Weight of The Untold

Chapter 6

Kyla's POV

The next day was a chill sunny Saturday and I thought it was perfect for me to study in the lower floor while enjoying the fresh breeze and smell of flowers from our garden.

"Not going to the mall like other teenage girls do on Saturdays?"

I jolted-heart flipping-before I located the voice across the living room.

Caleb.

He lifted his hands halfway in surrender. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," I murmured, straightening my spine and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "What were you saying?"

He crossed the room and lowered himself onto the couch beside me. The movement was calm, controlled... very Davison-like.

"I was asking if you don't go to the mall like most teenage girls do on Saturdays." His lips twitched at the corners. "But judging by this-" he nodded at the textbooks spread across the table "-you're more responsible than the average teenager."

I let out a soft chuckle. "I have exams this week, so I was studying. And I'm not in the best mood to be around people."

He nodded slowly, as if memorizing the sentence.

"So my little sister is not only cute, but smart and responsible." Then-like the sun cracking through winter clouds-he smiled. Fully. And just like that, I saw pieces of Dad in him.

Even his smile is like Dad's... he really is my brother.

"You think I'm cute?" I teased.

He gasped dramatically. "You don't have a mirror in your room? I'll have someone install one immediately."

I burst into laughter, grabbing my stomach. "You're actually funny."

"So I've been told." He smirked, watching me closely-almost tenderly.

Then his expression softened. "Hey... I'm sorry I wasn't introduced to you earlier. I get it if you feel betrayed. I felt the same when I found out my father-our father-was alive. I couldn't even be angry at my mom for lying. She was dying, Kyla. I didn't want the last memory of us to be a fight."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be. None of this is your fault." His voice was gentle.

"So she never mentioned him? Our father?"

He sighed. "She said he was Cuban and died in a car crash. She avoided the topic. I thought it hurt her. When we moved back to America-California-I didn't question it."

"To family?" I asked carefully.

He shook his head. "No. Mom was an only child. My grandparents died when I was eight."

The lie I'd told Meg about Caleb's aunt stabbed at my chest.

"Oh." Silence stretched between us-quiet, but not uncomfortable.

Then he laughed softly. "You know... I was just like you when I met Dad. Quiet. Awkward. No idea what to say."

"How did you know I wasn't sure abou-"

"You're easy to read, kid." He shrugged. "Besides, you remind me of myself at your age."

Kid?

"I don't think we're alike."

He raised a brow. "Oh? How so?"

"Well, I'm cute. You're not."

We both dissolved into laughter, loud and unfiltered.