The sun had just started to rise when I heard it—the low rumble of car doors slamming and someone laughing too loud in the driveway.
Kaden was home.
My stomach twisted.
Callum and I both looked toward the window at the same time. His expression shifted—softness gone, replaced by that guarded wall he always put up when he felt exposed.
He sat up a little straighter, wincing as he moved, pulling the blanket tighter over his lap.
I grabbed the first aid kit again and knelt in front of him, my fingers moving on autopilot. Gauze. Ointment. Wrap. Distraction.
Footsteps thundered up the front steps. I heard Kaden's voice—loud, teasing, halfway through a story.
"…swear to God, he almost fell in the pool trying to flirt with that girl—"
The front door slammed open.
I didn't even flinch. I just kept cleaning the cut along Callum's forearm like I wasn't holding my breath.
"Yo, Cara, you up?" Kaden shouted from the hallway. I could hear two of his friends behind him, still laughing.
"Yeah," I called, forcing my voice to sound steady. "In your room. Just grabbing my charger."
I met Callum's eyes for a second. His lips curved into a flicker of something—half gratitude, half apology.
I didn't let myself smile back.
Kaden didn't even knock. He swung the door open like he owned the place—because he did—and paused only slightly when he saw me crouched next to the bed.
"You good?" he asked Callum, then raised an eyebrow at me. "You're patching up my boy like a battlefield nurse."
Callum gave a tired shrug. "Busted my arm on a mailbox," he lied smoothly. "Didn't wanna bleed all over your car."
Kaden snorted. "You're an idiot."
One of his friends poked his head in. "Yo, we dipping or what? I gotta be home before my mom thinks I joined a cult."
"I'll be out in a sec," Kaden said, then turned back to us. "You staying here tonight, Cal?"
Callum nodded. "Yeah. Didn't feel like going home."
Kaden didn't question it. He never did. Just tossed him a fresh hoodie from the desk chair.
"Cool. I'll grab breakfast on the way back. Don't burn the house down."
And then he was gone again—footsteps fading, the door swinging shut behind him like nothing had happened. Like the boy sitting on his bed wasn't bruised and bleeding. Like I hadn't kissed him less than an hour ago.
I let out the breath I'd been holding and slumped back onto my heels.
"That mailbox must've been vicious," I said quietly.
Callum smiled, slow and tired. "Practically jumped me."
I gently taped the gauze in place on his arm, then looked up at him.
"Are you okay?"
"Not really," he admitted. "But I'm better than I was."
His gaze lingered on me. And this time, there was no pretending. No kid sister. No 'just a friend's sibling.'
Just us.
In the quiet that always follows chaos.