Chapter 6: Cracks in the Quiet (Caleb POV)

I’m half-asleep on the couch upstairs when I hear the truck pull in. The engine cuts off, and Ryan’s boots hit the gravel outside The Static. I sit up, rub my eyes, check my phone—past ten. He’s been gone hours, and I didn’t even know he left till I woke up to an empty bar. My stomach twists a little. Something’s off.

The door creaks downstairs, and I head down, still in my socks. The bar’s dark, just the neon sign buzzing outside, throwing red flickers across the floor. Ryan’s there, shrugging off his jacket by the counter. He looks beat—shoulders tight, jaw locked. He doesn’t see me at first, just stands there, staring at nothing.

“Where you been?” I ask, keeping it light. I lean on the bar, arms crossed.

He jumps a little, turns fast. “Out,” he says, short and clipped. He tosses his keys on the counter, loud in the quiet.

“Out where?” I push, stepping closer. He’s wet—rain, I guess—but his eyes dodge mine, and that’s not like him.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, turning to grab a glass from the shelf. He fills it with water, takes a long drink. His hand’s steady, but his knuckles are white around the glass.

“It matters to me,” I say, voice harder now. “You’re gone half the night, come back looking like hell. What’s going on?”

He sets the glass down, slow, like he’s buying time. “Just had to clear my head,” he says. “It’s fine, Caleb.”

“Bullshit,” I snap. My chest’s tight, hot. “You don’t sneak off to ‘clear your head’ with four days left on that loan. Where were you?”

He finally looks at me, eyes dark, stormy. “Drop it,” he says, low and firm. “I’m handling it.”

I step closer, right in his space now. “We promised no secrets, Ryan. You and me—we said that. Remember?”

He flinches, just a little, but I catch it. “This isn’t something I want to put on you,” he says, voice rough. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” I laugh, sharp and mean. “What’s that mean? You’re hiding crap from me now? After everything?”

“Caleb—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“No,” I say, louder. “We’re in this together. The bar, the money, us. You don’t get to shut me out ‘cause you feel like it.” My hands are fists at my sides, shaking a little. Mom’s crap, Jake’s mess, the fifty grand—it’s all piling up, and now this? Him pulling away? It’s too much.

He rubs his face, hard, like he’s trying to wipe something away. “I’m not shutting you out,” he says, but it sounds weak. “I just need time to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” I push, stepping closer. “What’s so bad you can’t tell me? Huh?”

“Enough!” he snaps, loud enough to make me stop. His eyes flash, angry, tired. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Just—back off.”

I stare at him, breathing hard. His face is tight, lips a thin line, but there’s a storm in his eyes—something big, something he’s holding back. I want to shove him, yell more, make him spill it. But he turns away, grabs his jacket, and heads for the backroom. “Get some sleep,” he mutters over his shoulder. “We’ve got work tomorrow.”

The door swings shut behind him, and I’m alone in the bar again. My chest hurts, like something’s pressing on it. I kick a stool, hard—metal clangs against the floor, loud and sharp. He’s never done this before—kept stuff from me. We’ve always been straight with each other, even when it sucked. Now he’s hiding, and it’s eating at me.

I grab my phone off the counter, pace a little. The loan papers are still there, crumpled by his jacket. I pick them up, smooth them out. Numbers, dates, some company name I don’t know. He’s been staring at these for days, but tonight’s different. He’s scared—I saw it in his eyes. And he won’t tell me why.

I sit on the stool, run my hands through my hair. My head’s a mess—anger, worry, all tangled up. He’s out there meeting someone, doing something, and I’m in the dark. That’s not us. I think about Mom, her ultimatum, Jake’s drunk threats. Everyone’s pulling at us, and now Ryan’s slipping too. I can’t let it slide.

I flip through my phone, find Benji’s number. He’s good with stuff—digging, figuring things out. If Ryan won’t talk, I’ll find it myself. My thumb hovers over the call button, heart thumping. It’s late—past eleven—but Benji’s a night owl. I hit it.

It rings twice, then he picks up. “Yo, Caleb,” he says, sleepy but awake. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Need your help. That loan—the fifty grand. Something’s off, and Ryan’s not talking.”

Benji’s quiet for a second. “Off how?”

“Don’t know yet,” I say. “He’s hiding something. Went out tonight, came back weird. I need to see what’s in these papers—really see.”

“Bring ‘em over,” he says, no hesitation. “I’ve got a scanner, some tricks. We’ll crack it.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding even though he can’t see me. “Tomorrow, early. Before Ryan’s up.”

“Cool,” he says. “Get some rest, man. You sound wrecked.”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “See you.” I hang up, shove the phone in my pocket. The papers sit there, staring at me. I fold them, tuck them into my jeans. Ryan’s in the back, probably pacing, thinking I’ll let this go. I won’t. Not this time.

I head upstairs, but I don’t sleep. I sit on the couch, lights off, listening to the bar creak. My head’s loud—Ryan’s clipped voice, that storm in his eyes, the secrets he’s keeping. I’m mad, yeah, but it’s more than that. I’m scared. Scared he’s carrying something I can’t help with. Scared we’re breaking, even if we don’t want to. I need answers, and Benji’s my shot.