Chapter 15 — Lena
Lena
Lena Brooks had a theory.
Normal life was not actually normal.
Normal life was a trap.
It looked harmless from a distance. Coffee. Studying. Sidewalks. Text messages. A boy picking her up outside her dorm with his hair still damp from a shower and a smile that said he had been looking forward to seeing her all day.
But beneath the surface, normal life was dangerous.
Because normal life made things feel possible.
Not dramatic.
Not urgent.
Carter Hayes leaned against the low brick wall outside her dorm the next morning with two coffees in hand and a paper bag tucked under one arm.
He wore a gray hoodie today instead of Ridgeview navy, jeans, and the kind of tired-but-happy expression that made Lena’s pulse trip over itself.
The moment he saw her, he straightened.
“Brooks.”
“Hayes.”
He held up the coffees. “Correct order.”
“And the bag?”
“Breakfast.”
She stopped in front of him and narrowed her eyes. “For you or me?”
“For both of us.”
“What did you get?”
“Bagels.”
“Actual breakfast.”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked. I’m documenting growth.”
He smiled. “Proud of this development?”
His smile softened into something less smug and more dangerous.
Very dangerous.
“Maybe,” she said.
Just Carter’s fingers sliding between hers like this was a thing they did now.
Like holding her hand in front of the dorm at nine in the morning belonged to them.
Lena’s heart went soft in a way that made her want to immediately create a spreadsheet of emotional consequences.
“You okay?” he asked.
Not teasing.
Checking.
“Your okay or mine?” she asked.
His mouth curved. “Yours.”
She squeezed his hand. “Getting there.”
“Good answer.”
“I learned from someone emotionally improving.”
“He sounds impressive.”
“He highlights empty margins.”
Campus was awake around them. Students crossed the quad in every direction, hoodies and backpacks and messy buns and earbuds.
Someone rode past on a bike with a stack of books in one hand, which seemed like an accident waiting to happen.
Two girls near the fountain looked over at Carter and Lena, whispered something, then looked away quickly.
The old instinct.
The urge to withdraw her hand.
But Carter’s fingers tightened slightly around hers.
By the time they reached the coffee shop, Lena felt both victorious and ridiculous.
A woman should not feel brave because she held a boy’s hand past a fountain.
Then again, Carter was not just a boy.
Inside, they chose the same corner table as yesterday, partly because it had outlets and partly because they were apparently becoming people with a table.
That realization made Lena stare at the chair too long.
Carter set the bag down. “You okay?”
“We have a table.”
He looked at the table.
Then at her.
Then back at the table with exaggerated suspicion. “It appears structurally sound.”
“No, I mean…” She waved vaguely. “We sat here yesterday.”
“And now again.”
“Also true.”
“It’s becoming our table.”
Carter went very still.
Only for a second.
Then his expression shifted into something devastatingly gentle.
“Our table,” he repeated.
Lena felt her face heat. “I didn’t mean—”
She looked at him.
“I like that,” he said, quieter. “Our table.”
Lena sat before her knees could embarrass her.
Carter took the seat across from her, but his smile did not fade.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“You have a face.”
“I like having a table with you.”
“Stop saying it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it means something.”
His eyes warmed. “It does.”
This was the issue with Carter’s emotional improvement. He had become alarmingly direct.
Flirty Carter had been dangerous.
Honest Carter was catastrophic.
Lena opened the paper bag and pulled out a bagel to give her hands something to do.
“Eat,” she said, pushing one toward him.
“And study.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And stop looking at me like that.”
He leaned back, smiling. “Absolutely not.”
She pointed a cream-cheese knife at him.
“Threat noted,” he said.
Actual breakfast.
Carter took a photo of his bagel and sent it to someone. Lena raised an eyebrow.
“My mom,” he explained. “Proof of food.”
“You’re reporting meals to multiple women now?”
“Apparently. I’m thriving under supervision.”
“Home. Annoyed. Alive.” His expression softened on the last word. “He has follow-ups, but he’s okay.”
“Yeah.” Carter looked down at his coffee cup. “Really good.”
She reached across the table before overthinking it and touched his wrist.
He looked at her hand, then at her.
“I’m glad,” she said.
“Me too.”
For a second, the coffee shop faded.
Then the bell over the door jingled, and reality returned in the form of Mason Cross.
He entered wearing sunglasses even though they were indoors, a hoodie pulled up, and the expression of a man who had recently survived consequences and wanted credit for it.
Lena closed her eyes. “No.”
Carter looked over his shoulder and groaned. “Why?”
Mason spotted them.
He lifted both hands immediately.
“I come in peace.”
“You came in sunglasses,” Carter said.
“For privacy.”
“You are inside.”
“Privacy can be indoor.”
Lena stared at him. “Are you wearing any unauthorized merchandise?”
Mason slowly unzipped his hoodie.
Carter muttered, “Don’t.”
No clipboard.
No emotional likeness.
Mason spread his arms. “Growth.”
Lena nodded once. “Acceptable.”
Mason exhaled dramatically. “Thank you.”
“Do not sit down,” Carter said.
Mason froze halfway toward the chair beside them.
“I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I was approaching in a seated spirit.”
“Mason.”
“Right.” Mason looked at Lena, and for once, the humor softened around the edges. “Hey. I really am sorry about the story. I thought it was funny for us. Didn’t think about everybody else seeing it.”
Lena’s irritation loosened.
Mason being ridiculous was easy to handle.
Mason being sincere was more complicated.
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
“And I will not turn you into content again.”
“Good.”
“Unless you sign a release.”
“Mason.”
“Joke. Bad joke. Growth has speed bumps.”
Carter dragged a hand down his face.
Lena almost smiled.
Mason looked between them. “Okay. I’m leaving. I just wanted to apologize and also tell Carter that Coach moved film to three.”
Carter frowned. “He texted the group?”
“The team group chat or the secret one about me?”
Mason’s eyes widened.
Lena turned slowly toward Carter. “The secret what?”
Carter pointed at Mason. “You did this.”
Mason backed away. “I regret stopping by.”
“Mason.”
“There may be a chat,” Carter said.
Lena looked at him.
“About you?”
“Apparently.”
“What is it called?”
Carter glared at Mason.
Mason looked at the ceiling like salvation might be written in the tiles.
“Mason,” Lena said.
He winced. “Emotional Support Forward.”
Carter closed his eyes.
But the laugh came out anyway, and once it started, it would not stop.
Carter opened one eye. “Do not encourage this.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, still laughing. “That is terrible.”
“It’s affectionate,” Mason said.
“It’s illegal,” Carter replied.
“That’s not a crime.”
“It should be.”
Lena covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.
Carter looked wounded. “You’re enjoying my suffering.”
Mason pointed at her. “See? She gets it.”
Lena dropped her hand and gave Mason a look.
He lowered his finger. “Respectfully.”
Carter sighed. “Film at three?”
“Yeah.” Mason backed toward the door. “Okay. Bye. No shirts. No stories. No content. Just vibes.”
“Go,” Carter said.
Mason saluted and left.
The bell jingled behind him.
Carter looked at Lena. “You’re still smiling.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You laughed.”
“Because it’s awful.”
“I’m deleting every group chat on campus.”
“Can you?”
“No. But I’m emotionally motivated.”
She smiled at him across the table, and he stared back in that way that made the air warm between them.
“What?” she asked.
“I like when you laugh at my expense.”
“Good. It may happen often.”
Lena’s smile softened.
Normal life, she thought.
Mason appearing like a bad omen.
None of it looked like the romance movies she had watched with Paige, where the couple’s biggest obstacle was a misunderstanding that could have been solved by a single text message and the lighting was always flattering.
They worked for nearly an hour.
Carter made real progress on his paper, though he did attempt to include the phrase community identity with skates, which Lena allowed only after he argued it was “memorable but academically adjacent.”
She finished the donor report, attached the final numbers, and emailed it to Denise with a subject line that made her feel deeply satisfied:
Hearts & Helmets Fundraiser — Final Report and Donor Summary
Carter glanced over. “Did you just finish?”
“Big moment.”
“It is.”
“How do you celebrate?”
“By starting the next task.”
He looked horrified. “No.”
“That is how productivity works.”
“That is how haunted people live.”
She laughed. “What do you suggest?”
“Five-minute break.”
“I can do five minutes.”
Not smugly.
Just enough to let her know he understood exactly what he had said and what it did to her.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said.
They packed just enough to leave the table without abandoning anything valuable and stepped outside behind the coffee shop, where a small brick patio overlooked the side lawn.
No Mason.
Just a few tables, a sleepy campus cat curled beneath a bench, and sunlight filtering through the trees.
Lena wrapped both hands around her coffee.
Carter leaned against the brick wall beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.
It was strange how comfortable silence had become with him.
But this silence felt like rest.
Carter glanced down. “I called you last night.”
“I remember.”
“I was nervous.”
She looked at him. “To call me?”
“Because I wanted to, and wanting things makes me stupid.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “That is unfortunately relatable.”
His expression softened. “Yeah?”
He turned so he was facing her more fully. “Were you nervous answering?”