Page 13 of When the Storm Breaks
He was always so composed. Everything about him measured. Every word deliberate.
Still, I thought he was harmless.
Jules had been so happy when she introduced him, raving about how thoughtful he was, how he always seemed to have everything handled. But over time, I started to see the cracks.
Thoughtful wasn’t it. Tyler wasn’t thoughtful.
He was controlling.
The thought of talking to him makes my skin crawl, but what choice do I have? No matter how much I dislike him, he might knowsomething.
For months, I told myself there was nothing he could say that the police hadn’t already heard. But now, staring at this photo—his forced smile, the distance in his eyes—I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more.
It stirs something deep inside me, dragging a memory to the surface that I’ve tried to bury.
It was just a week before she died. I was on the couch reading when a soft knock broke the silence. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but when I looked through the peephole and saw Jules standing there, mascara streaked down her cheeks, my heart sank. I yanked the door open and pulled her into a tight hug.
“He told me I’m too much, Calla.” Her voice trembled, barely holding together. “That I make him crazy.”
I ran my fingers through her hair, offering what little comfort I could—but even then, I felt her slipping away.
“He said he’d be better off without me… that everyone would,” she whispered, her voice breaking on every word.
My stomach churned then, just like it does now. Tyler was always so careful, but the man she described that night felt different. Dangerous in a way that didn’t need to be loud. A snake coiled and waiting to strike.
I’ll never forget the way she looked at me, like she was holding herself together piece by fragile piece.
I look at the photo again.
I’m not ready to accuse him of anything. I’m not even sure I have the courage to confront him. But I can’t let this go—not when there’s a chance he knows something.
It’s not really investigating. It’s just a conversation. A chance to see him face-to-face. Maybe he doesn’t know anything. Maybe he’ll shrug and pretend he’s just as clueless as the rest of us.
But I have to try.
Because if I don’t, the what-ifs will eat me alive.
I push back from the table, resolve clicking into place. As I head toward the door, my eyes flick to the coat rack.
Empty.
Right. I left my coat at the bar last night.
Chapter 5
Haiyden
I fucking hate being here in the morning.
Worse after whatever the hell that was in the office last night.
Sunlight glares through the front windows of the bar, casting a harsh spotlight on all the grime Chase missed cleaning up after the party. I owe him, though—he’s got his own mess to deal with, and last night, I couldn’t handle being around. Didn’t mean to bail, but the air was thick with shit I couldn’t breathe through.
I ran home. Literally ran. Perks of living down the street, I guess. The shower didn’t help. The scalding water only made it worse. I scrubbed the skin on my neck raw, like if I scraped hard enough, I could erase the feeling of her.
But it stuck. Calla fucking James.
I wish she’d just stayed still. Kept her hands where they were. Where I didn’t have to feel them on me. WhereIhad control.
