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mornin'

he's happy to help, a firm nod following as he reassures the woman. "got plenty back at home, i'll be fine." his eyes follow her eye line. "you all good 𖤠"

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+ of juice."

"don't thank me yet," he's taking a look in his truck where he finds his walkie talkie for the ranch. he pops open the back and drops two batteries into his hands. "take 'em both," cal is holding them out for her. "should have plenty +

uh, let me take a look in th' car.

don't smoke, sweetheart. sorry.

cracking open a beer.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀when I burn my hand for the hundredth time , will you 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 kiss it better ?

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cal doesn’t talk about what he lost.
he just stays busy, stays kind, stays exactly who everyone expects him to be— even if he’s still figuring out what’s left when the dream is gone.

at home, it’s just him, the land, and his scrappy little dog, ribeye, who follows him everywhere like he hung the moon.

he helps coach the local high school football team, running drills in the same field where he used to be everything. the boys look at him like he’s proof of what they could be. he never lets them see the part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if things were different.

from the outside, he’s still the golden boy. still smiling. still charming. still the guy everyone trusts. but there’s something quieter underneath it now.

when ranch work slows, he picks up construction jobs around town — fixing roofs, patching drywall, building things with his hands because it’s easier than sitting still too long.

now he’s back where he started, working his family’s ranch like he never left. early mornings, long days, sunburnt shoulders, dust that never quite washes out of his jeans.

one bad hit. one injury that didn’t heal right. no big moment. just a quiet end to something that was supposed to be everything.

friday nights belonged to him — stadium lights, his name echoing, a future that felt as certain as the ground under his feet. he left town on a football scholarship like everyone knew he would. and then it was over.

callum wade cohen was the kind of boy people built expectations around.
 quarterback. prom king. golden, easy charm that made doors open before he even knocked.

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