Chapter 19 - 20
Calhoun’s POV—
I leaned forward, elbows digging into my knees, watching every movement of Mila’s fingers as she typed. Each tap she made against the glass screen sounded like the ticking of a bomb to me. My chest was tight, my heart stuttering against my ribs like it didn’t know whether to beat or break. When she finally hit send, she locked her phone with a snap and tossed it onto the glass table.
“Happy now?” Mila asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.
“Yes,” I nodded too quickly, almost like a fucking eager pup. “Thank you, Mila.”
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d disappear into her skull, then walked off toward the kitchen. But I didn’t move, couldn’t move. My eyes never left her phone sitting there, black screen staring back at me like it knew I was desperate. I kept waiting for it to light up, praying for Elodie’s name to glow across it. My shoulders began to sink the longer nothing happened. God, even an emoji. Just one little sign that she thought of me. That she hadn’t erased me.
Mila came back with popcorn and a glass of water, plopping onto the couch beside me. She eyed me once, then twice, then shook her head. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”
I frowned, snapping my head toward her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She shoved a kernel in her mouth before answering, her voice muffled but scathing. “You look like a high schooler waiting for his crush to text back. Pathetic. Honestly, I should take a picture right now and sell it to the media. ‘Alpha Calhoun is reduced to a lovesick idiot.’ They’d eat it up.”
Her laughter that followed next cut through me like knives, but I didn’t even bite back. Not tonight. I swallowed the insult, my jaw tight, eyes dragging back to the phone. The glow of the TV flickered in the background while I sat in silence, watching her chew, listening to my own heart pound like I was on a court trial.
Hours dragged by. My eyelids were heavy, but my mind wouldn’t stop clawing at me. No notification. No chime. Nothing but silence pressing in. Mila sighed and asked, “Aren’t you going home? I’ll tell you if she replies.”
“No,” I muttered, grabbing a couch pillow and pulling it to my chest like a shield. I laid back, staring at the ceiling. “I’ll stay here. Until she answers.”
Mila made a face, rolled her eyes again, and turned the TV volume up, letting me stew.