Page 68 of Dallas Rivals

“What can I do? Tell me something. I just… I want to help.”

“Stay still,” I murmur between ragged breaths.

Fear claws at me—not just for myself, but for her. In these moments, when panic has its grip on me, I can never predict what I might do or say. Yet Cala remains steady. Her patience is unwavering, and I have to acknowledge that. She sits beside me, watching with a tranquil presence that’s rare and comforting. Meanwhile, I’m falling apart, my thoughts spiraling, barely holding onto reality. Her calm is the anchor I desperately need as I lose control, and I find myself both grateful and terrified for her sake.

My heart pounds so hard in my ears that I can barely hear my surroundings. My body shakes so violently it’s hard to stay on my feet. This isn’t getting any better, and she knows it too.

“Oliver, let’s do it together,” she says, kneeling in front of me. “Inhale.”

She takes a deep breath, and I try to copy her. “Hold, four, three, two, one. Exhale.”

We repeat the same thing four times. My vision begins to widen again, to clear. My body starts to register the cold, and my hands don’t shake as much anymore. At least I can hide it better. I’m sitting on the floor, curled into myself, my head between my knees.

“Can I touch your back?” she whispers.

I nod.

Her hand moves in slow, gentle circles across my back, and a soft, melodic sound escapes her throat—something between a hum and a lullaby—that loosens every muscle in my body. We stay like that for a long time. I’m torn between wanting to keep my head down for two very different reasons: one, because I want to keep enjoying this without her seeing my eyes; and two, because of the shame, raw, heavy, unbearable shame.

At the same time, I can’t help but worry she’s cold. She’s only wearing her pajamas, and the air out here cuts deep.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. My voice comes out rough, almost harsh, but it doesn’t stop her hand from moving across my back.

“I heard strange noises,” she says softly. “I came to warn you, but then I realized they were coming from here. Were you having a nightmare?”

I nod.

“Do you want to go back inside?”

I shake my head. Then she stands up and leaves. I tell myself it’s for the best, that she should stay as far away from me as possible. A man this broken, this beyond repair, has nothing to offer someone whose life is full of color and laughter.

But Cala surprises me again. She comes back a moment later, draping a blanket over my shoulders and tucking it around me. I look up, stunned by the simple kindness. Then she wraps one around herself too. Her hair is loosely tied back, her pajamas just a long-sleeved shirt and gray cotton pants.

When she notices me watching her, she smiles softly.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hey,” I answer, my voice rough. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Minutes pass.

The night has fallen completely, and the sound of crickets fills the air. Somewhere out in the dark, coyotes roam my land, their howls echoing in search of their pack.

“I don’t want to talk about what just happened,” I mutter.

“I know. Do you want me to go?”

I take a few seconds too long to answer. My mind says one thing, but my mouth betrays me.

“No.”

Cala settles in, resting her head near the foot of the lounge chair to look up at the stars. I follow her lead, letting the constellations pull me in.

“My grandmother used to invite me over to her house to watch the stars,” she says. “She could spot the constellations like the back of her hand.”

“Which one was your favorite?” I find myself asking.