Breakaway

Chapter 4 – The Truth Doesn't Set You Free

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Breakaway

He slept for three hours.

I know because I counted every minute.

His head was heavy on my shoulder. His breathing was slow and even. In sleep, he looked younger. Softer. Like the boy I'd known five years ago, before the fights and the fines and the press calling him a villain.

I didn't wake him.

Not because I was being kind.

Because I was afraid of what would happen when he opened his eyes.

Would he pull away? Pretend this didn't happen? Go back to being cold in public and broken in private?

Or would he look at me like he had last night — like I was the only thing keeping him from drowning?

I didn't know which one scared me more.

---

His phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Sloane.

I stared at the screen.

Then at his face.

He didn't stir.

I should wake him. I should let him decide whether to answer.

Instead, I picked up the phone.

The message was short:

Your father knows about the drive. Be careful who you trust.

My blood went cold.

I set the phone down carefully, like it might explode.

Then I sat there, heart pounding, while Caleb slept on my shoulder like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

And I didn't know how to tell him.

---

He woke up at 7:00 PM.

Blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Looked at me like he wasn't sure where he was.

"You stayed," he said.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Didn't want to wake you."

"That's not what I asked."

I looked away.

"Sloane texted," I said. "While you were asleep."

He sat up slowly. Rubbed the back of his neck. "What did she want?"

I handed him the phone.

He read the message.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything. Just set the phone down and stared at the wall.

"Your father knows about the flash drive," I said.

"He was always going to find out."

"Then why do you look surprised?"

"Because I didn't think it would be this fast." He looked at me. "We need to move up the timeline."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we stop waiting. We release the documents. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Caleb, we don't have a lawyer. We don't have a plan—"

"We have the truth."

"The truth doesn't protect us."

"No." He stood up. Walked to the window. "But it's all we've got."

---

I should have argued.

I should have told him he was being reckless, emotional, exactly what his father wanted him to be.

Instead, I sat on his gray couch and watched the city lights flicker on.

"You're scared," I said.

He didn't turn around.

"Yeah."

"Of your father?"

"Of losing you again."

The words hung in the air.

I didn't know what to say.

So I didn't say anything.

---

He ordered pizza.

We ate on the floor of his living room, backs against the couch, feet stretched out toward the balcony door. The city was loud below us — sirens, traffic, someone shouting.

"This is weird," I said.

"What is?"

"This. Sitting here. Eating pizza. Like we're normal people."

"We're not normal people."

"I know." I took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. "That's what makes it weird."

He almost smiled.

Almost.

"We should talk about tomorrow," I said.

"We should talk about a lot of things."

"Then let's start with your father."

He set his pizza down. Wiped his hands on a napkin.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

He was quiet for a minute.

Then: "He wasn't always terrible. When I was a kid, he was... fine. Not warm, but not cruel. He coached my youth teams. Came to my games. Told me I was good."

"When did it change?"

"When I got drafted." He stared at the ceiling. "Suddenly I wasn't his son anymore. I was his investment. His retirement plan. Every decision I made had to go through him."

"Even your relationships?"

Especially my relationships.

He looked at me.

"He didn't like you. Not because of who you were — because of what you represented. A distraction. Something he couldn't control."

"And that's why he paid me to leave."

"That's why he paid you to leave." He reached over. Took my hand. "I'm sorry, Lena. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stop him."

"None of this is your fault."

"Some of it is."

"Which part?"

"I didn't fight for you. I let them tell me you'd moved on. I believed them because it was easier than believing you'd been taken."

I squeezed his hand.

"We both made mistakes."

"Yeah." He squeezed back. "But I'm not making this one again."

---

His phone buzzed again.

Different number. Unknown.

He answered anyway.

"Yeah."

I watched his face change. From tired to alert. From alert to hard.

"Where?" Pause. "When?" Another pause. "No. Don't do anything yet. I'll handle it."

He hung up.

"That was my mom."

"What did she say?"

"Your apartment was broken into tonight."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing taken. Just... tossed. Papers everywhere. Laptop open." He looked at me. "They were looking for the drive."

"The drive is in my coat pocket."

"I know." He stood up. "We need to get it somewhere safe."

"Where?"

"My mom's. She has a safe. A good one."

"And if they find out?"

"They won't." He held out his hand. "Come on. We don't have much time."

---

I should have asked more questions.

Who broke in? How did they know where I lived? What happens if they try again?

Instead, I took his hand and followed him out the door.

Because running was what I did.

And I was tired of running alone.

---

His car was black. Expensive. Too clean.

We drove in silence.

The city blurred past. Red lights. Street signs. A homeless man holding a cardboard sign.

"You're shaking," he said.

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

"That's not comforting."

"No." He glanced at me. "But it's the truth."

I looked out the window.

"You know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"I saw this coming. Your father. The threats. All of it." I wrapped my arms around myself. "I knew it wasn't over. And I stayed anyway."

"You stayed because you're brave."

"I stayed because I'm stupid."

"No." He reached over. His hand covered mine on the seat. "You stayed because you love me."

I didn't deny it.

I couldn't.

---

His mother's house was in the suburbs.

Small. Colonial. A porch swing on the front lawn.

The lights were on.

"She's waiting for us," he said.

"You called her?"

"On the drive."

We walked up the steps. The door opened before we knocked.

Caleb's mother was shorter than I expected. Gray hair. Kind eyes. An apron tied around her waist.

"Lena." She pulled me into a hug before I could react. "I've heard so much about you."

"All good things, I hope."

"All true things." She pulled back. Looked at me. "You're even prettier than he said."

Caleb cleared his throat.

"Mom. The drive."

"Right. Right." She stepped aside. "Come in. We have a lot to talk about."

---

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon.

She made tea.

We sat at a wooden table, the flash drive between us like a bomb.

"The documents are solid," she said. "Emails. Bank records. A signed confession from Gordon Shaw." She looked at Caleb. "If we release these, your father goes to prison."

"And Sloane?"

"She goes down with him. She signed that contract knowing exactly what she was doing."

Caleb nodded slowly.

"What's the risk?" I asked.

His mother looked at me.

"The risk is that Arthur has friends. Powerful friends. Even in prison, he could make your life very difficult." She paused. "Are you prepared for that?"

I looked at Caleb.

He was watching me.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm prepared."

---

We stayed at his mother's until midnight.

Talked strategy. Timelines. Who to trust and who to avoid.

She hugged me again when we left.

"Take care of him," she whispered.

"I'll try."

"That's all any of us can do."

---

The drive back was quiet.

Caleb kept his hand on mine the whole way.

"You didn't have to say yes," he said.

"To what?"

"To any of this. The story. The risk. Me."

"I know."

"But you did anyway."

"Yeah." I looked at him. "I did."

He pulled over to the side of the road.

"We're in the middle of the highway," I said.

"I don't care."

He leaned over and kissed me.

Not desperate this time. Not hungry.

Just... there.

Like he was trying to tell me something words couldn't say.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

"I'm not going to lose you again," he whispered.

"You never lost me."

"Yes, I did." He pulled back. Looked at me. "But I'm not making that mistake twice."

---

The truth doesn't set you free.

That's what they don't tell you.

The truth just... is.

And what you do with it — that's what matters.

Tomorrow, we release the documents.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

But tonight, I'm sitting in a parked car on the side of the highway, holding hands with a man I never stopped loving.

And for now, that's enough.

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End of Chapter 4

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