Chapter 143
Elena's POV
My heart hammered so hard I was certain he could hear it.
"I wasn't trying to—" I started, then stopped. God, how did I even explain this without sounding desperate? "I mean, I don't want you to think I'm just... throwing myself at you or anything."
A sound escaped him. Soft, unexpected. Was that a laugh?
My eyes snapped to his face. His hand had come up to cover his mouth, but I caught it—the slight curve of his lips, the way his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. It was the first time I'd seen anything close to amusement from him since the wedding disaster.
"You're laughing at me," I accused, but there was no heat in it.
"I'm not." His voice was steady, but his eyes gave him away.
Something loosened in my chest. Before I could stop myself, I took a step closer. "Caleb..." The word came out softer than I intended, almost pleading. "Please don't be mad at me."
His hand dropped from his mouth. I watched his jaw tighten, watched him fight for control. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "I'm not mad."
"You're barely looking at me."
"Elena." My name was a warning. Or maybe a plea. I couldn't tell anymore.
I reached for his hand, catching his fingers before he could pull away. "I'm sorry," I said quietly, giving his hand a small shake. "About everything. About the messages, about disappearing, about—"
"Stop." His fingers curled around mine, and the relief that flooded through me was almost painful. "I said I'm not mad."
"Then why won't you—"
"Because if I look at you right now," he cut me off, his voice dropping lower, "I might do something we'll both regret."
Heat crept up my neck. I should've let go of his hand. Should've stepped back. Instead, I moved closer.
"I know I messed up," I said, looking up at him. The height difference had never felt so obvious. "I know I keep—I keep pushing you away and then pulling you back and it's not fair to you, but I promise I'm done running. I'm done being scared."
His eyes—God, those eyes—fixed on mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "Are you?"
"Yes." The word came out stronger than I felt.
"Then prove it."
I blinked. "What?"
"Right now." His free hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Tell me what you want."
My brain short-circuited. What did I want? Everything. Him. This. Us. But the words stuck in my throat, tangled with fear and hope and a desperate need I didn't know how to name.
"I want..." I swallowed hard. "I want to stay here. With you."
Something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile, but close.
Before I could overthink it, before courage could desert me entirely, I pushed up on my toes and pressed my lips to his.
For a heartbeat, he went completely still. Then his hand tightened in my hair, and he was kissing me back with a fierceness that stole what little breath I had left. This wasn't like the careful, controlled kisses we'd shared before. This was raw, hungry, desperate.
When we finally broke apart, I was shaking. "I want you," I whispered against his mouth. "I want this. I want us. I'm terrified, but I don't care anymore because losing you scares me more than anything else."
His forehead dropped to mine, his breathing as ragged as my own.
"Elena—" His hand moved to cup my chin. "Don't run again. If you stay, you stay. I can't—" He paused, swallowing hard. "I can't watch you leave again."
The vulnerability in his voice nearly undid me.
"I won't," I promised, covering his hand with mine. "I won't run anymore."
He studied me for another moment, like he was making a final confirmation.
"Good." He stepped back, and I immediately missed his warmth. "But first you need to clean up. You look like a mess."
I blinked at the sudden shift to practical matters. "What?"
"Bathroom." He gestured toward the hallway. "You look like you just rolled out of bed."
It was so very Caleb—pivoting from an intense emotional moment to logistical planning in half a second—that I almost laughed.
"That's it?" I asked. "I just said I want to live with you and you're telling me to take a shower?"
Something flashed in his eyes. Dark. Hot. Gone too quickly for me to catch.
"If you keep looking at me like that," he said, voice low and rough, "I'm going to do something neither of us is ready for."
Heat flooded my face. "Oh."
"So yes. Go." He turned away, but not before I caught the faint flush creeping up his neck. "Before I change my mind about being a gentleman."
I should have left. Should have taken the exit he was giving both of us. But instead I heard myself ask, "And after I clean up?"
He went very still.
"Can I—" God, why was this so hard to say?
The words came out small and uncertain, and I immediately wanted to take them back. But then he turned around, and the look on his face—
"You don't need to ask permission for that, Elena. Now go clean up. Before I lose what little self-control I have left."
I went.
I found my way back to what I'd started thinking of as "his space."
My slippers were exactly where I'd left them last time. Seeing them there—still in place, like he'd been waiting for me to come back and use them—made my throat tight.
I slipped them on, the familiar softness grounding me. I went into the bathroom and started to freshen up.
My phone buzzed in my pocket again.
Without thinking, I pulled it out.
The screen lit up with notifications. Texts from Damon.
My fingers moved before I could overthink it, typing out a response.
"I'm fine. I'm with Caleb because I WANT to be. The engagement wasn't forced—I proposed it. It's done now. Please don't disturb our lives."
I hit send and immediately felt the weight lift slightly from my chest. There. I'd said it.