Chapter 16
Cal
"Are you sure you don't mind watching Hannah for me tonight?" I ask Mom. "I just need a couple of hours."
"Are you sure a couple of hours is long enough to conduct even a civil conversation with Meghan?" Mom's tone is a mix of sarcasm and caution.
My phone jingles, and the screen lights up with Elle’s name.
"Who is it?" Mom asks, catching the look of surprise on my face.
"It's Elle," I say, answering the call. "Hello?"
I listen intently as Elle explains how she fell five miles into her eight-mile run.
"I’ll be right there," I say, already reaching into my pocket for my keys.
"What is it?" Mom asks.
"Elle went for a run and fell," I say. "She’s okay, but she twisted her ankle. I need to go get her."
"Go!" Mom says. "If she needs to go to the emergency room, go with her. Hannah can stay here as long as you need."
***
I drive into the park, following the dirt road as far as it’ll take me—close enough to the running trail where Elle said she’d be. The whole way, I’m counting every second, needing to see her with my own eyes. Needing to confirm she’s really okay.
"I'm over here!" she calls out as soon as she sees me.
The first thing I notice is the red smear on her left knee. She’s bleeding.
I run to her, trying to figure out how to approach. I want to scoop her into my arms, promise everything’s going to be okay, but I keep my distance. If she could've called someone else, she would have.
"Can you walk?" I ask, slipping my arm around her waist as she drapes hers over my shoulder.
"You're bleeding."
"It looks worse than it is," she mutters, wincing as she shifts her weight.
"I’ve got water in the car," I say, guiding her gently. "How long were you out here before you called me?"
"Not long," she replies. "Trust me, I would’ve called someone else, but Tina’s at work, and the only other person I know is my private eye, and he charges two hundred bucks an hour."
"I’m glad you called me," I say. I watch her flinch with every step, each one taking more effort than the last.
"My whole body aches," she admits. "I think I need to pull my leggings up past my knee."
"Let me carry you."
"No way," she says quickly, stopping mid-step. "Just… give me a second."
She bends over to tug at the fabric, but I kneel beside her. "Here, let me."
Carefully, I push the fabric up past her knee, revealing a raw, nasty scrape still oozing blood.
"We’ll clean it up as soon as we get back to the house."
She nods and braces herself against me again.
"On second thought, I think I should take you to the ER—just to be safe. Let them check your ankle, make sure it’s not broken."
"Okay," she says quietly.
She doesn’t argue. And that alone tells me she’s hurting a lot more than she’s letting on.
I help her into the car, pausing just long enough to look into her eyes. She looks vulnerable, worn down by pain and exhaustion. But the anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface.
The trip to the ER is uneventful. Mostly because neither of us says much. The only words exchanged are when I ask her what her pain level is on a scale from one to ten.
“Eight and a half,” she says.
She doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t press.
***
When they take Elle to radiology for her X-ray, I step out into the hallway and call Mom.
Dad answers instead.
"Don’t worry, Son," he says. "We’ll keep Hannah overnight and take her to school in the morning."
"I’ll bring her a change of clothes," I offer.
"No need," he says. "We’ve got some of her things here. Don’t worry about a thing. Just take care of Elle. Call if you need anything."
"Thanks, Dad."
As soon as I hang up, I see Tina coming down the hallway.
“Cal,” she says, spotting me. “I just spoke to Elle. She’s going to be okay. It’s just a sprained ankle. The doctor’s wrapping it now. They cleaned up her scrapes and bandaged them, and she got a tetanus shot.”
She pauses, then adds, “We called in a prescription for ibuprofen. Can you swing by the pharmacy and pick it up on your way home?”
“Of course,” I say. “What time does your shift end?”
“I’m working a double tonight. I won’t be home until tomorrow morning.”
“Can she walk?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“She’s getting a set of crutches, but no, she can’t put any weight on that ankle.”
“Okay. I’ll stay with her then.”
Tina raises an eyebrow. “I doubt she’ll let you.”
“She doesn’t have a choice,” I say.
“Good luck,” she says, offering a brief smile before her tone turns sober. “Listen, I have to get back, but yeah—stay with her at least until she goes to bed. Make sure she takes a couple of ibuprofen, and I’ll be home before she wakes up in the morning.”
***
After they discharge Elle, they wheel her out of the ER to where I’ve parked the car. I take the crutches and set them in the back seat, then help her into the passenger seat. She’s quiet, begrudgingly accepting my help.
"Thank you," she finally says, giving me a sideways glance.
"Don't mention it," I reply. "I hadn't seen you out on the trail in a while. Figured it was because you were avoiding me."
"You're not wrong," she admits. "But I appreciate your help today. And… thank you for the keepsake box and everything you put in it."
"Elle—"
"Please, let me finish," she says, keeping her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Thank you for raising Beth to be who she is. She's an amazing girl."
I wait.
"I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful for what your family did for my sister. I’m forever thankful. Knowing that she’s been safe, healthy, and happy for the last ten years has given me a kind of peace I hadn’t known since the day I lost her."
I wait.
"Can I ask you for a favor?" she says, finally turning her gaze toward me.
"Anything," I say.
"Tell me exactly what you remember Meghan telling you about me when you tried to visit me all those years ago. I know you've told me before, but I was upset, and my emotions were out of control. I wasn’t ready to hear it. And after you tell me, I’d like you to give me a signed affidavit documenting what you remember. "
"What are you planning?" I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"I'm going to make sure that what happened to me doesn't happen to anyone else."
"You're going after Meghan," I say.
"I can't let this go, Cal. I need closure. Healing—"
"Revenge?" I ask, not to accuse her, but to confirm what I already suspect.
"If what I have planned leads to Meghan losing her job, it’ll be entirely her doing, not mine."
"You’re going to expose her?"
"I’m going to make this right—for myself and for the other girls she might’ve targeted over the years."
I nod in understanding and take a deep breath, the weight of everything I want to say pressing against my chest.
I want to tell her how much I support her decision to right the wrong that was done to her. That despite everything she’s endured over the last ten years, she’s grown into an incredible woman, resilient, noble, with a heart still capable of love after everything that was taken from her.
I want to tell her that I hope she’ll forgive me someday. That even though I’m deeply sorry for what happened, the selfish part of me is glad she’s not my sister, because I’ve fallen in love with her. Fully and hopelessly in love.
But before I can say anything, she speaks.
“So tell me,” she says, pulling me back from my thoughts.
“My parents and I were all told you were a difficult child,” I begin carefully.
“That you had behavioral issues and anger problems. Meghan said you were aggressive. That it was in Izzy’s best interest, and yours, that you two be kept apart.
She told us Izzy would never bond with her adoptive family if you were in the picture…
because your protective nature was obsessive and unhealthy. ”
“Aggressive and obsessive?” she snaps, her voice rising in disbelief.
“I kept my sister safe for the first four years of her life! We were neglected at best—and sometimes it was worse than that. The abuse wasn’t just verbal.
I was the one who stood between her and a slap or a punch. How. Dare. She.”
“I’m sorry,” is all I can say. The pain in her voice guts me. Disbelief, betrayal, heartache. It’s all etched into her face as she tries to stay composed.
“Cal, I was a good kid,” she says, her voice quieter now but no less raw. “The only time I ever raised my voice was when I was begging them to let me see Izzy—Beth.”
“We were on the outside,” I say gently, “begging for them to let Beth see you. And you were on the inside begging for the same thing.”
She closes her eyes, swallowing hard. “Can you even understand how cruel that was?”
“I do,” I say, nodding slowly. “I understand. And I’m so sorry.”
She grows quiet, her jaw tight as she stares out the window, clearly trying to keep her emotions in check. I watch her, searching for the right words to offer. Something to ease the weight she’s carrying. But nothing I can say will soothe this kind of heartbreak. So I grow quiet too.
The silence stretches heavy between us.
“Will you ever forgive me?” I finally ask, my voice low. The guilt of that day squeezes my chest like a vise.
"I want to," she says, still not looking at me. "Maybe someday, I will."
"It's a start," I say, feeling hopeful.
***
After we pick up the prescription, Elle turns to me. “Where’s Hannah?” she asks, as if just now realizing she’s been absent this entire time.
“She’s with my parents.”
“Was that something you planned, or is she there because of me?”
“They offered to keep her tonight.”
“So you could tend to your invalid neighbor?” she says, arching a brow.
“You’re going to need help,” I reply gently. “At least until Tina gets off work.”
“Which won’t be until tomorrow morning,” she sighs. “Can Beth stay with me?”
“I thought of that,” I say. “She has a soccer match in the morning and is spending the night with some of her teammates.”
She bites her lower lip, weighing any other options.
“Please,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “Let me help you. I’ll make a simple dinner, clean up, make sure you take your meds—and after I tuck you in, I’ll head home.”
“I think I can manage," she says. "With the crutches, I can get around. And I’m not really hungry, so I’m just going to shower, then try to relax and watch something mindless on TV. I’ll probably fall asleep on the couch, and Tina can wake me up when she gets in.”
"I told Tina I’d stay with you, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do."
"I'm too tired to argue," she says. "But let me be clear, there won't be any tucking in."
I smile, and for a split second, everything between us feels normal again. But it doesn’t last. Her gaze shifts away, and just like that, the wall goes back up.