Finding Lena | ✔️

Chapter Fourteen

The sun seeps through my window and casts long, yellow rays onto the carpet beside my bed.

I turn my head to see Caleb lying beside me, his eyes still closed while he breathes in soft, even breaths...

Wait.

Caleb Myers is in my bed.

Memories of last night come flooding back, and I remember seeing the scars on his back, and him waking up screaming from a night terror.

And how he had said that he'd dreamt of his dad. But his real dad, not Michael.

What happened with his real dad, and why is he having sleep terrors about him?

Eventually, his eyes flutter open. "Lena?"

I smile, not inching my gaze from his.

"Morning," he whispers, still groggy from sleep but smiling all the same. "What time is it?" he asks, looking around him for a clock.

I lean over to my bedside table and check the time on my phone. 10:42.

"Nearly a quarter to eleven."

"Oh, shit, Michael will be wondering where I am," he frets, beginning to stand out of bed.

But he sighs, too exhausted to make it to the chair where he left his shirt, and falls back onto the bed again beside me.

"Last night..." I murmur. "You had a night terror, and when you woke up, you told me it was about your dad. Your real dad."

He doesn't speak for a second, just lies so that he's nearly pressed up against me. He gently places a stray strand of my black hair behind my ear, sending a tingling feeling across my face.

"I promise I'll tell you, Lena, but now..."

I shake my head. "No, you don't need to tell me right now. Tell me when you're ready, okay?"

He smiles and gently bobs his head. "Thanks for last night, when you...you know," he fumbles awkwardly for the words.

"I know."

His hand slowly runs down my face, sliding down my neck and to my shoulder. He squeezes it with thanks.

"I really should be going."

When we are both dressed properly and fully awake, he shadows me down the stairs.

As he turns for the door, I hear a car pull up outside.

"Crap, Jace is here, he can't see you," I frantically scramble to put the right words together, but all that comes out is a rushed slur.

"He'll see me if I go outside," he reminds.

After deliberating it for a second, I say, "Go into the kitchen, through the door and go around the back."

"What about my car? He'd have noticed it by now." Jace's footsteps draw closer.

"Oh yeah. Go to the front door, knock on once Jace is inside and come up with a reasonable explanation for why your car is in my drive."

"What?"

"Just go!" I nudge him into the kitchen where he rushes to the glass doors and slips into the chilly morning air, around the side of the house and out of sight.

At that second, Jace comes through the door calling my name.

"Yeah, I'm here," I reply, jogging lightly into the hall to greet him.

"Whose car is that in the drive?"

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door, and I jump to go and get it.