Chapter 137
Elena's POV
The car felt smaller than it should have. Mom sat in the back beside me, her posture careful, like she was trying not to take up too much space. Caleb drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead as if nothing else existed.
I'd silenced my phone. Now it sat in my lap like a grenade with the pin pulled, vibrating every few minutes. Each buzz made my stomach twist tighter.
I stole a glance at Caleb. His jaw was set, expression blank. He hadn't said a word about the calls. Hadn't asked. Hadn't even looked at me.
Maybe he doesn't care, I thought, then immediately felt pessimistic.
I'd messaged him last night. His response had been cold. Distant.
And just now, when I'd hugged him outside the café, his body had gone rigid. He hadn't pulled me closer. He'd just... stood there. Let me cling to him like some pathetic—
"Elena."
I blinked. Mom was watching me, concern etched into the lines around her eyes.
"You okay?"
"Fine," I lied.
---
Caleb pulled into the underground garage and cut the engine. We stepped into the elevator. As it ascended, the silence that followed felt suffocating.
Mom broke it. "Actually, I'd like to make a proper dinner, but we don't even have pots and pans."
I turned to stare at her. "Mom, we can order takeout."
"We can't eat takeout every day."
Caleb's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "There's a supermarket downstairs."
"Perfect. Then you two should go now." The elevator doors opened and she stepped out, then turned to block the doorway. "Take your time."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that she was obviously manufacturing an excuse for us to be alone. But Mom had already pressed the button, and the elevator doors closed again.
The ride down felt endless. Just the two of us in a small metal box, the numbers ticking past with agonizing slowness.
I needed to say something. Anything to break this awful silence.
I pulled out my phone, my hand tightening slightly. "Damon's calls. I haven't answered any of them."
I held up the screen like a kid showing a good report card, searching his face for... what? Approval? Relief?
Caleb glanced at it. "Mm."
That was it. Just a soft hum of acknowledgment. His gaze drifted back to the elevator doors.
My chest tightened. "I won't answer. I mean, not now. Not—"
"Okay."
One word. Flat. Neutral.
The elevator dinged. Ground floor.
---
The supermarket was bright and crowded for this time of night. I grabbed a cart and started down the first aisle, consulting the list Mom had texted me. Dish soap. Paper towels. Coffee.
Caleb followed a few steps behind. Not beside me. Behind.
I could feel him there, this silent presence that made my whole body hyper-aware. Every movement felt clumsy, exaggerated. I reached for a bottle of olive oil and nearly knocked over three others.
"Sorry," I muttered to no one.
We made it through produce, then dairy, then dry goods. I picked things at random, barely reading labels. Caleb didn't comment. Didn't suggest anything. Just... followed.
At the checkout, he stepped forward before I could even reach for my wallet. Slid his card through without a word.
"I can pay you back—" I started.
"No need."
Two words. That same flat tone.
My throat tightened. "I should. I mean, all this—"
"Elena." He looked at me then, finally. His expression was carefully blank. "It's not necessary."
"But—"
He grabbed the receipt, handed it to the cashier who was bagging our items. "They'll send the larger items up. We can take these."
He turned and walked toward the exit. Didn't wait for me to agree. Didn't ask if I was coming.
I stood there, frozen, watching him go. Then grabbed the two lightest bags and hurried after him.
---
Outside, the cold air bit at my face. Caleb had already arranged delivery with one of the workers, his voice low and efficient. Professional.
When he finished, he started back toward the building without looking at me.
I followed. Slower this time. The bags cut into my palms but I barely noticed.
He's angry, I thought. He must be.
Where did I go wrong?
---
Back in the apartment, Mom was waiting in the kitchen. She took one look at my face and frowned.
"What happened?"
"Nothing." I set the bags down. "We just—"
"Elena." She pulled me aside, lowering her voice. "Did you two fight?"
"No. Not a fight. He just..." I swallowed hard. "He paid for everything and I said I wanted to pay him back and then he—he wouldn't even look at me. Just walked away."
Mom pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh, sweetheart."
"What?" Panic crept into my voice. "What did I do wrong?"
"I really did raise a silly girl."
Mom turned back to washing vegetables.
I pulled out my phone.
Scrolled to Lila's name.
Me: I think I messed up. With Caleb. And I don't know how to fix it.
The reply came quickly.
Lila: Spill.
I hesitated, then typed quickly—last night's message, this morning's hug, and just now at the supermarket. The distance. The way he barely looked at me.
Lila: Okay so here's the thing. You basically told him "thanks for the help but I'm keeping my options open."
Me: I didn't mean it like that!
Lila: Doesn't matter what you meant. When you keep things transactional—paying him back, not accepting help—you're telling him you don't plan on sticking around. That you're ready to run the second things get hard.
I stared at the words, my vision blurring.
Lila: He probably thinks you're already halfway out the door. Back to Damon or whoever else. Why would he invest more in someone who won't let him in?
My hands were shaking.
Me: What do I do?
Lila: Stop keeping score. Stop treating everything like a debt. And for God's sake, tell him you're not going anywhere.
Me: What if it's too late?
Lila: Then you fight for it. If he matters, you fight.
I gripped my phone tighter, my chest constricting.
He thought I was going to leave.