Chapter 66
Elena's POV
Lila picked up on the second ring. "Ethan? Did you finally—"
"It's Elena."
Silence. Then: "Elena? Why are you calling from Ethan's phone?"
"I left mine at home," my voice cracked despite my best effort to control it. "I ran into Ethan at Midnight Pages downtown, and I—I had a fight with my dad. I can't go home. Can I come to your place?"
"I'm coming to get you right now." Her voice turned sharp with worry. "Stay there."
I heard rustling, the sound of her tearing through her apartment.
"Shit. Where are my keys?" More rustling. "Okay, give me some time. I might have left them somewhere."
"Lila, I can wait—"
She'd already hung up.
I handed the phone back to Ethan with a mumbled thanks. He hovered for a moment, clearly unsure whether to stay or give me space.
"Want some hot chocolate?" he offered. "There's a vending machine downstairs."
I shook my head. "I'm okay. Thank you."
The phone rang a dozen seconds later.
"Hey, sorry, I might not be able to make it, but—"
"Change of plan." Lila's voice was rushed. "Someone's closer. He can get there in like ten minutes."
My stomach dropped. "Who?"
A pause. Too long.
"You'll see when he gets there."
"Lila—"
"Just trust me, okay? He's already on his way."
The line went dead.
I sat there staring at the phone, dread pooling in my gut.
He.
Oh god.
Please not him.
"Looks like Lila's got it sorted," Ethan said. "I've still got some research to finish up. I'll head back now."
"Thank you."
Then he was gone, and I was alone again with the weight of the night pressing down on my shoulders.
---
Twelve minutes.
That's how long I sat there, heart hammering, practicing what I'd say if it was him.
The glass door swung open. Cold air rushed in.
Caleb.
He stood in the entrance, snow dusting his dark coat, eyes scanning the space with the focused intensity of a predator tracking prey. When his gaze found me, everything else fell away.
He moved fast. Several long strides and he was there, stopping just short of touching me.
His eyes went to my face.
I watched his jaw lock. Watched something dangerous flash behind his eyes before he buried it under layers of control.
"Come on," he said quietly.
He turned and headed for the door. I followed.
The street was nearly empty, our footsteps crunching in the snow. Caleb walked three paces ahead, spine rigid, not looking back.
He stopped beside his car. Then he turned.
His hand came up, fingers catching my chin, tilting my face to the side.
The handprint stood out stark and clear. Five fingers. My split lip. The bruise already forming along my cheekbone.
"Who did this?" His voice was too quiet. Too controlled.
"I tripped." The lie fell flat even to my own ears. "Hit the doorframe."
His thumb traced the air just above the swelling, not quite touching. "You tripped. And left a perfect handprint."
I tried to pull away. His fingers tightened—gentle but immovable.
"Elena." My name was a warning.
"Does it matter?"
"Of course it fucking matters."
I'd never heard his voice shake like that. Never seen his eyes burn gold at the edges.
"Just—let it go. Please."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then his hand dropped and he stepped back, pulling open the passenger door.
"Get in."
"Caleb—"
"Get. In."
I climbed into the seat. He leaned across me, and I froze as his scent wrapped around me—snow and cedar and something darker underneath. His hands moved with efficient precision, clicking the seatbelt into place, then pulling his coat off and draping it over my legs.
He didn't say a word.
The driver's door slammed. Engine started. Heat blasted from the vents.
We pulled into traffic in silence.
---
The warmth crept into my bones slowly, thawing the numbness. With it came everything I'd been holding back.
My throat closed up. Eyes burning. I tried to breathe through it, but the air wouldn't come.
Then I broke.
A sob tore out of me—ugly and raw. I pressed my hands over my face, shoulders shaking, trying desperately to muffle the sound.
The car swerved slightly. Caleb swore under his breath.
We came to a stop. I didn't look up, couldn't, just kept my face buried in my palms as everything crashed over me in waves.
Something rustled. A box of tissues appeared in my lap.
Through my fingers, I saw Caleb turned sideways in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the back of my headrest. Giving me space but staying close.
Not demanding I stop. Not telling me to pull myself together.
Just... there.
I cried until my ribs ached. Until the tissues were soaked and crumpled and useless. Until I had nothing left.
Slowly, the sobs faded to hiccups. Then silence.
Caleb's voice came soft. "Was it your father?"
It wasn't really a question.
I nodded, still not looking at him.
"What for?"
"He wanted me to—" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard. "Go back to the resort. Make Damon want me. To—"
The temperature in the car dropped about ten degrees.
When I finally looked up, Caleb's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His jaw worked like he was physically biting back words.
"You refused," he said flatly.
"I told him about Scarlett. Told him Damon chose her. That we're done." I laughed—sharp and bitter. "He didn't take it well."
Caleb said nothing. But I felt the rage coming off him in waves.
"Hey." I touched his arm without thinking. "I'm okay."
His eyes cut to mine. "You're not okay. You're sitting in my car with a handprint on your face."
"It could be worse."
"It shouldn't have happened at all."
The words hung between us, fierce and protective and so painfully sincere that fresh tears burned behind my eyes.
He exhaled hard, forcing himself to relax his grip on the wheel. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.
"Lately, every time I see you, your eyes are swollen."
It should have been an accusation. It came out like heartbreak.
I didn't know what to say to that.
His hand moved before I could think, reaching across to brush my cheek. His thumb caught a stray tear, so gentle.
Without thinking, I leaned into the touch. Let my face rest against his palm.