“Still struggling to get out of bed?”
“Mm-hmm. But...” With a mouthful of food, he stabs his plate for more, gearing up for the next bite. He waves it around as he talks, and I kind of like that he’s not Mr. Cotillion like I thought he’d be. Perhaps I misjudged him. Perhaps I misjudged everyone. “She’ll get better.”
Everyone at the table except for Caleb exchanges glances. No one believes him. I don’t think he even believes in himself.
Jemma, Taya and Sam ask me questions about myself. They were all understanding and attentive. They were nice enough not to pry too much but enough to show genuine interest. They were all easy to like.
After a while, Caleb looks at the time and stands. “I’ve gotta get to my meeting.” Caleb gathers everyone’s plates.
“Oh, honey, leave that there. I’ll get it,” Jemma says.
“It’s no problem. I got it.” He carries the stack of plates to the kitchen sink. He turns the water on and begins washing them.
I feel bad. I haven’t offered to help or do anything since I’ve been here. What it means to be in a pack is going to take some getting used to. “Is there anything I can do?”
Jemma wipes her mouth with her napkin and pats my hand. “Don’t you trouble yourself. You just sit right there.”
After Caleb finishes the dishes, he nods to me. “You ready?”
“Mhm.” I stand and thank Jemma.
I don’t know how to initiate a hug, but thankfully, I don’t have to.
She holds out her arms from her chair, and I lean down to embrace her.
Caleb hugs her as well, then looks at Sam and Taya. “I’ll see you all there.”
“Yup. We’re right behind you.” Sam says this, yet he stays seated, still eating.
“It was nice to meet you all,” I say to everyone.
Caleb checks the time on his watch. “We better hurry.” He takes my hand in his and butterflies flutter in my stomach.
Chapter THIRTY-TWO
Jay
Caleb left me in his father’s study while he attends some big meeting. I’m alone with all these books, and I’m not mad at it.
His collection is not the biggest I’ve ever seen, but it’s just as impressive as an entire library. It’s a perfect example of quality over quantity.
I recognize several authors, but I don’t think I’ve read a single one. Except...
Is that . . .
I stand on my tiptoes and reach for it. The philosophy book I’d been reading before I was captured. Like my copy used to, it almost falls apart at the spine the second I open the front cover. The pages are just as frail and rough to the touch. I close the book to inspect how old it is and also judge the owner for its condition.
Seems someone doesn’t take care of their books very well.
I make myself comfortable in his cushy desk chair. Propping my feet up on the seat, tucking them under me.
I notice a page is dogeared, which is ahugepet peeve of mine.
“Ugh, Caleb,” I say aloud. Judging him, I shake my head.
Curious, I open to the page, and I instantly recognize where he’s at. It’s a passage I’ve spent hours reading, debating and memorizing. It’s the only chapter that covers forgiveness, justice, healing and morality. He’s underlined one passage that reads, “forgiveness benefits the forgiver” and how it can clearyou of burden. I let that line sink in with the book resting on my thigh.
What did this mean? Did it mean he was trying to forgive me?
