’s carving me up. “You’re throwing it all away. Your dad’s trust, fifty grand, Caleb. It’s yours, right there, if you ditch that place. Ditch him.”

I stop breathing for a sec. Fifty grand. Same damn number Ryan needs. I can see it, handing him the cash, watching his face light up, saving The Static. But then I look at her, all cold and smug, and it hits me like a punch. This ain’t help. It’s a trap. “You’re bribing me to dump Ryan?”

“It’s not a bribe,” she says, all smooth and fake. “It’s a chance to fix your screwed-up life.”

“My life’s not screwed!” I yell, louder than I mean to, my voice bouncing off her perfect walls. “I love him. I love the bar. You don’t get it, you never freaking get it!”

Seth laughs, this short, mean bark. “Love? You’re shacked up with a broke loser. Wake up, dude.”

I’m done. I turn for the door, heart slamming like it’s gonna bust out. Mom grabs my arm, nails digging in. “Caleb, I mean it. Walk away, or you’re cut off. No trust, no nothing.”

I rip my arm free, spin around, glaring so hard my eyes hurt. “Keep your damn money. I don’t want it.”

She stares back, eyes like ice. Seth mumbles something, probably calling me dumbass and I’m out before they can pile on more. Rain’s hitting my face like a million little pins, and my hands are shaking as I dig out my phone, call Ryan. Two rings, then his voice—warm, rough, like a lifeline. “Hey. You okay?”

“No,” I say, straight-up honest, voice cracking a little. “Can I come back?”

“Always,” he says, and it’s all I need. I hang up, climb into the truck, and peel out, engine roaring over the rain.

When I roll up to The Static, it’s dark, rain still coming down like it’s mad at the world. I’m soaked, boots squishing loud as I shove the door open. Inside’s too quiet, eerie, almost. Ryan’s at the bar, but he’s not alone. Jake’s there, my old bandmate, wobbling on a stool like he’s about to tip over. His hair’s a greasy mess, eyes all blurry from too much booze. He sees me, sneers like a drunk cartoon villain.

“Well, look who’s back,” he slurs, waving a shaky hand. “Golden boy himself.”

Ryan’s behind the counter, arms crossed, face tight as a drum. “Jake, get out. You’re done.”

Jake acts like he didn’t hear, points at me all sloppy. “You stole it all, man. My band, my shot. Now you’ve got him all gooey for you.”

“Shut up,” I growl, stepping up. My fists ball up, he’s talking garbage, and we both know it.

Ryan’s fast, slides right between us. “I said out, Jake. Now.” His voice is hard, low, like he’s not messing around.

Jake laughs, this bitter, ugly sound. “You’re picking him over everybody. You’ll regret it when it all falls apart.” He lurches off the stool, knocks a glass flying. It smashes on the floor, loud as hell in the quiet. He stumbles out, slamming the door, leaving his crap hanging in the air like a fart.

Ryan turns to me, eyes digging into mine. “You good?”

I shake my head, water dripping off my hair, splatting on the floor. “Mom’s cutting me off. Wants me to ditch you.”

His face goes hard, jaw ticking, but he doesn’t talk yet. Just grabs my arm, pulls me into the backroom. Door swings shut, kills the bar’s buzz. His arms wrap around me, tight, fierce, like he’s holding me together. I hug him back hard, my wet jacket soaking his shirt, his breath hot on my neck.

“She’s dead serious this time,” I mumble, voice all tight and wobbly. “Fifty grand to walk away from you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, jaw locked. “We’ll handle it,” he says, solid as hell. “Together.”

I nod, leaning into him, feeling his hands steady on me. Everything’s cracking, Mom, Jake, the money, pushing at us like it wants us to break. But we’re still here, still us. For now, that’s gotta be enough.