Page 131 of When the Storm Breaks
Where Haiyden didn’t have to carry so much grief.
So instead, I count the places where his warmth touches mine. I measure the quiet rhythm of his breath and adjust my own to match.
At some point, he shifts. His grip loosens, the arm wrapped around my middle sliding away—just enough for his hand to find my shoulder, his touch light, barely there.
In the quiet, his voice comes, soft and raw.
“I love you, Calla.”
My entire body goes still. I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
He’s too drunk to realize what he’s said, too far gone to understand the weight of it. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s out there now—hanging between us like something delicate and untouchable.
A moment I can’t acknowledge.
A feeling I can’t acknowledge.
Words I don’t even know whether he’ll remember in the morning.
So I keep my breathing steady. Pretend I’m asleep. Lie there, staring into the dark, feeling everything and nothing, all at once.
Chapter 43
Calla
I wake up alone.
No longer tangled in Haiyden—but tangled still.
At some point in the night, we drifted into my bedroom, but my body must’ve moved away from him. Like I couldn’t get far enough. As if distance was inevitable.
For a moment, I wonder if this is what Haiyden felt when he disappeared. That instinct to run. A gut-deep, primal urge to get out before something caves in.
Between Willow, Jules, Haiyden, and a stray declaration of love, I don’t think it can get worse than this.
But the lack of answers leaves an ache in me.
Like these mysteries are unraveling thread by thread, but instead of pulling me in, they’re pushing me out.
I slip out of the bed quietly—not that it’s difficult. We’d moved to opposite sides, as if even in sleep, we needed the distance.
For a second, I just watch him. His breathing is uneven, like he’s still fighting something even now. His limbs are sprawled, but his fistsare clenched. His jaw, tight. He’s surviving. Even in sleep, he’s not safe.
I pull myself away, moving carefully out of the room.
I move through the kitchen quietly. But my thoughts are loud.
I’m still angry. Angry that Haiyden kept secrets. That he disappeared for days. That he left me feeling so utterly, suffocatingly alone.
And yet, underneath it all… I hurt for him. For his hurt. For his healing.
I pour a cup of coffee, bracing for a long morning of sulking—until I turn around and nearly scream.
Haiyden is standing in the doorway. Silent. Still. Watching me.
“Jesus Christ, Haiyden,” I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest. “How long have you been standing there?”
He shrugs. “A few minutes.”
