Chapter 55

Chapter 55
ELENA

Something is different.

I notice it before anyone says a single word.

Theo is standing by the kitchen island, his phone in his hand, while Finn leans against the counter, absentmindedly tossing a tennis ball for Luna. Caleb is unpacking another box of books in the living room.

The moment I walk in, all three of them look at me.

Then, almost in unison, they look away.

It lasts less than a second.

But it's enough.

"What?" I ask, looking from one face to the next.

Finn blinks innocently. "What do you mean, 'what'?"

"You all have that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you've either broken something or you're hiding something."

Finn chuckles. "That's a little specific."

"I've known you long enough."

He scratches the back of his neck. "I think you're imagining things."

I don't answer. Instead, I look at Theo. He has never been able to lie to me.

At least, I didn't think he could.

His lips curve into a gentle smile.

"We were just talking."

"About?"

"The move."

"The move?" I repeat.

Theo nods. "We're trying to decide where the last boxes should go."

I glance around the room.

There are barely any boxes left.

"Hmm."

My wolf stirs beneath my skin.

Not in warning. In curiosity. Something is off.

Not dangerous.

Just...

Different.

I decide not to push.

If something happened, they'll tell me.

Won't they?

The house is almost finished.

A few pictures still need to be hung, and there are boxes scattered upstairs waiting to be unpacked, but it already feels more like home than I ever expected.

I find myself smiling as I organize the kitchen cupboards.

Who would've thought?

Me.

Living under the same roof as the three boys who once made my life miserable.

Life really has a twisted sense of humor.

I hear footsteps behind me.

"You know..."

Caleb's voice is quieter than usual.

"I think those plates go in the cabinet above your head."

Without turning around, I answer, "I'm aware."

"You've moved them three times."

"So?"

"So... maybe you're overthinking it."

I finally look at him.

"And maybe you're hovering."

One corner of his mouth lifts.

"There she is."

"What does that mean?"

"I was wondering where your sarcasm went."

"It took a short vacation."

His smile disappears almost as quickly as it came.

There it is again.

That heaviness.

That distant look I've been catching all afternoon.

I lean against the counter.

"Okay."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Okay?"

"Enough."

"Enough what?"

"Whatever this is."

He frowns. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I cross my arms.

"You've been acting strange all day."

"I've been unpacking boxes."

"You've barely said ten words."

"I'm tired."

"You don't look tired."

"What do I look like?"

"Like something happened."

His gaze drops to the floor.

Just for a second.

Then he meets my eyes again. "I promise everything's fine."

I shake my head. "No."

His brow furrows. "No?"

"I don't believe you."

Silence stretches between us.

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

His hands disappear into the pockets of his jeans.

I wait.

He knows I'm waiting.

Come on...

Tell me.

Whatever it is.

Instead, he sighs. "I'll explain soon."

Soon.

I hate that word.

It's the word people use when they don't want to tell you the truth.

"When?"

He hesitates. "I don't know."

"Does it have something to do with Eric?"

For the briefest moment...

His entire body goes still.

It is almost imperceptible.

But I see it.

He recovers quickly. "What makes you think that?"

"I asked a question."

He doesn't answer.

Which is an answer in itself.

"Caleb."

"I'm sorry."

Those two words catch me completely off guard.

"I'm not asking for an apology."

"I know."

"Then what are you apologizing for?"

He looks at me with an expression I've never seen on his face before.

Regret.

Not the kind someone wears after losing a fight.

The kind that comes from losing sleep.

"I'll tell you," he says quietly. "I just..." He exhales slowly. "I need a little more time."

I search his face.

Every instinct tells me to keep pushing.

To demand the truth.

I have spent too many years being lied to.

Too many years discovering everyone else knew things about my own life before I did.

I don't want that anymore.

But I also don't want to become the person who forces answers out of people.

If Caleb wants to tell me...

He will.

Or at least...

I hope he will.

"Okay," I whisper.

Relief flashes across his face.

It hurts more than I expected.



Dinner is strangely quiet.

Usually, this table is chaos.

Finn complains about Theo's cooking.

Theo reminds him he could always cook instead.

Caleb pretends to agree with Theo while secretly stealing food from Finn's plate.

By the end of the meal, someone is laughing.

Usually me.

Tonight...

The silence is almost louder than the conversation.

Finn tries.

"So..."

He looks around the table dramatically.

"I've decided the baby should call me Favorite Daddy."

Theo smiles politely.

Caleb keeps eating.

I stare at my mashed potatoes.

Finn clears his throat.

"Tough crowd."

A few minutes later, Theo asks if I remembered to order the changing table.

I nod.

Caleb asks what color we picked for the nursery.

"Green."

He nods once.

"Nice."

Silence.

Again.

The clinking of cutlery suddenly feels deafening.

I glance at each of them.

Theo avoids my eyes.

Finn keeps playing with his fork.

Caleb barely touches his food.

They're all here.

And somehow...

They're miles away.

I force myself to finish eating.

Then I stand.

"I'm going upstairs."

Theo looks up immediately.

"You okay?"

"I'm just tired."

Another lie.

Apparently, we're all telling them tonight.



The hallway upstairs is blessedly quiet.

I close the bedroom door behind me and lean against it for a moment.

My chest feels tight.

I hate this feeling.

Not knowing.

Wondering.

Imagining the worst.

I know they're trying to protect me.

At least, I think that's what they're doing.

But keeping secrets has never protected me.

It has only delayed the pain.

I look around the room.

Only a handful of boxes remain.

Most of them contain clothes or books.

One sits alone beneath the window.

Small.

Dusty.

Unmarked.

My stomach drops the second I see it.

Arthur's box.

I carried it at my place after the funeral.

I remember promising myself I'd open it when I was ready.

Weeks have passed.

Maybe months.

I still don't feel ready.

Slowly...

I walk toward it.

I kneel on the floor.

My fingertips brush across the dusty cardboard lid.

Inside that box are the last pieces of the life I lost.

The last things my parents ever touched.

I close my eyes.

Take one slow breath.

Then another.

Finally...

With trembling hands...

I lift the lid.