Chapter 40
Caleb's POV
The message vanished from my screen. Like she'd second-guessed herself the instant she hit send.
I stared at the empty chat thread, my pulse hammering against my ribs. My thumb moved before I could think, typing fast.
Where are you?
The message sat there. Delivered. Not read.
I called.
It rang twice before she declined.
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. I tried again. Same result—two rings, then the automated voice telling me what I already knew. She didn't want to talk.
But she'd asked that question. She wouldn't have asked unless—
I shoved my chair back and grabbed my coat, my hands already reaching for my keys.
---
The highway was a blur of gray pavement and dirty snow. I drove too fast, weaving between cars, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. Every red light felt like a personal attack.
I called her again. Declined.
Fuck.
I pulled up Hector's number instead, barely waiting for him to answer.
"I need Lila's number."
"Uh—what?"
"Elena's roommate. Now."
A pause. Then he rattled off the digits without asking why.
I dialed the second I hung up.
"Hello?" Lila's voice was cautious.
"It's Caleb. Where's Elena?"
"Oh—uh, she went home for break. Why? Is something—"
I didn't answer. Just hung up and called Elena again.
This time, she let it ring out.
My foot hit the gas harder. The engine roared.
I knew this route. I knew every turn, every stoplight. Cross Manor was twenty minutes from downtown if you obeyed traffic laws.
I made it in twelve.
At a red light, I forced myself to stop, my fingers trembling as I typed out a message.
I'm almost at Cross Manor. You coming out, or am I coming in?
I didn't know if she'd even see it. Didn't know if she was still home. But I couldn't sit still. Couldn't wait.
The light turned green. I didn't move until someone honked behind me.
---
Elena's POV
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I'm almost at Cross Manor's south gate. You coming out, or am I coming in?
Caleb.
He was coming here?
He'd seen the message before I could take it back.
I fumbled for my phone, hands shaking, and pulled up the front camera. The screen showed exactly what I'd been avoiding all morning: swollen eyelids, red-rimmed eyes, skin blotchy from crying myself to sleep. I looked like I'd been hit by a truck.
No. No, no, no. I couldn't let him see me like this. Couldn't let anyone see me like this.
And if he came to the door—if my parents saw him—
My fingers moved on their own, pulling up his contact and hitting call.
He answered before the first ring finished.
"Elena."
"Don't," I managed, my voice coming out thick and nasal. "Don't come. I'm fine."
Silence. Then:
"You're not fine."
"I am. I just—" My throat closed up. I swallowed hard, trying to sound normal. "You don't need to—"
"I'm one block away."
My breath hitched. "Caleb—"
"I'm not leaving until I see you."
The line went quiet, but he didn't hang up. Neither did I.
I pressed the phone against my ear, listening to the faint sound of his breathing, the low hum of his car engine in the background.
Something cracked open in my chest. I'd sent one vague, half-deleted message, and he'd dropped everything to find me. When I felt like the whole world had abandoned me, here was someone who didn't run away—he ran toward me.
"You... weren't you at work?" I managed.
"Left early."
Silence stretched between us, but neither of us hung up.
"If you jumped," he said quietly, almost too low to hear, "I'd come for you. This time, I'd be the one pulling you out."
My throat constricted. I couldn't breathe.
"Caleb—"
"I'm almost there. Come outside, Elena."
"My eyes are really swollen. I look awful right now." My voice was still hoarse, but steadier.
"I don't care."
---
I threw the covers off and stumbled to my closet, pulling out the first sweater I could find. My reflection in the mirror was a disaster—puffy eyes, tangled hair, face pale and splotchy.
I grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around my neck, then yanked a knit hat low over my forehead. Found a mask in my coat pocket and pulled it on, covering most of my face.
The house was quiet when I crept downstairs. My parents were either still asleep or hiding in their separate corners, avoiding each other.
I slipped out the front door and pulled it shut behind me as quietly as I could.
The cold hit me immediately, sharp and biting. I hunched into my coat and started down the driveway toward the south gate, my breath fogging in the frigid air.
I'd barely made it ten steps when I saw someone I didn't want to see.
Damon.
He was pacing near the gate, hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders tense. When he looked up and saw me, he stopped.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then his eyes dropped to my face—what little of it was visible under the hat and mask—and something shifted in his expression. His jaw tightened.
"How are you?"
It wasn't a question.
I didn't answer. Just kept walking, trying to move past him.
He stepped into my path.
"Where are you going?"
"Out." My voice was flat, drained.
"Elena." He reached for my arm, but I pulled back before he could touch me. He hesitated, his hand hovering in the air between us. "Can we talk? Please?"
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Yes, there is." His voice dropped, urgent now. "Last night—I didn't know they were going to say all that. If I'd known, I would've warned you. I would've—"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does." He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "And your luggage is still in my car. Don't you want to get it?"
The mention of my luggage—still sitting in his trunk like an afterthought—made my stomach twist. Of course. He'd driven off yesterday and left me stranded on the side of the road, and now he was acting like it was a minor oversight.
"I'll get it later," I said, my tone clipped.
"Elena, come on. I wasn't trying to leave you there. Scarlett's my girlfriend—you know that. You should've been nicer to her. She didn't do anything wrong. I don't understand why you're so cold to her when you're perfectly friendly to strangers."
I stared at him, disbelief curling through my chest.
"Are you serious?" I asked quietly. "You want to have this conversation now?"
Frustration bloomed across his face. I could see it—he didn't know how to handle me anymore. When had I stopped being the girl he could control? When had I become someone he couldn't predict?
I used to be so easy.
He ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. Then what do you want?"
The question hung in the air.