“You are home,” Silas says quietly. “And you’re coming with us.”
I want to fight. Want to scream and rage and make this as hard as possible. But I’m so fucking tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of being the girl who can’t hold it together.
So I follow them to Silas’s truck and climb into the backseat without another word.
The first few miles pass in silence. I pull out my phone.
HARPER: Home safe
MARIE: Are you okay???
I bite my bottom lip, feeling shitty about using sweet, naïve Marie to help me try to get away with sneaking off.
HARPER: Yeah, got lost. Srry to worry u and ur mom
Silas drives with both hands on the wheel, jaw tight. I stare out the window at the darkness rushing past, at all the lights of places I’ll never go, lives I’ll never live.
And then I feel it.
Caleb’s hand, reaching back from the front seat. Not grabbing, not demanding. Just... there. Palm up, open, offering.
His fingers are still trembling slightly. I can see his thumb tapping against his palm—one, two, three—like he’s counting something invisible.
I stare at it for a long moment. At his long fingers and the calluses on his palm and the way he’s not looking at me, just keeping his hand extended like he’s got all the time in the world.
Even now, even stressed and tired and probably pissed at me, he’s still reaching for me.
Something in my chest cracks.
Before I can stop myself, I reach forward and take it.
His fingers close around mine, warm and solid and real. Not possessive, just... present. Like he’s saying,I’mherewithout words. Like he’s promising,You’re not alone, even though I don’t deserve it, even though I just tried to run away from everything he and Helen are trying to give me.
For three heartbeats—maybe four—I let myself have it. Let myself accept the comfort, the warmth, the impossible idea that someone might actually want me to stay.
Then Z’s face flashes in my mind. Z, alone in that shitty trailer with Frank and no one looking out for him. Z, who asked me to marry him so we could save each other. Z, who’s never left me, never given up on me, never looked at me like I was anything other than exactly who I’m supposed to be.
I yank my hand back like Caleb’s touch burns.
Will I always feel torn in two like this?
“Don’t,” I whisper, and I don’t know if I’m talking to him or myself.
Caleb’s hand hovers for a second before he slowly pulls it back to his side.
The rest of the drive home—home, what a fucking joke—passes in silence.
And I spend every mile hating myself for two completely opposite reasons:
For not succeeding in my escape.
And for being so goddamned relieved that I got caught.
TEN
HARPER
Zand I made new plans after my failed runaway attempt. Tears streaked down my face as I pressed my palm against my laptop screen like I could somehow touch him through it.