Page 121 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

I push back from the table so quickly that the chair strikes the wall. “I am coming home.”

Kade closes the laptop and takes the papers from my hand. “Go. I will send the verified chain through Zana’s protected channel.”

He tells me they have enough to connect Garrett’s home network to the campus confrontation, but I am already reaching for the door. The evidence matters, and I will spend as long as necessary tracing every person Garrett has hurt, but Callie’s at home believing my silence might mean more than the errand I chose not to explain.

The drive takes eleven minutes. I touch the paired band at every red light, hating that the light can tell her I am alive without answering the question I should never have left her to ask.

Dash opens the door before I reach it.

Callie stands beside the living room couch in one of Dash’s sweaters and the soft pants she slept in. Her coffee remains untouched on the table, and Theo sits close enough to hold her wrist between both hands. Idris is beside them with one palm resting at the small of her back.

Callie looks at me, and the relief that crosses her face is followed so quickly by hurt that my chest tightens around it.

I stop inside the doorway instead of rushing toward her. My keys are still in my hand, and I set them on the table before saying, “I should have woken you.”

“I knew you were coming back.” Her voice is soft and unsteady, and she glances down at the bracelet between Theo’s hands. “Your light came on, but I did not know where you were.”

“I went to Kade’s office. He found the account Garrett used to get the information about Zana’s meeting.” I move closer without reaching for her. “I told Dash and decided that was enough because you were asleep.”

Callie presses her lips together. Theo rubs his thumb across the inside of her wrist while Idris remains silent, keeping his hand against her without speaking for her.

“I woke up, and you were gone again,” she says. “Everyone was here, and I could see the light, but I kept wondering whether something had changed while I was asleep.”

The bond gives me the rest. A locked door, an officer on a porch, and a voice wearing mine while it tells her that loving her has become too inconvenient to continue.

“I chose not to send the message,” I say. “I told myself I’d be back before the silence could hurt you.”

Her eyes fill, though she does not look away. “You promised.”

“I know.” The words scrape through me. “I broke the promise the first time I had to prove I meant it.”

Callie lifts one hand toward me, and I cross the remaining space before she has to reach farther. I gather her against my chest and bury my face in her hair, holding her while her fingers twist into the back of my shirt.

“I don't know why I can't get over it,” she whispers.

“Because for three months you thought I left you.” I press my mouth against her temple, feeling her shake against me. “You thought I had chosen to stay gone, and today I left without telling you where I was.”

“I knew you were not leaving me.”

“Your mind knew.” I cup the back of her head and hold her closer. “Your body woke up without me and had to decide what that meant before I gave you the truth.”

Her breath catches, and I feel the bond loosen just enough for the fear to move instead of staying trapped inside her.

“I don't want everyone reporting to me,” she says. “I don't want you waking me every time you walk out of a room.”

“Telling you I am leaving the house isn't reporting to you.” I lean back far enough to see her face and wipe beneath one eye with my thumb. “It is what I should do because we share a life.”

Callie’s gaze searches mine. I keep my hands on her without tightening them, giving her room to step away if anger needs more space than my arms allow.

“I knew the rule,” I tell her. “I decided sleep mattered more than letting you know where I was, and I made that decision for you. Then I got distracted and left you with a light that could not answer any of your questions.”

“You can't promise you will never leave the house.”

“I am not promising that.” I press my forehead to hers and breathe her in. “I am promising I will not vanish. I will tell you where I am going, and if you are asleep, I will wake you. You will know how to reach me, and I will answer.”

Her hands flatten against my chest. The hurt remains in her eyes, joined now by anger that she is finally letting me see.

“I am angry with you.”